PROLOGUE

A COLD FRIDAY WHISPER

A cold Australian winters morning, the smell of cold air and the faint yet hopeful thought of what the world has to offer. With every minute as important as the next, people are hurrying to work this friday morning, the world whispers to each and everyone of them as they seek refuge behind a desk, in front of a bar or casually roaming the streets all in search for who they really are. In a world bound by bandages and empty conversations its easy to nd yourself lost in and amongst the lost and the found, but today the worlds whisper has come to a abrupt end for one. Its here on the edge of Bell Block whereby the sounds and beauty of the world are no longer evident in its stead the world is turning in on itself at 3327 Bell Block Street. The street lights are dim, the still breeze lingers in the winters air leaving even the warmest of bodies in a state of panic and pain for those looking in ending in heartache and rage. ***

Every detail is as vivid as the next, a short lived fable where in the beginning happiness, love and family were the themes embraced in those care free years of youth, however locked down in the memories of fellow friends and family is of a young man swept away in a torrent that few survive whereby remembered as a broken man lost in the shadows left with wooden owers and a heart in the sink. Inside the modern day infrastructure are crowds of people, there were police ofcers and paramedics working frantically behind the scenes. The house itself is bare and empty, with but a few pieces of furniture scattered across the tiled oors and a obscurely large painting hanging from across the hall. It feels dreary and lonesome, with the exception of a stand a lone six foot sh tank. Yet its here I stand watching ever so intently over a body I can only assume to be mine but uncertain as my memory slowly fades into oblivion, I crouch down further only to recognise a lifeless body beaten to the oor. In the corner of my eye I can see the black body bag edging closer and closer when suddenly a womens death hurling scream breaks the morbid silence. They all knew who I was, though I couldnt tell you who they were which lead me to wonder, could all this be a dream or is this really happening and if so why cant I remember . As far back as I can recall all Ive ever wanted was a life that would bare more importance then just living amongst the surface, I mean I really havent set out to do anything really life altering but Ive always hoped my life would be somewhat more then just routine. The world we hope to experience and the world we actually experience can be quite different to the one we hoped for. A life whereby we protect the shadow that accompanies us throughout the pitfalls in our lives with the intention of not taking shelter in our own shadows and becoming lone drifters in our own dimension.

As every dying minute went by so did the overwhelming sense of emotions, running rapidly as though unable to nd a release as my mind wandered in and out of consciousness slowly slipping away as though somewhat heaven-faced. It was dawning upon me that for whatever reason my whole means of existence on this earth was coming to a close, yet it is within this sense of self pity and pain that had me begging for another chance as the bond between death and life had somewhat brought about feelings I had never encountered before, at least not when I was living. Perhaps my journals will help you my readers in understanding my story or at least attempt to tackle the demons that I could not, and carry with it forgiveness for my past discretions for which Im about to disclose. I cant force your hand in the matter but maybe by sharing my story with you, youll be able to love and accept the young boy who was merely known to a few people far and in between as William Lindell. Young, resilient and blissfully unaware of life's hard knocks. For this stories beginning and end bears a stunning resemblance to that of the world and its beginning and unforetold end. In the dark where the human heart can be heard and the worlds whisper is not written off as merely a moment lapsed in time and space. The deafening sounds of clocks ticking and people weeping looms over the passing moments whereby paramedics brace themselves for the worst as they prepare the debrillator in a last attempt to save William Lindell, though with every electrical surge sent through the body strips of colours fade away leaving behind washed out tones of grey and unsettling shades of black and white. Confronted by a naked light bulb ickering as everything around the body drifts away leaving behind William Lindell standing on his own, when suddenly the light bulb explodes giving off a white are.

I cant tell you what it feels like to die as Im not even sure I have. But in this peculiar place in which I now reside I nd myself speechless as every word I utter is swallowed up as though I had never taken a breathe. Im stuck in a place where theres nothing to say or to be said, so I say nothing. The feelings of regret and redemption continually ride my mind, I tell myself this is merely a dream, my heart races and my stomach turns. The idea of not being able to escape this place frightens me as I pace up and down through the darkness. The mental images of my lifeless body lying on the oor disturbing my every thought as though that is all I could think about. And the absence of sound drawing upon my own sanity; I was literally feeling the dead weight of all my emotions ooding in from numerous directions. For there is no rise to fame where I currently reside nor any desire to take a stand and become the worlds next valiant warrior with a voice for the people, no not I for the world I know is but a forgotten past time. I will take a bow to a empty audience as I became nor warrior or knight but simply a man bound together by lies, deception and manipulation that eventuated in the rise of a monster whereby nature feared me and the world disowned me. It was this particular bond between man and monster that lead to my ultimate demise and left me in a place commonly known to man simply as, no mans island, where lost souls are silent and monsters for men are remembered. Im writing this in a desperate attempt to save whatever is left of this lifeless body of mine, whilst making amends for the ones I tore apart and stopped at nothing to achieve my overall ambitions in life. This is not a story in which I survive nor a story of love and happy ever afters for thats Gods idea of light entertainment that plays on the weak, no this is simply a heartfelt confession with the hope to nd some sort of peace for a dying man with no real colour in life but down stream greys and whites.