Prologue for book
Hey guys I am eighteen years old and am really eager to write my first book! I want to make a comedic paradoxical story revolving around the lives of five girls from a very posh private school in the uk. I want it to be ironic and have a light hearted tone generally whilst also drawing on some serious issues to do with class. Anyways I have written a prologue for it about this girl called Mary who has just left having a conversation with a mother who is thinking about sending her daughter there. Please let me know your thoughts!
‘Like is a strong word’, scoffed Mary, aggressively stirring a small silver teaspoon round her mug. Mrs Purnell raised an eyebrow curiously, ‘is it?’. Mary put down her saucer onto the small round coffee table and sighed theatrically as if to suggest a great deal about Mrs Purnell’s intellect. ‘Nowadays the word ‘like’ is extremely suggestive, you have to be quite careful.’ She purred. ‘I mean you can like tea but that suggests its like oh tea is alright but its not great, you know.’ Mary’s eyes met Mrs Purnell’s, whose tight Botox induced features were yearning to scrunch into a baffled knot at the front of her face. Mary continued, gesticulating wildly, ‘But in some cases ‘like’ can suggest much weightier things. Like if you claim to like Nicholas O’Brian who's this gorgeous boy in my chemistry class, then ‘like’ would suggest you want to get in his pants so its not really a question of indifference in that circumstance…’ Mrs Purnell’s eyebrows strained towards her hairline (alas they could not stray far from the upper echelons of her eyelid). Mary continued unfazed, ‘In fact the word then suggests quite a deal of passion. Of lust.’ She exaggerated the word with a taunting emphasis. ‘As the world is fostering a generation of slightly illiterate bright-eyed youths.’ She lowered her tone, granting each syllable a slow exaggerated precedence. ‘The word ‘like’ is peppered literally in every young person’s vocabulary. When it is used off the bat in sentences, it loses all meaning besides suggesting we find spaces awkward and need to appear like we are saying more than we actually are.’ She hesitated briefly before moving her eyes back to the wall and resuming rapidly ‘I suppose in the context of liking Burleigh, I could say yeah sure I liked it. Or I could be like fuck yeah, I liked it! Or I could say yeah I suppose I liked some parts of it.’ She paused, taking in Mrs Purnell’s unmoved squinting black eyes, so small and set into her milky complexion they reminded Mary of two pieces of caviar sinking into a smooth cream cheese cracker. ‘So its weighty, extremely suggestive. Tread carefully Mrs Purnell.’ Mary grabbed a handful of tortilla chips from a wide thick rimmed bowl on the coffee table and began to crunch each one down slowly, gazing into Mrs Purnell’s eyes, interrogatively. A few moments went by whilst Mrs Purnell awkwardly straightened her posture. She attempted to create a rebuttal to Mary’s soliloquised ramblings and eventually blurted, ‘Well if a word such as ‘like’ needs all of these considerations before conversation can progress, how do people ever discuss anything?’. Mrs Purnell’s eyes bulged and her jutted chin nodded resolutely, appearing satisfied with her claim. Mary was delighted and clasped her hands together making one soft clap before drawling on sarcastically. ‘Oh Mrs Purnell that is indeed the question! In this generation, you don’t. You sit still like a fat fucking hen with your mouth slightly open and head moving slowly from side to side until the universe throws you an opinion.’ Mrs Purnell blinked slowly. Mary leant forward and spoke slowly. ‘And then you whole heartedly scream your fucking head off about it, despite not really understanding what you are saying, until the world has moved on, which generally doesn’t take long.’ She reclined back and slouched into her lavender chesterfield sofa, scoffing a second handful of tortilla chips, mostly missing her mouth, creating a nest of crumbs round her collar and hair. ‘Then you adopt your prior resting stance, bumbling along in a cosy first world bubble until the next wave of activism piques your fancy. Makes life quite simple for us really.’ A period of resolute crunching. Mrs Purnell twitched and pulled at her stiff white collared shirt, laced with repulsive doe eyed baby lambs that diseased the garment from the collar to the tips of the arm cuffs. A prolonged silence wafted through the room. The faint ticking of an old wooden mantel clock – an inherited relic from some great aunt – was suddenly audible. Periodically, Mary sighed exasperatedly. Mrs Purnell was utterly perplexed by Mary’s forthright demeanour. She had never met a young woman who not only was so indifferent as to who she shared her opinions with but a young woman with such a prolific multitude of opinions at all. Her tone imbued she was angry, looking to pick at any ebbing frustration in her life and broaden it to some greater issue in the world. And yet she was perfectly content now. She smiled lazily and was sprawled with her manspreading legs and lolling head whilst making her way through the tortilla bowl like a cow – ignorant to the nature of the world beyond her pasture - chewing her cud. For a girl who had everything, Mary was certainly quite the contrast to her extravagant family home. Mrs Purnell was slightly disgusted by the girl but undoubtedly intimidated nevertheless. Her face scrunched further, attempting to delve into thought for an astute challenge to cast Mary’s way but not managing to encroach beyond the parameters of her bewilderment. With no further rebuttals drawn, she returned to the purpose of her visit. ‘Right. Your mother said you would be happy to speak to me about your experience at Burleigh, did I um… come at a wrong time perhaps?’ Mary stretched out and yawned, revealing chewed up tortilla nestled between her teeth and smeared over her tongue. ‘No, you’ve caught me in a great mood actually; I am more than happy to talk about Burleigh at present. Last night would have been rocky but this morning I’m feeling ready to go.’ She smacked her jaws together and drew breath between her teeth before bringing up her hands to once more support her rambles with flickering hand motions that was almost elegant, out of context. ‘I mean the bottom line is that your child… what’s her face, Susan?’ Mrs Purnell’s eyes narrowed. ‘Susan Purnell sounds like a name that will do just fine at Burleigh to be honest.’ Mary fell back into the sofa and playfully drawled in a sing-song tone ‘Susan Purnell! It really has quite a ring that will contribute wonderfully to the morning register I’m sure.’ Mary yawned. ‘Yeah, Burleigh is a place where you will feel like you get your moneys worth. I mean they play lacrosse and have a bunch of musicals. Also, it's in the middle of fucking nowhere so its unlikely little Susan will find herself ambling into the dodge parts of the Kentish countryside. Like Malling Green, God forbid.’ Mary shuddered melodramatically, ‘Sorry, excuse me. Malling Green is where the local state school is so… naturally quite a rough area. Anyways she will be fine.’ Mrs Purnell patted down her skirts and looked around slowly to locate her belongings, intending to make a swift departure. Whilst avoiding Mary’s attentive eye she curtly said, ‘I get the impression you didn’t like it.’ Mary’s eyes glistened as she waggled her finger towards Mrs Purnell as if the woman was a naughty little child. ‘Now now Lisa let's not be presumptuous. It was alright. Yeah, it was just fine.’