Dead Before The Ship Even Sank: Prologue

Mouse. Squeaks. Souris in French. Cheese for the more stereotypical of course. A small cranny. Going through holes and sneaking through corners. Eating the book pages and crawling through your food cupboard at night. That was me. That was your mouse. That was your Souris.

Too bad I'm not some secret spy that kids fantasize about. No pretty ladies or sex in the dark hours of day. Just your average person living in the bad places of town where your mother warned you never to go. My mother did that too. But did I listen?

Bloody knuckles and bruises branding my body, tanned skin that used to be pale. I never used to appreciate the bit of chub I used to have. Should've saved the little extra weight while I could. Not to say that I'm starving because everyone knows I'm way too good for that. Just... hungry. As much as it pains me to admit. To my mind and stomach.

The moon shining through the cracks in the wood of the poorly kept shack. It was better than being on the street. Even if the outside smelled like shit, burns your nostrils so much that eventually you can't even smell it anymore.

Being in the underground parts of France, you learn things. Lots of things that people wouldn't know anything about up in their fancy houses and maids at their every call.

Stories that I never thought I'd be leaving this world with.