As the title suggests i am trying something new and trying to get some writing ideas out of my head. Got a theme and idea which i am trying to expand on. Sharing a first chapter to garner thoughts
Chapter One — The Spark
We become what we pretend to be — and sometimes the mask outlives the person.
The history group meets in a small community centre tucked between a chemist and a takeaway that changes name more often than people change their socks. Chairs scrape as folk settle in, papers rustle, the smell of old carpet mingles with instant coffee.
I spot Lorna before she sees me. She’s already talking to someone I don’t recognise, gesturing with her hands, laughing in a way that makes the room seem warmer than it is. When she notices me, she waves slightly, her eyes curious.
The meeting begins. Old maps are unfurled. Photographs of streets that no longer exist. Someone points to a tenement demolished decades ago. Another person mentions a family that disappeared between censuses.
“This is the unrecorded stuff,” Lorna whispers when no one’s listening, leaning closer. “The things people forget to remember.”
I nod, more out of habit than understanding. She notices things — gaps in memory, small contradictions — and keeps mental notes. That’s why she’s the one people come to with questions no one else remembers to ask.
After the meeting, we take our usual walk. The streets are quiet, the evening light thinning, the air crisp.
“You still up for a coffee?” she asks.
I hesitate. “Aye. Let’s go.”
The conversation drifts — work, weather, potholes, the roundabout that’s been broken longer than most marriages. Then, inevitably, the group comes up.
“I was looking into one of the names from last week,” Lorna says casually. “Just out of curiosity.”
“Find anything?”
“Not much. That’s the thing.” She frowns slightly. A crease appears between her brows. “Online, they’re everywhere — forum posts, comments, tagged photos. But in the official records? Nothing solid for years.”
I feel a small, familiar itch at the back of my mind. One that says pay attention.
“Maybe they moved,” I suggest.
“Maybe,” she says. She glances at me. “You don’t sound convinced.”
“I just… sometimes things look complete because we’re used to seeing them that way. Doesn’t mean they are.”
She nods, scrunching her nose a little, annoyed at how interesting this is turning out to be.
We part ways, the streetlights flickering on, and I walk home with the thought lodged quietly in my mind: patterns exist, even when they shouldn’t.
submitted by /u/andydotpitman
[link] [comments]