Introduction to Michael.

Abnormal and new

When you’d see me with that shirt I'd normally wear, you’d recognize it. I’d never wash it. I… I would throw it in the dryer, and dry it, and that's it. It was a greenish yellow, grand looking thing, purple around the neck. My Mother, Godfrey Trapico, washed it once, and my dad washed it three times. It had been washed four times in total. Not including the time Patrick pushed me away and soaked it in soapy water. It’d still smell. The excrement of a scent, oozing, pouring out from the armpit area. Around that side, you’d smell one of the worst things possible. It smelt horrible. Regardless, it can still be a trifle evaded. You could manage to smell less of its essence, so I had discovered. The finding of that fact so happened, when I had, at the age of 12, went through with a plan to leave my school during a particular free time, to begin smelling the attire. I sniffed around the armpit and sniffed around the rest of the shirt too. Nothing could compare to the disgusting aroma that I was so enthusiastic to observe. The armpit side was the pinnacle of hell, that upon which Satan would uphold. During that venture, I reached a threshold with some of the facets of my senses. I had, being lucky, seen myself as highly opportune to notice a minor detail. it is such so obscure that could bring many to shove aside as irrelevant. I believe the detail to be worthy, not too obscure and talented. It could prove to be useful or detrimental if you were to ever encounter me. It was that on the front of the shirt, you’d smell something a little more pleasing. A little… a little less disturbing ...or heart thumping. The front was better than the armpit only in terms of not smelling completely like s**t.

Evening time, when the rest had slept. I was at the beach waiting for my earth mother to pick me up, in order to bring me home. My school was close to the beach, and it would seem that that was the only place to find my wondering mind. A wandering mind that had fixed itself on an especially slow and rigid creature.

I was watching a creation of God. The creation of only an omnipotent being with a creative and marvelous mind. The creation first took North-west. It turned around and took southeast. its movements all recorded in my mind because I was so fascinated. The creature was a turtle. A turtle with a hexagonal shape. It was clearly deformed.

The turtle crawled towards a seashell like a larva trying to get out of its cocoon. The turtle was obviously lacking in strength and in sanity, maybe. I watched it crawl and crawl until it fell, probably without realizing it had fallen. It had fallen into a black pitahole of some sorts. It was one covered in greenish seaweed. It’s fresh. The hole was freshly made, probably made recently, by the Toms, I'm guessing. They usually resided in this beach. The Lake Sheldon Beach. With horns protruding out of their nostrils, to me, they were an interesting sort. The sand was cold and my nose had gone stiff. I looked at the hole again., and I cleaned the snot protruding out of my nose. It was that it was caused by the cold weather. My sensitivity to the cold is something I'm often not proud of. I can still be proud of it though. I can still be proud of it, and sometimes smile gladly whenever I could bring it up. To me, it was something interesting about myself. About me, there was something maybe more captivating and distracting. It was that I liked eating sand. I say this because I am prior to the act. So I grabbed a handful. God knows the rest.  I wasn't proud of that habit. It calmed my nerves that's all. Whenever I found myself in a nerve racking spectacle, I'd do it. Doing such an action whenever a great idea was coming to me, was also another fact.

  ‘’It must be new,’’ Samuel said, realizing.

  ‘’What?... you mean the hole?’’

  ‘’yes’’.

And I began to realize.

In my mind, I pictured a long tunnel, very long, rounded on the outside; it was unbreakable. Many buildings would begin to collapse on top of it. It began to break. In my mind, I saw the digging squad from my old school. A shrewd bunch. They looked up at the sky and began to picture the same thing. Something was wrong. I stood up, darted a bit: to the left and then to the right, in order to reduce my tension. I sat back down. I saw… then I saw it. I knew it. That pit of a hole was built by Samantha Manalla, a Polgan. She made it five years ago. My friends had played with it a lot when they were younger.

  ‘’it’s impossible, right? Someone must have rebuilt it’’. Samuel said.

What was impossible was that an unbreakable tunnel could break.

No one ever noticed, but that was the peculiarity about the hole that stood out always. No matter how much you tampered with it, no matter the elements of years taking its effects, it would still look freshly built. I didn't notice, until now; Edgar didn't see it, Patrick wouldn't have been interested even if he was given all the details about the reality of it; a dull boy that one. The truth about it would shock you. If you had all the detail, and you put it together, and you'd thought about it really well, you’d know that what I am about to speculate is the truth. I lack evidence but it's true. My method of thinking is often foundless, but Metaphysics to me is heaven. My shirt, however, is hell.

And we knew no one did. No one rebuilt the hole. I and Samuel knew that for a fact. And we resonated in that. And we worked together to bring up our foundless theory. We didn't doubt each other, not once. We didn't question our ideas. To us the ideas were none other than the illustrious intuition that God had blessed. God blessed it, and we’re using what God had blessed. We're allowed to.

  ‘’let's first brush off the premonition that the common folk would have,’’ Samuel said.

I completed his thought, saying, ‘’that evidently it would be the norm to think that it was rebuilt.’’

  ‘’To us, it wasn't, right?’’

  ‘’Of course. And what more do you have? I have quite a lot.’’

  ‘’Then you start first.’’

  ‘’Ok’’.

  ‘’...’’

  ‘’...’’

After a long enough silence, Samuel said, ‘’Michael, Your thoughts.’’

To which I replied, ‘’I’m not so sure anymore.’’

  ‘’I’ll start, but I want your contribution. I’m no longer pleased with you always stealing my ideas.’’

  ‘’I don't always steal your ideas. ’’

Samuel sighed. ‘’you can use my ideas to set up one for yourself. No more complete copying.’’

  ‘’...’’

  ‘’Michael’’.

  ‘’Ok, yes. Thank you.’’

Samuel, who was leaning towards me, leaned back and relaxed into his chair. He let out a soft moan as he closed his eyes and began to think.

  ‘’I’m guessing aliens. You?’’

  ‘’That's not enough. We need more,'’ I said, hastily. ‘'What else? What did the aliens do to the hole?’’

  ‘’I'm not continuing until you tell me what you're guessing too.’’

  ‘’I'm also guessing aliens.’’

  ‘’I wasn't guessing aliens. I was joking. I wanted to--’’

  ‘’Me too, I was just joking, hehe’’

  ‘’Michael!’’

  ‘’You told me that I could use your ideas to set up my own!’’

  ‘’Yes but no complete copying.’’

  ‘’I have to copy the foundations, the rest would be different. Isn't that the point of using an idea to set up another?’’

  ‘’No, no copying.’’

  ‘’Ok then, Mine is about aliens coming to rebuild it every night.’’

  ‘’But that's partly normal. I know you're more radical than that.’’

  ‘’I'm radical when I use your ideas as a foundation.’’

  ‘’You using it as a foundation is just blatant theft.

  ‘’And so?’’

  ‘’Are you finally admitting it?’’

  ‘’I'm not admitting anything.’’

  ‘’Whatever. I think it's the Toms. I saw Tom Thompson walk around that area more than anybody else.’’

  

Author's Note

It's an unfinished draft. sorry, i'll work on it.