Chapters 1-3

 

chapter | one

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In this little town, all of the ordinary houses are lined up in rows like quaint little boxes, and these long rows of boxes stretch farther then the eye can see. Each of the ordinary houses possesses a layer of paint that was an acceptable normal shade of a pastel color and properly trimmed bushes. The boxes all were identical to one another in size, shape and design and covered everything. The road way that the boxes encompassed was pure black pavement and never bent or curved; it remained straight as an arrow as it intersected other roads. All of the ordinary individuals that lived in the tiny little cases awake from their dreamless slumbers at the same time, each of them planting there feet on the hard would floor that adorns all of their bed rooms precisely all at once. Not too long after the unexcitable humans begin the new properly scheduled day, they are put into their metal boxes with four uninteresting wheels that go in a perfect circular motion in an unending cycle of monotony as the lives of the men and women who guide their motions are. The cars go down the patch work patterns of streets in a long river to their jobs where they are put into even more boxes, tiny cubicles where they work all day pushing tiny keys on a computer to complete the daily tasks assigned to them. The honeycomb of the small squares with workers inside is over seen by fluorescent light tubes which observe the completion of work and progress to the finished product which is nothing. Nothing is accomplished by the hard work done in the itsy bitsy boxes but shh, those people don’t need to know that; they don’t need to know a lot of things. People have been given a purpose in their boxes and its okay for them to push pencils for their precious nothingness, what you don’t know can hurt you, but it will hurt a lot less.

               When my feet hit the floor that one day of when things were different I could tell that things would be different by the way the hardwood floor that adorned all the other bed rooms around; the floor felt different. I walked over to the window, breaking my usual morning ritual, and I looked at all the other ordinary houses are lined up in rows like quaint little boxes, and these long rows of boxes stretch farther then the eye can see. Each of the ordinary houses possesses a layer of paint that was an acceptable normal shade of a pastel color and properly trimmed bushes. The boxes all were identical to one another in size, shape and design and covered everything. The road way that the boxes encompassed was pure black pavement and never bent or curved; it remained straight as an arrow as it intersected other roads. I stepped away from the window and away the window stepped from me. I turned a normal 90 degrees to my dresser slash desk where I sat down on my rolling chair that was able to spin in a perfect circular motion in an unending cycle of monotony as the lives of the men and women who guide their motions are. I sat in the chair and stared at myself in the window; unnormal green eyes staring back. I was only wearing a pair of red and black basket ball shorts and I looked up and down at my bare torso; nothing special, I had a flat hard stomach, not blessed with abs and a strong sturdy chest. My skin was sickly pale and marked with the markings of birth. I stroked my long blonde hair back and looked at my not so normal eyes. Green eyes are a mutation you know? They shouldn’t exist. They were as green as a clover; they were clovers, two clovers hovering on my face. I put on my uniform for the day, a plain light blue shirt, athletic fit. I then realized that I had yet to shower but I would leave that to later and I did not think it wasteful to put on my shirt in a wasteful manner but it was not a wasteful manner for I did not find it wasteful for I would no want to be sitting down, eating breakfast with my family shirtless.

               I exchanged my ordinary box of a room for my normal box of a kitchen. My family sat around a rectangular table that was covered in the breakfast food that my mom had most likely prepared all morning. I sat down to join my fellow homo sapiens in the act of consumption and started the act of consumption. I sat there, just sitting there, watching and listening, listening and watching to my family gossip about the people who dare to do the things that are considered not normal; normally I would love to hear my family gossip about the people who dare to do the things that are considered not normal, but the air that their sound waves traveled through was different on that day and I was different on that day. I ate my bacon, my sausage, my toast and most hesitantly of all, the eggs. I ate my eggs most hesitantly of all. I always do. It’s weird to think about it though; I am eating a bird fetus. Yes. I am eating a bird fetus. I do not like to think like that but the electrical impulses in my brains force me to think in this particular way.

               As I completed shoving chicken fetuses into my mouth, my clovers passed over the faces of my family members. Oh how I still hate them. All of them. People ask me “Oh my lord! How can you hate your own family!?” I personally do not get this idea of loving ones family; one does not get the chance to choose this love? I am forced to love someone? To develop a strong feeling for them? They have not given me a reason to love them but I must? There is no logic in that. Logic can not be found in that.

               That is beside the point however. Maybe it is the point. Maybe. I am not sure to be honest if the pointlessness of that is linked to the point which is the point of everything which is the pointlessness. Its very confusing and it only get even move confusing as we progress. Anyway. They talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked. I observed them as they talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked and I had gotten lost in their words. They just kept going on and never stopped. They talked about other people and never anything constructive. They would never say these things to the people they were talking about for that would just not be very, well, normal. As my mom collected the plates my clovers watched the other people who shared similar genes converse. I had an abnormally large family; an 18 year old sister named Maria, little old me who responds to the shouting of Andrew, a twelve year old sister known as Tyra, and a little child thing, Domenic. Well, it’s large in my town.

               It is unimportant how, but, I came back into my room and laid on nice comfortable bed for awhile and contemplated why this day felt so not normal as opposed to the plain normalness that plagues the town like spontaneous erections to adolescent boys. If only you knew the trouble they caused. Yes, anyway allow that to be my segue into the wonderful world of inserting rod A into slot B. It’s pointless. I find it to be so not worth my time. I’m not getting any younger you know.

               Okay its time to get serious (I will continue later). Hello my name is Andrew Corinth, the 312^th. I was not lying when I said it will only get more confusing from here on out. I do not even know how to tell you this. Okay I am going to continue my course of action and telling you the events of the events that allowed me to see the things that would like me to convey these events to you so you can know the truth. But wait. What a dilemma. No, this in an exception. An exception is what this is.

               I got up off my bed and pulled out a pair of worn out jeans and some new fresh ordinary boxer briefs. I walked into the bath room and began to run the shower water. I peeled off my shirt off of my chest and threw it on the floor next to my jeans and boring underwear. I then took of my basket ball shorts and tossed them aside. I checked the temperature of the shower water; not hot enough. Its temperature was not what I wanted it to be. I wanted the temperature to be higher. I took off my dirty under wear. I put one hand on the side of the sink and stared my self down in the mirror and I used my other hand and its digits to comb through my hair. My eyes were eye to eye, clover to clover, optical sensory organ to optical sensory organ. I stepped back. Okay people I sometimes like to think of myself as an attractive person but okay I’m going to speed past this because you don’t want to read this but yea whatever. I ran my hand over my skin which had a light layer of newly developed hair. Okay. Enough of th-. . I told you they were a problem. I hopped right into the shower and let the water wash over my whole body and it consumed my head has I lets it wash through my greasy hair. Even the water was different; not normal, abnormal, un-average, strange, peculiar. I took my lovely bar of soap and traversed my skin; its suds covered my body; just another part of my morning ritual, an unending chain of doing my little duties to get to the final product of nothingness.

               I can not tell you how long I spent looking down at my feet on the base of the shower. I just let my head hang there as the hot water slid down my back and my chest, as it moved down my hairy legs and off my feet down to the drain. I felt so, dare I say it, weird.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

chapter 2 two

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

               So, I have no way to explain this other than saying the straight events of what happened and maybe you will be able to draw your own conclusions and you may draw the incorrect conclusion, well, you will have the wrong conclusion and that’s your own problem; not mine. You may think I am a jerk for well not explaining but I do think it is necessary for you to get intelligent and understand what I am trying to convey.  Do understand that it’s very confusing. But okay.

               I was standing there letting the water fall down my body, I let the dirt of the day prior wash off my skin and wash down the drain and then somehow end up back on me yet again. My muscles felt a lot less soar in the warmth of the shower and ran my hands over my body. I squirted the wonderful combination of shampoo and conditioner in my hair and the lathered it in each of the thin untamable fibers and washed it out. The suds came down my sides and chest, down my legs, taking my grease into the system of pipes.

               I ended my insignificant little shower and exited the facility. I stood in the bathroom, damp, and to be honest, still not completely awake. I took a towel and dried attempted to dry me mess of soggy hair. Alright, my hair, it never ever ever looks good. I then began to take my towel and move from my feet up, drying. I dried my legs and used my towel to dry other areas, and then my chest and arms,

               That’s enough of that. I think I got to into this; like I said I have no idea how to deliver this message and you need to bear with me.  Let us look at our options here; I could: a, go step by step, explaining the daily events on that day, b, only get to the good, vital information, or c, just explain IT. Lets examine our options. C, where is the fun in that!? If I were to just explain it, it would be boring, No fun, hon. And determining things for your self given the information would help you understand things better. So lets improve your thinking skills. B, if little old me were to give you the only important information, that just defeats the purpose of you reading this, That would be boring, BORING. So. I think the best thing to do in this situation that has fallen upon us is to continue what I was doing and just explain the day,

               I think we can really get started now.

In this little town, all of the ordinary houses are lined up in rows like quaint little boxes, and these long rows of boxes stretch farther then the eye can see. Each of the ordinary houses possesses a layer of paint that was an acceptable normal shade of a pastel color and properly trimmed bushes. The boxes all were identical to one another in size, shape and design and covered everything. The road way that the boxes encompassed was pure black pavement and never bent or curved; it remained straight as an arrow as it intersected other roads. All of the ordinary individuals that lived in the tiny little cases awake from their dreamless slumbers at the same time, each of them planting there feet on the hard would floor that adorns all of their bed rooms precisely all at once. No too long after the unexcitable humans begin the new properly scheduled day, they are put into their metal boxes with four uninteresting wheels that go in a perfect circular motion in an unending cycle of monotony as the lives of the men and women who guide their motions are. The cars go down the patch work patterns of streets in a long river to their jobs where they are put into even more boxes, tiny cubicles where they work all day pushing tiny keys on a computer to complete the daily tasks assigned to them. The honeycomb of the small squares with workers inside is over seen by fluorescent light tubes which observe the completion of work and progress to the finished product which is nothing. Nothing is accomplished by the hard work done in the itsy bitsy boxes but shh, those people don’t need to know that; they don’t need to know a lot of things. People have been given a purpose in their boxes and its okay for them to push pencils for their precious nothingness, what you don’t know can hurt you, but it will hurt a lot less.

               When my feet hit the floor that one day of when things were different I could tell that things would be different by the way the hardwood floor that adorned all the other bed rooms around; the floor felt different. I walked over to the window, breaking my usual morning ritual, and I looked at all the other ordinary houses are lined up in rows like quaint little boxes, and these long rows of boxes stretch farther then the eye can see. Each of the ordinary houses possesses a layer of paint that was an acceptable normal shade of a pastel color and properly trimmed bushes. The boxes all were identical to one another in size, shape and design and covered everything. The road way that the boxes encompassed was pure black pavement and never bent or curved; it remained straight as an arrow as it intersected other roads. I stepped away from the window and away the window stepped from me. I turned a normal 90 degrees to my dresser slash desk where I sat down on my rolling chair that was able to spin in a perfect circular motion in an unending cycle of monotony as the lives of the men and women who guide their motions are. I sat in the chair and stared at myself in the window; unnormal green eyes staring back. I was only wearing a pair of red and black basket ball shorts and I looked up and down at my bare torso; nothing special, I had a flat hard stomach, not blessed with abs and a strong sturdy chest. My skin was sickly pale and marked with the markings of birth. I stroked my long blonde hair back and looked at my not so normal eyes. Green eyes are a mutation you know? They shouldn’t exist. They were as green as a clover; they were clovers, two clovers hovering on my face. I put on my uniform for the day, a plain light blue shirt, athletic fit. I then realized that I had yet to shower but I would leave that to later and I did not think it wasteful to put on my shirt in a wasteful manner but it was not a wasteful manner for I did not find it wasteful for I would no want to be sitting down, eating breakfast with my family shirtless.

               I exchanged my ordinary box of a room for my normal box of a kitchen. My family sat around a rectangular table that was covered in the breakfast food that my mom had most likely prepared all morning. I sat down to join my fellow homo sapiens in the act of consumption and started the act of consumption. I sat there, just sitting there, watching and listening, listening and watching to my family gossip about the people who dare to do the things that are considered not normal; normally I would love to hear my family gossip about the people who dare to do the things that are considered not normal, but the air that their sound waves traveled through was different on that day and I was different on that day. I ate my bacon, my sausage, my toast and most hesitantly of all, the eggs. I ate my eggs most hesitantly of all. I always do. It’s weird to think about it though; I am eating a bird fetus. Yes. I am eating a bird fetus. I do not like to think like that but the electrical impulses in my brains force me to think in this particular way.

               As I completed shoving chicken fetuses into my mouth, my clovers passed over the faces of my family members. Oh how I still hate them. All of them. People ask me “Oh my lord! How can you hate your own family!?” I personally do not get this idea of loving ones family; one does not get the chance to choose this love? I am forced to love someone? To develop a strong feeling for them? They have not given me a reason to love them but I must? There is no logic in that. Logic can not be found in that.

               That is beside the point however. Maybe it is the point. Maybe. I am not sure to be honest if the pointlessness of that is linked to the point which is the point of everything which is the pointlessness. Its very confusing and it only get even move confusing as we progress. Anyway. They talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked. I observed them as they talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked and I had gotten lost in their words. They just kept going on and never stopped. They talked about other people and never anything constructive. They would never say these things to the people they were talking about for that would just not be very, well, normal. As my mom collected the plates my clovers watched the other people who shared similar genes converse. I had an abnormally large family; an 18 year old sister named Maria, little old me who responds to the shouting of Andrew, a twelve year old sister known as Tyra, and a little child thing, Domenic. Well, it’s large in my town.

               It is unimportant how, but, I came back into my room and laid on nice comfortable bed for awhile and contemplated why this day felt so not normal as opposed to the plain normalness that plagues the town like spontaneous erections to adolescent boys. If only you knew the trouble they caused. Yes, anyway allow that to be my segue into the wonderful world of inserting rod A into slot B. It’s pointless. I find it to be so not worth my time. I’m not getting any younger you know.

               Okay its time to get serious (I will continue later). Hello my name is Andrew Corinth, the 312^th. I was not lying when I said it will only get more confusing from here on out. I do not even know how to tell you this. Okay I am going to continue my course of action and telling you the events of the events that allowed me to see the things that would like me to convey these events to you so you can know the truth. But wait. What a dilemma. No, this in an exception. An exception is what this is.

               I got up off my bed and pulled out a pair of worn out jeans and some new fresh ordinary boxer briefs. I walked into the bath room and began to run the shower water. I peeled off my shirt off of my chest and threw it on the floor next to my jeans and boring underwear. I then took of my basket ball shorts and tossed them aside. I checked the temperature of the shower water; not hot enough. Its temperature was not what I wanted it to be. I wanted the temperature to be higher. I took off my dirty under wear. I put one hand on the side of the sink and stared my self down in the mirror and I used my other hand and its digits to comb through my hair. My eyes were eye to eye, clover to clover, optical sensory organ to optical sensory organ. I stepped back. Okay people I sometimes like to think of myself as an attractive person but okay I’m going to speed past this because you don’t want to read this but yea whatever. I ran my hand over my skin which had a light layer of newly developed hair. Okay. Enough of tha. . I told you they were a problem. I hopped right into the shower and let the water wash over my whole body and it consumed my head has I lets it wash through my greasy hair. Even the water was different; not normal, abnormal, un-average, strange, peculiar. I took my lovely bar of soap and traversed my skin; its suds covered my body; just another part of my morning ritual, an unending chain of doing my little duties to get to the final product of nothingness.

               I can not tell you how long I spent looking down at my feet on the base of the shower. I just let my head hang there as the hot water slid down my back and my chest, as it moved down my hairy legs and off my feet down to the drain. I felt so, dare I say it, weird.

I was standing there letting the water fall down my body, I let the dirt of the day prior wash off my skin and wash down the drain and then somehow end up back on me yet again. My muscles felt a lot less soar in the warmth of the shower and ran my hands over my body. I squirted the wonderful combination of shampoo and conditioner in my hair and the lathered it in each of the thin untamable fibers and washed it out. The suds came down my sides and chest, down my legs, taking my grease into the system of pipes.

               I ended my insignificant little shower and exited the facility. I stood in the bathroom, damp, and to be honest, still not completely awake. I took a towel and dried attempted to dry me mess of soggy hair. Alright, my hair, it never ever ever looks good. I then began to take my towel and move from my feet up, drying. I dried my legs and used my towel to dry other areas, and then my chest and arms, I took another look in the mirror out of teenage vanity and then got dressed with new underwear, my light blue shirt and warn jeans all torn and ripped. I cracked my knuckles and left the bathroom, slamming the door behind me with teenage angst. I walked back over to my room and picked up my school bag so full of books that could not stand up straight. I think my right arm had gotten a great deal stronger swinging it onto my back every morning.

               The top floor did not have a hallway as much as it had a foyer. When I exited my room I came to a square area that had hardly any wall, but doors and the stairs. I ran down the stairs, slamming my foot on each and every step, making as much noise as possible with my teenage angst. I did not say a word to anyone until I came to the screen door and shouted “Good bye!”

               The front lawns of all the surrounding houses were well groomed, well manicured, and looked well. The side walked that my sneakers dragged along was absolutely a flat surface of hard, sturdy cement, perfect; no cracks, that stretched down the sides of the cascading metal box car things, bringing those people to there pointless application of over 15 years of studies. I walked down the path and looked at my feet. I did not collide with any other careless pedestrian as I normally do; I just listened to the sounds of the world around me and inhaled its fumes. The world has an interesting sound you know. Not too many people stop to hear it. Birds chirp. Cars beep. Leaves shake. People talk. Things just happen and they all come together and just blend into the background. Rarely is there anytime where the world is not conducting its orchestra. Then. Then we have the smell of gasoline. The odor of people’s carelessness. It’s tragic, it really is. The fragrance of flowers is eclipsed by the ejection of fuel.

               As I was making these observations, I trotted through the complex of identical houses until I reached the corner slash bus stop. I dropped my bag on the concrete and my a*s followed. I sat down Indian style, not caring what the other gathering mass of testosterone and estrogen thought. Then I waited. And, I listened. I listened to these stupid teenagers conversations. I wondered if they thought that that was a good use of there time. They talked about people they had a crush on, the new reality T.V. show, and there problems. “Problems.” You are not out of high school; you do not have real legitimate problems. A pimple is not a problem. These kids do not understand the fact that they have been given time to live. Some things weren’t given time to live. That bird fetus that I had eaten an hour before had no time, and I can guarantee you that it would have come up with a better use of that time.

               Then, through the mindless banter, I heard the conversation about sexual intercourse, f*****g, knocking boots, gettin’ you mac on, canoodling, however these piles of zits and periodic fluids like to put it these days. Pointless. Do not waste your time in pursuing it. Do not go out of your way for it. It’s a great thing, believe me, but, do not get caught up in it. Some of these children nowadays main topic of conversation is “She’s hot, he’s cute, check you those knockers and that girl.” It’s a sad, sad world. I refuse to be caught up in that. As you may have already figured out, I am not a lover, I am not a fighter, I am a thinker. And that is how I use my time.

               The bus had finally eased up along side the road. Its doors opened with that strange sound it makes and in an orderly fashion, all of the teenagers came into the steel box. I sat in the back of course. Some people have this misconception that I have no friends because people do not like me. Wrong. To tell you the truth everyone loves me and my charm and most of all my wit. I just don’t like them. There are people who I can stand. A select few.

               From my vantage point in the back of the bus I did what I do best; I observe. I observed the cheer leader flirting with the quarter back. I observed the nerds collaborate into quadruple checking their home work. I observed the fat girl sit alone with her head down. I observed to social clock work of high school students. The perfect grinding gears of a student body. It’s all part of the plan. The way it works.

               If I had a chalk board at this time, I would draw for you a series of lines connecting to people. Red lines is the bond of hate that is meant to be put in place between two bodies, blue is the link of friendship, and pink is the one that exemplifies who can go out with who. You would see a convoluted mess of lines up there, A complicated web, carefully woven by the way things are supposed to be, There is a repeating pattern and that pattern has always been repeated, Its fate (I will get into that later) for some people to be socially scorn. I apologize if you are one of those people.

               And, the pink lines. I do not think they should be drawn at all. One will not marry that person. Are these relationships just practice? There is no need for them. But, at the same time there is. It’s all part of the plan. These are made just so there can be drama. Sweet dramatic drama. Yes. They only cause “problems” and these “problems” are very entertaining. I want this life to be as un-boring as possible so when I day and fall into oblivion, I die like a man who leaves the movie theatre giddy with joy that his movie ticket got him a fast good thrill.

               It’s very confusing, the viscous high school socialite mess of distrust and complete pointlessness.

               These pathetic people are at a time in there lives where they can mold themselves while the clay of there brains are still soft, but they waste it. They waste this golden opportunity to break free of this series of patterns and what so plagues this town like spontaneous erections to adolescent boys. I bet the bird fetus would not have done that, I wish I could help them see that they can change and maybe change things. They do not even try in school and they do not care enough about anything to do anything. You may think that they will go no where, but they hit the real world and switch is flicked. They transform. They did not mold their own brains so this world does it for them. They become normal and almost as pointless as there conversations once were. Then, they can be picked up, carried over, and be put into a little box. In this little cubicle of theirs, they can press keys on a computer and operate small things, flick some switches of their own. Fluorescent lights over their tiny empty heads, they can just keep on doing what they are doing. It’s all part of the plan.

               People there have lost there chance, but now its time for me to have mine, and I will make the best of it while I still can.

               I still sat there. That seat all the way in the back of the big yellow school bus. The seats that are in school busses are one of the most uncomfortable things ever devised by man. Under their cheap plastic exterior is a mess of coils and springs with some padding as an attempt to make it seem comfortable.

               I put my head against the window and looked out side. I could not tell where I was as usual for everything looked the same as usual. More cube-like houses just kept emerging out of the horizon and disappeared behind me. It was almost as if I was not the one moving, but the houses were being mass produced in a cooperate factory and were moving on a conveyer belt of to be shipped.

               It’s tragic.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

chapter 3 three

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

               What can I say about Bri Marlette that hasn’t been said before? Nothing. So many people talk about her that there is not one word in the English language that I can use. Her hair is the perfect shade of blonde, her skin if fair, not pale; fair. Her eyes are a nice normal blue. She dressed appropriate for every occasion. I never saw her raise her voice and about that voice, it was a lovely normal ladylike voice. When I got off of the bus I saw here across the school yard. She sneezed with her tiny button nose. Today she was wearing a light pink sweater with a white tank top underneath, and a jeans skirt that was not too low or too high. She had a pearl necklace and earings on. They made her look a great deal older.

               She was the girl who the entire foot ball team wanted to have intercourse with just because she was that set on not having it. Her virginity was like a shiny vase in the living room, your mom tells you not too touch it and you know you can’t, but that only makes you want to lay your hands on it even more. Pay attention. She was a classic beauty. She was a good student. She was not pointless. I slowly inched closer to her position across the school yard. I was a tad nervous. We knew each other though. She was one of the select few. I got closer. And closer. And closer.

               I was not exactly sure how this fit into the pattern, but I did not care,

               I got closer, I ventured through the groups of different kids. I looked at her. She looked at me.

               But then.

               I looked past her. Only for a second. I realized at that one moment, the one singular moment, that this was not part of the plan.

               Right past Bri’s locks of beautiful ordinary blonde hair I saw them. Two beautifully odd black eyes. They stared me down from twenty feet away. I stared back. My clovers were wide open. They looked away. I blinked. I walked up to Bri and said hello and then I said good bye. I walked past her.

 

Author's Note

It doesnt make sense til the end and its like a work in progress idk

Reviews

[Bella]

Wow! These chapters were really great. The characterization was so good. It feels as if the main character is a real person; their personality is very well developed. Great write.

Whoa. This book has really captured my interest so far. I love the personality of the main character. It's brilliant. At the beginning of the book the point of view really drew me into the story. Good job!