the first ideas

here's the beginning for 3 chapters, any ideas?

My name is Billy Jones. I don’t think you or anyone else for that matter could think up a more generic name. John Smith might be close. I used to have an average life, if you consider a seventy hour work week tooling around a factory in a forklift moving an unending supply of boxes inexorably from dusk till dawn, dusk till dawn, dusk till dawn……a normal existence. Some might call it torture, especially a thinker like myself. I always felt I should’ve been a philosopher or mathematician or something where a lot of abstract thought goes on and you lose yourself in some problem, winding up sitting on the toilet one day and waking up, not knowing how long you have been there, but I digress…..I never thought I would meet a woman I would want to settle down with or come in contact with a real, true to life serial killer in the same day especially, but it happened. I’ll get to that.

I had worked at the Bream’s Canning and Dry Goods factory in Northeastern Arkansas, located not a stone’s throw from the Mississippi River, for nearly 7 years before my drug habit caught up with me. I started using speed one night when one of my friends told me it helped him stay awake. I thought, what the hell, I was always nodding off, to the point of almost causing a couple accidents. He gave me a couple pills and I swallowed them with some weak coffee.

The next thing I know, my mind is a pinball machine of ideas, love, and energy. I took to the job then like a man on fire. Looking back I guess everyone knew what I was on, but I guess they didn’t care- they were probably on it too. I looked forward to coming to work. I drove that forklift for all it was worth for 10 hours straight every night, not wanting breaks, although they were forced on me, and ready for more when the factory shut down for two hours for the cleaning crew. Everything was fine till Larry, the guy who had been supplying the speed was fired for some bullshit reason involving the boss. Last I heard he had moved to California. So I began to look for a replacement dealer.’

No one in the factory seemed to know what the hell I was talking about when I approached them with it. My performance and mental state started to slip so I quit. I had about ten thousand saved up so I could take a little vacation, I told myself.

I was sitting in a bar one night several days later, when this peculiar guy comes in. He’s wearing one of those tall, Dr.Seuss type hats, a referee’s black and white striped shirt and Bermuda shorts. No shoes. I’m thinking whoa, I better lay off that speed. But the kid, cause that’s all he was- just a kid with a big Roman nose and quixotic green eyes- came right over to the bar and took a stool next to me.

“What can I pleasure you with sir?” He asked in a rather loud voice, earnestly looking me in the eyes.

I turned towards him, “uh, what?” I said

“Hmmm…..” he said.

“Did you want a drink?”

“I drink only from the fount of life,” he said.

I smiled. “That’s nice. I like the hat,” I said half-sarcastically.

“Shall we step into the alley for the transaction?”

“Yeah, OK,”

I was half-smashed anyway, bummed cause I had no speed.

I tumbled out the door after him and we found ourselves in the alley.

He promptly opened his coat. For a minute I thought he was going to flash me, but then I saw he had a large array of small vials attached to the inside of his coat.

“May I opine, sir, the purple haze?”

“You may,” I said and chuckled.

“Your payment has already been received, oh, and a little dab’ll do ya!”

He handed me a small vial full of purple liquid and disappeared around a corner.

“What the f**k?” I thought.

I took a look at the vial and stuffed it in my pocket. I figured it was some kind of drug, who the f**k knows. I was really kind of curious about it so I walked around to my car which was parked in a gravel lot behind the bar. I got in and took out the vial. “I wonder how much a little is?” I muttered.

I unscrewed the cap and tipped the bottle onto my bare finger. Maybe I should taste it first. My thought was that if it was poison it would probably taste awful, but what the hell did I know. I put the small dab of the stuff on my finger onto my tongue and moved it around in my mouth. Didn’t taste like anything.

Nothing happened for about fifteen minutes. I was on my way home when I started feeling a little funny. That night I had sex with a giant supernatural spider and began a long honeymoon with many kinds of drugs. And I stopped talking.

Harry Pinser, his name for now, came too beneath a palm tree. A warm breeze wafted across his body. He looked down to see he was wearing what used to be a nice pin-striped blue suit. He had on one nice Italian leather shoe. His socks were wet which was uncomfortable so he stripped them off, along with the shoe. He looked up further to see that he was on a beach with the ocean breaking and making regular sussurations. In his hand was a cell phone- a pretty nice one by the looks of it- one of those nice flip phones. It had the name Kyocera across its plastic cover. He was surprised to find it fully charged.

Harry got up and began to walk down the beach, searching for someone that might clue him in on what he was doing there, since he had no memories of anything. All he knew was that his name was Harry Pinser. He said it aloud and cocked his head, feeling like he was discovering his name for the first time. After walking a while along the beach he went back to the shade of the scrub brush and palms. There didn’t seem to be anyone around. He listened intently for some time but again only the ocean was all he could hear.

He went to sleep again and was tormented by a terrible nightmare. He awoke in sweat sometime past sundown. He had been in a small plane high above the earth. There was blood on his hands and a wild-eyed woman was standing near the edge of an open bay wearing a parachute. He said, “what’s your name lady?” His voice was one of a child.

Then she went weak-kneed and fell out of the plane.

　

Sonja Jacobson got off work at the First National Bank at exactly five o-clock. She was happy it was a Friday, especially this Friday because her and her best friend Kandy were going canoeing down Spring River that weekend. She was glad to be able to get out of town. It had been a rough couple of weeks since the terrible events down in Mexico had all but destroyed her life. She still couldn’t believe her husband of 7 wonderful years was gone. Mark had been the perfect man: kind, considerate, and a tiger in bed. She still cried whenever she thought of him.

Author's Note

help me develop this story- we could make a million bucks!