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[mathmission]

So, I have decided to throw in a little bit of the novel that I am working on. It is a satire. It is written in very simple sentences. To give context to what is going on. The main character is walking around with a woman named Rachel, whom he met on the subway. He is in Washington DC, trying to find "Life Experience"

They are walking the streets of Washington DC...

--- Chapter 8, part 6---

We decided to walk to the Washington Memorial. We passed hundreds of people, all walking and holding hands. Some wore cameras around their necks. Other’s had sweaters tied around their waists. Children ran up and down the sidewalks, parents chasing behind. On the corner, a man with dark skin and a long beard sold “I ♥ America” shirts. He shouted very loud.

“I love America tee-shirts. 3 for $10.” He looked at me just as I passed. “Please Sir, 3 for $10. I need to feed my children.” Rachel and I walked on.

On the other side of the street, was a man standing on a box. He held a bible of their Lord in one hand, and a wooden cross in the other. He shouted, just like the nutbag selling tee-shirts. I was confused: why was everyone shouting? No one was more then a few feet apart. I was sure that everyone could hear just fine. We watched him as we passed by. He spoke in short sentences, with long pauses in between. He wore a suit and tie.

“He will come—he will come and save us—save us all from this Hell on Earth. He will strike terror into the hearts—deep into the hearts—of those who hate—and He will bring peace and joy—to those that love.” This sounded vaguely familiar.

“What’s the address,” I asked Rachel.

“1600,” she replied.

[Rockjaw]

Looks cool to me.:cool:

[mathmission]

Here's some more....


Rachel and I walked south on 15th Street. We could see the Washington Memorial straight ahead. The streets were packed. I heard a man say that the President of the United States of America was giving a speech at the Washington Memorial. That same man wore camouflage for a shirt despite the lack of foliage. He was a nutbag.
Rachel ran her fingers through her brown hair. I couldn’t help but notice. Her eyes were brown as well.
“You know, I never asked you what your name was.”
“That’s true.”
“So, what’s your name?”
“BDM,” I replied.
“B-D-M?” she asked.
“No, BDM, all together. Sounds sort of French, no?”
“I guess so.” She smiled, and looked at me for a moment. By that point, I had already fallen in love with her.
“So BDM, what do you do for a job?”
“I’m a teacher. I work for the Columbia Public Schools.”
“Awe, that’s sweet. Do you like working with children.”
“Sometimes,” I answered.
“Is that what you want to be doing?”
“Not really. I want to be a writer.”
“That sounds fun. Have you written anything so far?”
“I started a novel once.”
She shook her head. Her smile remained.
“So, what do you want to be?” I casually asked.
“I want to be a geneticist.”
“Wow,” I said. She was a nutbag.

-

I once asked bRAN what he thought of the profession of geneticist. He said “ernnnnnn.”

[mathmission]

Here is the first chapter, finished it last night--------

-----------

The lights began to fade, and once again, I had returned to the real world. Or so they called it. There were people all around me. They clapped for near 30 seconds before stopping, and talking with one another. I sat in a balcony seat at the somewhat restored Missouri Theatre, located on 9th Street, and Locust, in Columbia Missouri. It was October 28th, a Saturday, in the year of their Lord 2005. We had been watching a stage performance of Dracula. The first act had finished. It was around 8PM, Central Standard Time.
I didn’t think anything of it at the time. The play had been entertaining up to that point, and I had had a good time. My brother sat to my left. His name was bRAN. Sitting to my right was my brother’s friend. His name was Michael, but we all called him Ridge. It was easier.
Some people stood up to stretch their legs. Others got up to go to the bathroom. Some stretched, and popped their backbone. Crack crack crack.
Me, bRAN, and Ridge remained in our seats. We were nutbags.

-

The intermission was almost over. bRAN, Ridge and I had been having a conversation about college football, and their complete lack of sanity when it came to official rules. Both my brother and I agreed that college football was a sham. People that thought college football was better, than the National Football League were nutbags. But that’s not what this is about...
I was looking down at the stage when my brother started making the noise. Each time Ridge made a comment in attempt to balance the conversation, my brother made the noise of a game show buzzer. I smiled and watched the state, as well as the people mingling about in the balcony, as my brother listed off countless reasons on why he thought professional ball was better than college ball. He listed trait after trait of college ball that he disliked, and followed them all with his patented sound: errrrrrrn.
“Over time rules,” he said. “Errrrrrrn.”
“One foot in,” he said. “Errrrrrrn.”
“Stopping the clock to move the chains,” he said. “Errrrrrrn.”
I laughed so hard, my eyes began to water. This, as I see it, was the beginning of my quest.
No, I use that term too heavily. What I did afterward was certainly no quest. I was no Odysseus. At that point, I had no ideas what my future was to bring me. I was quite grateful, however.

-

bRAN and Ridge’s back and forth continued for several more minutes. I watched the stage, looking for any movement. The curtain wasn’t placed well, and from the balcony, I could see backstage. This, of course, is very bad for state performance crews.
We sat in the balcony per my suggestion. I always had enjoyed the balcony seat, rather than the floor. Perhaps I enjoyed having a higher view of things. Ridge was a trooper, and climbed his way up with bRAN and I. Just three days before the performance, Ridge injured his leg. He tore ligaments in his foot, and had to use crutches to get around. Kudos to Ridge for making it to the balcony.
I remember once, when a good friend of mine told me about a stage crew, and their importance for a performance. His name was Goldsmith, but we called him Goldie. It was easier.
“The very best crew of any production is one that no ever sees; one that no one ever knows is there.” Goldie retired several years before the stage play in Columbia. He liked cars, and used to teach a CAD course. He always said that the most important part of the visual performance was the unseen crew. Goldie was a nutbag. It happens.

-

I turned to Ridge, who insulted my brother with every negative phrase at his disposal. For some reason, however, my brother and Ridge decided to trade insults in sign language. They both were nutbags.
It was then, that I noticed the girl sitting in front of me. She stood, and stretched her legs. There were thin shiny legs, but not so thin as to call them toothpicks. Her hair was long, and brown. It was braided and hung down to her waist. She wore a tan and light green dress. I can’t be completely sure as to the color, though...
Back in the day, when my grandparents had sex, and made my mommy, they passed something very special to her. It was a secret gift, of sorts. Years later, when my mommy and daddy had sex, and made me, they passed this special secret gift to me. Since I was a boy, the special gift worked! Kudos to my grandfather.
This gift made the colors red and green hard for me to see. I saw red fine, and green fine, but when they were next to each other, or far away, or in the dark, it was hard for me to tell the difference. Yay colorblindness!
So, in the dark theatre, despite being only a few feel from me, it was hard for me to tell exactly what color her dress was. My best guess was tan and green.
The dress hung down to just above her knees. Oh, and she wasn’t wearing shoes—she wore cowboy boots. They were on the floor though. She was a nutbag. A cute one, though.

-

She must have noticed, at some point, that I was paying attention to her. She looked back at me several times while speaking to her boyfriend, who sat to her left. I tried to hide the fact that I was watching her, but by that point, it was mute. I casually looked down to her.
It might be important to tell you my history with women. I do find that it does play a large role in my life, as well as how I react to certain situations. But I think I’ll get to that later. I’m a nutbag. It happens.

-

She spoke to her boyfriend. I say boyfriend because I saw no ring on either of their fingers. But that certainly doesn’t mean they weren’t married. His name was Jimbo. I don’t know that to be a fact, but I will later explain. For now, his name was Jimbo.
She turned to Jimbo and looked him in the eye. She darted back and forth between Jimbo and me. I could only guess that she was checking to see if I was still watching. Of course, I was.
She leaned forward, gripped his face with her hand, and kissed him. The general reaction to a kiss, as I’ve taken notice to over the years, is to close one’s eyes, and enjoy the moment. She, however, kept her eyes open, and looked right at me. She pulled back and smiled to him. Then, as if from Europe, she kissed each side of his face, both times watching me. At this point, I didn’t try to hide the fact that I was watching. I kept my eyes on her.
She did this several times, over and over. That man—he was a lucky dude. But I bet he had no idea she was paying attention to me. HA!

-

The lights started to dim, and the second act, which lasted only 20 minutes, quite to my disappointment, started. She sat back down in her seat next to Jimbo, her knees pulled to her chest. She wore purple socks. Of course, again, I might have been mistaken. It was very dark with all the lights off. I looked closer in the last moments of light. There was a small pattern on them; white bunnies maybe. I couldn’t be sure, even if I tried.
Not being sure of anything was a universal truth I lived by. It was something I could always count on.
That might be a lie. I can’t be sure.

-

20 minutes later, after the death of our dear friend, Count Dracula, the lights turned back on and the audience commenced its round of clapping and cheering. I was mildly annoyed with the audience, who had clapped during each scene change. I can’t say that I’ve always been annoyed with audiences that don’t follow proper protocol when at a performance. It must have started back when I worked on the crew for Goldie.

-

Jimbo and the woman stood up. She slopped her cowboy boots on and walked away. She never looked back. I followed her out, my brother bRAN and Ridge just behind me. We exited the theatre, and I never saw her again. Dracula was dead. Dr. Van Helsing was a hero. The woman with the boots had caught my attention. Jimbo went on to be a lucky man until his premature death in the year of their Lord 2044 in a skiing accident. The crew of Dracula went home, never seen. And I, nearly 16 hours later, decided that I was a nutbag. It happens to the best of us. It also happens to people like me.

-

With this new information at hand, I decided that several life changes were not only appropriate, but necessary to my survival in this real world. Travel, among other things, became very important. The top priority: I needed to discover the new person I had become.

-

Of course, at the time, I had no idea that both Mr. Vonnegut and Rebecca already knew all of this. They had been just one step ahead of me. Mr. Vonnegut waited for me in Washington D.C., on Constitution Avenue. Rebecca waited for me on a subway car traveling downtown. I met them both several weeks later, during the last few days that my friend Willy existed.