:: blame the extended gestation.... ::

:: Wednesday, July 24, 2002 ::

This is where the story start. Right here. This is where you the reader begin to follow along to my little hum-dee-dum. What I'm thinking is that you're going to hate it. What i'm thinking is, this is a waste of both our time. But i'm not going to tell you that. Instead i'm merely going to mention that this is where the story begins.

Like every story it just starts. Go to the library. Go to the second floor. Third to last row. Go to the top shelf. Yes the one all the way at the end of the aisle. Go grab any book on that specific shelf, and that story will begin just like this one does.

Unless you happend to hit the New Age/Occult section.

In which case you'll read about how this is a manual for the beginner. That you are a beginner. And that you too can learn Numerology. All those bad things in your life won't be so bad any more. It'll tell you this and you'll read on. By page four you'll be asking yourself about why your mother didn't love you. You'll do this because I asked you to. Not outright...but subtley. And you're hooked.

Don't worry. This isn't that book. I hope to god you didn't find me on that random top shelf that fucking ended up being the New Age/Occult section. This is a story. One of those of scary books. The kind of book your neighbor Ed's kid, the one that sits in his room all day and wears all black in 90 degree summer heat worships. My picture, the hero, is on this kids wall. Thats how fucking good this book is. But you don't know that yet. I really hope you stick around. I really hope I stick around.

But getting back to where I left off.

This is the begining. A story about love. A story about obsession. A story about a man who sleeps with an Ax under his bed and dreams of some day killing childern.

That guy, you'll see him in chapter 6.

I promise.

Now back to this story. Please keep on reading. I'm begging you. I know i've got nothing else to do but tell it. I know you've got nothing better to do than read it. We're both shit out of luck. There really isn't anything for us to do put pass the time before we die and take note of the random characters, the strange ones, that we run into and seem a little bit more interesting than the rest of this grey drab emptyness you're Aunt Marie calls God's great blessing.

Don't get me wrong. I don't have anything against God. I just think he has bad taste. By the end of this you'll probably think I too have bad taste. Price you pay for being God I guess. May as well give away--if I haven't already--this is just a story. This is not a great blessing or even a blessing at all. And so we begin...

The kid had given me a funny look. He had been sitting two booths over from me drinking his cup of coffee. This kid told the waitress everything. All his little secrets. Apperently his cousin had commited suicide. This blue haired little devil went on and on about it. The overweight waitress Patty. She couldn't care less. But this kid, I don't even think he was talking to anybody really, this kid went on. Apperently he ran away from home at 12 got his G.E.D. by mail. Was accepted to Havard Business School last week. Apperently this kid--Tom, I would later find out--was a liar.

Tom.

This is where my story begins. And I really hope you're hooked cause I can't make you turn the page. But I will say this. On page four I will tell you why your mother never loved you.

I promise.

:: Jim Nichols 7/24/2002 01:59:00 AM [+] ::
...