ThatSmokingGuy

The kid had been interested in that kind of thing for months now. His interest grew and tickled in the back of his mind, like an itch.

He looked up information on the internet and borrowed books from the public library. He even walked the five or so miles to the university to do research. Nothing he read was quite as interesting as the small, dusty paperback he’d found at the local two dollar shop that had started it all. He kept it beside his bed and read it continuously. He read it so much he had to finally invest in a roll of clear seal to protect the worn cover.

He sat on his bed and stared at the book. It seemed to emit a strange kind of power that radiated toward him, though he knew that was only his imagination. Probably the people who first read Shakespeare felt the same way. Like great truths were being handed to them, enlightening them.

Fuck Shakespeare, this thing was the bible.

And fuck the dramatic comparisons to great literature because, after all it was just a two dollar paperback. A great read yeah, but lets not go overboard.

Todd was an intelligent 16 year old and he was polite enough not to laugh at those who put stock in religion or some philosophy or another, but he did hold them in contempt. Just a tiny little bit. Maybe it was his upbringing.

He picked the book up and held it in his hand. A book that looked like any other book.

His mother called to him from downstairs. Her voice floated up the stairs like phantoms from a castle dungeon. “Five o’clock, Ray, you better get going. Have you finished packing?”

He shouted back that he had. He slipped the book quickly into his backpack and buckled the leather strap. He slung the pack over his shoulder, and looked at his feet. There lay a bulky suitcase, and he picked it up, groaning a little at the weight. Finally he bent over and caught his sleeping bag duffle cord between his teeth.

His mother chuckled softly when he trudged down and spat out the sleeping bag.
“What’s the boy scout motto again?” She said, smiling, “be prepared? Are you sure you don’t want to take the kitchen sink?”

“I’m not a boy scout, and I don’t need the sink, but I could do without the five or six cinder blocks that seem to have packed themselves into my suitcase.”

“My poor baby!” She cried, trotting around the Formica breakfast bar and taking his face in her Palmolive soft hands.

“Mum…gerrof!” He pushed her away.

“You’re not too old for a smooch, kiddo.” She wore a bright yellow skirt with a black flower motif. Whenever she moved it rustled against her legs like a secret.

They came and picked him up half an hour later. Sven’s dad drove a bright blue station wagon that he proclaimed, with pride, was made in Sweden. Todd thought that was great, and that it was the brightest blue he’d ever seen. He also thought that paint seemed slapped on with a house brush. It was thick and syrupy and made him feel like he was stepping inside a giant M&M.

“Hi Sven, Carl, how’s it?”

Two sets of eyes looked him over. His mom was chatting to Mr. Hodge and her light, pretty laugh tinkled against the windows. “Pretty cool, dude. Looking forward to it?”

Todd twisted in his seat, pulled out the seatbelt cord and clicked it home. “Yeah of course. Well, kinda. Actually I’m not sure. Hope they have some fun activities.”

Sniggers. “Yeah sure, activities. Whatever you say, dude.”

Todd glanced up, made sure Mr. Hodge’s eyes were diverted in the rearview mirror, then leaned in and nonchalantly punched Sven in the arm. Sven grinned, punched him back and offered him half a Snickers bar. He chewed on it thoughtfully as the bright blue Scodia station wagon backed out. Mother was waving to him and he waved back, watching the yellow skirt, (with black flower motif), swirl and swirl.

He slept most of the way. He even dreamt, but he didn’t know of what. He had a vague idea it was about stars.

They pulled into the camp site at 8.30. It was already dark, but a string of light bulbs hung over the courtyard and lit up the main meeting area. Groups of kids and adults stood chatting and watching each other, making noises and excited yelps and laughing into the night. Todd thought maybe, beyond the wood cabins, someone had lit a bonfire because the shadows flickered slightly there.

He was anxious to get out of the giant M&M and explore. Sven and Carl were wriggling in their seats and yelling out hellos to friends as Mr. Hodge pulled the handbrake with a riiiiiiiiip.



And then the author ran out of inspiration and slung his weary head against his hands.

saintoflight

oh comeon, more, more. No seriously only add when you're ready cause other wise you'll end ruining a perfectly good story. Continue in your own time i'd be interested to see where it goes.

ThatSmokingGuy

I might, but I've got a few other things I'm tinkering around with ATM.

slayerofangels

Maybe its just me but for some reason I felt that the story was being narrated in a gruff voice by a cranky, fifty-something african american doctor. It added spice to it.

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For Sale: One soul. Mint condition, never been used.

Battle not with monsters lest ye become a monster. And if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you. - Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

ThatSmokingGuy

lol, great comment. Cliff Huxtable after a hard day at work prehaps?

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There's a club where you want to go, you could meet someone...who really loves you.

cellardoor

If you manage to become a serious, published writer (and it doesn't look too far off when I read parts of this story) you're gonna have deadlines. This same problem happens to artists. They think their craft is all free and flowing, and it can't be distracted by things like deadlines, but if you don't meet the deadline you're screwed. Sometimes you just have to force it out.

But, yeah don't ruin it. Force it out gooooooood

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If I make it as a writer, I'll write for the hobo, not the professor.

xShort_Cakex

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--Nikki.

Raging_Hopeful

Oh wow... the title had me in stitches for a while. But yeah, this piece is really excellent and I'd like to see more. Thrill me!! Keep writing!

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kalrarii

Awesome topic title. ~_^

But yeah, I say keep going. There's an awesome voice, suspense, all that stuff you need. n,n Keep writing! But if you want to, keep tinkering with all the other stuff.

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"Er... no? Unless cold water is hiding some odd stimulant that I'm not aware of."