Excerpt From Book, 1

(Excerpt and book still in progress, but here you go anyway)

Josh pulled up at 5 a.m. to McDonald's, a little hung over, but never the less ready to pull his weight at his wonderful minimum wage job.  He didn’t get right out of his blue Hyundai Elantra though.  Instead, he decided to wait for his favorite song to finish playing. He was a big Dave Matthews fan and the song Crash was almost done.  Closing the lids on his brilliant blue eyes, he leaned his head back and zoned out.  The song could put him in a better mood even if it was his grandmother that had just died.  The song finished up way to quickly for his liking and he reluctantly turned off his car, checked his hair one more time in the rear view mirror and headed in to get ready for work. 

            It was a beautiful morning.  The clouds were being painted faint hues of orange and pink by the slowly rising sun and there was a brisk breeze beckoning the imminent autumn.  It was a perfect day for a drive through the northern hills of Connecticut.  But instead, Josh had to be in this shit hole.  It wasn’t necessarily by choice, although if he thought about it, he could have done things differently.  But there was no time to think about the “could have”, “would have”, or for that matter, “should haves.”  If he didn’t walk in that door by quarter after five, his boss would have a fit. 

            His four other co-workers on the morning shift were just pulling up so he knew he would be fine.  Attempting to paste a smile on his face, Josh walked in the front door and headed to the employees’ only entrance that led to the cash registers behind the counter.  Before he could even make it that far, his boss came booking around the corner. His tie which was normally perfectly tied and straight was askew, the knot lob-sided and his shirt looking like it was pulled from the bottom of his laundry basket.

            “Hey,” his boss said sternly as he looked Josh up and down, “ go fix your shirt in the bathroom and then meet me in the back office ASAP.”

            “All right,” Josh stammered, stunned from the abrupt confrontation he had just endured.  He didn’t really mind the extra few minutes it would allow him to gather himself together and try and shake off the remainder of his hang over.  Once in the bathroom, he gripped both sides of the sink and stared into the mirror.  His 6 foot reflection stared back, all 180 pounds of it.  His shirt looked fine to him, a little baggy, but he smoothed it out nonetheless.  He ran his hands under the faucet and smoothed out his hair a little more.  His thin face looked fine to him, so his boss obviously didn’t have any objections with the way he looked.  Even though he hated this job, he still sought to look his best every day he worked, simply out of principal.  Finally satisfied with the way he looked, he headed out of the bathroom and back to the office where his boss was waiting. 

            He tried to walk as slow as possible to try and delay the inevitable, but as usual, he didn’t walk slow enough because he was there within seconds.  Whenever he was called to the office, he usually just walked right in, but this time he decided to knock. 

            “Come in,” muttered a gruff voice from within. 

            Josh slowly opened the door and entered the tiny excuse for an office with a nice big smile on his face, one that he hoped didn’t look too fake.  The office occupied a back corner of the restaurant and was barely larger than a standard office cubicle.  The walls were a sterile, hospital white, devoid of the grease stains that seemed to permeate every orifice of the fast food joint.  The ceiling tiles were old and grey with a few ancient water stains on them.  He was surprised that a desk, two chairs, and a filing cabinet could actually fit in there.  But, seriously, what did he care?  He had no intention on ever sitting in the crappy folding chair that bent precariously under the weight of his stout boss.

            “Have a seat Josh, we have a couple of things to talk about.” 

            His boss, Sam, glared wearily, the skin under his eyes sagged a little more than usual and a soft patina of grease reflected the stale fluorescent light above.  “What’s going on?” Josh asked almost inaudibly.

(To be continued)

Installment 1

I sit in a broken chair, surrounded by darkness except for a shape-shifting fire, incessantly mutating and dancing in the eddies of wind swirling around me and through the valley.  Tiny red and gold stars are shot upward, trailing maniacally until they blink and vanish, ash born into the trees beyond.  Its been a long day and it feels good to sink a little farther into the camp chair lilting precariously to the left, a cold bottle of beer sweating slowly through the mesh cupholder next to me.  Its halfway done now, the first half already settling in, hazing the edges of my consciousness, begging for more.  So who am I to resist.  I grab the neck of the bottle and lifting the brown glass to my lips, let the bubbly beverage, hissing and popping as it exits, course over my numb tongue and down the back of my throat.  I hold the last bit to exit the bottle over my tongue for a few seconds, eeking out that last bit of flavor before letting it flow downwards to join the rest already residing in my stomach.  As I place the bottle back in the cupholder, hitting the edge and almost wasting the rest, a gust of wind whistles wearily through the tree tops, coursing lower and lower until it whips around me, catching the dancing flames and sending them on a chaotic, possessed dance.  The flames twirl tightly together, dodging back and forth, penetrating and retreating till the gust moves past and they settle back down to a more normal, waltz like rhythm.  My mind is caught in the frenzy, yearning to follow the dancing flames and gust of wind, flying through the flapping leaves, rubbing gently against the rough bark of the trees gently pressing to and fro.  But my mind shrivels back in, hazing over a little more, freedom for the moment delayed.  I stare off the the trees, unable to see past the first layer of leaves, only able to imagine the dark world watching me from beyond.  The light shifts, shadows race back and forth, perpetually mutating into fantastic creatures, morphing into nightmarish ghouls and goblins.  A log crackles, drawing my mind back to the present, the lilting chair holding my sinking form,  the bottle still sweating, awaiting the next swig which will empty it completely of its contents.  I oblige the innuendos, how could I not.  The remaining brew wastes no time in completing the haze over my consciousness, finally reaching my eyelids.  It forces them lower and lower, till only a sliver of my cornea can gather the light.  I fight the weight.  It feels like my eyelids are tied by string to a winch that is slowly being cranked, any effort futile in resisting.  But still I try.  I close the left and manage a slight shift upwards in my right.  But it doesn't last long.  My left is closed for good and my right can do naught but succumb as well.  The bottle, still engulfed by my hand, slides slowly downward as all muscle tension disappears.  The bottle exits my hand and rockets for the ground below, my head immediately following suit.