So im gonna post it here with the question: Should i continue and get it published? Please let me know what you think.
This is a strait copy from an MS word doc so sorry bout the gaps, and some words have been changed by the Source filters (i ran this through X2 Source first but i want a wider opinion) so if it sounds strange its probably ruder than what it reads.
*WARNING: MAY STILL CONTAIN BAD LANGUAGE*
Enlightenment
The Beginning, and The End
By Jon Shire
Chapter 1: The End
Its dark. The bombs, the war. It’s happening. I can feel it. I can see it. Don’t ask me how, but I can. It’s started. It’s time. Let me end it. Let me finish what has begun. Let me fix the mistake. Let me prevent the end of the world. The history, its wrong. They didn’t use the bomb. They couldn’t have. No, it was something different. It was I. Let me do it. Let me fulfil my destiny.
Chapter 2: Life’s a Bitch
It’s cold. It’s wet. It’s Monday, and I hate Mondays. Never saw the point of them. All you seem to do on Mondays is get up at an unearthly hour, go to work for some unearthly boss, go home, sit in front your TV while eating your sausages and mash, and after all the effort of doing hardly anything at all, you collapse into your bed. Only for the same thing to happen again and again for six days of the week.
Sundays are the only exception – not because of the fact that you still get up at some unnatural time in the morning, but rather why you do so. You see, Sundays are church days.
For those of you who have lived under the nearest Plakka tree for the last few thousand years, here’s how it goes.
Five thousand years ago – if the history books are to be believed – there was a war. A big one. A war, which was so devastating that it effectively removed all the advanced technologies that civilisation had had the insanity to create from existence.
The history tells that there was a feud between two major political parties for power over the land. This feud led to the creation of deadly weapons. Some so powerful that they could level an entire city. It is told that one of these weapons was used, and the power and destruction it brought into the world was enough to make even the most fearless of armies cower, even the army that created it.
This story is clear enough I suppose. However, there are a few parts that are missing. For starters, who actually created and used that weapon? Who made the armies fight? More importantly, who started the feud in the first place? No one knows.
Despite these missing elements, the history is still clear. We cannot let what happened before happen again. That is where church comes in.
Church in reality isn’t actually anything religious. Its more of, shall we say, a way of “becoming one with yourself”. Yea, as if that’s what I need. Six days of working my ass off followed by a whole day of meditation. That’s really the way I wanted to live my life.
It doesn’t help matters that we are segregated between male and female. The blokes go into their side of the church, while we women go into ours. I never see the point of it, and I personally don’t believe that anyone really does. When I asked the high priest why it is like it is, the only answer I got was more of a telling off.
“It is like it is because it has always been what it is. Now shove off, I’m busy.”
Now anyone from anywhere (even those of you who have lived under a Plakka tree for the last few thousand years) would admit that for someone who is supposedly supposed to run part of some sort of holy order, he is a bit of a willy.
So to summarise this history lesson, known history is believable if you ignore the missing parts of it, the church is nothing except a sexist way to waste a Sunday, and the high priests mind is as open to new ideas as a Houn shell. What a load of bull.
*
Right, now back to where I started. It’s a cold and wet Monday, and I hate them. But, there was one thing I hated even more than Mondays… Tuesdays… Wednesday… basically the week in general, and it’s my boss.
He is a short plum of a man. Red face, round body, bad temperament. Sounds like me, but the opposite of me, if you can get your head round that one. Myself, I am reasonably short, reasonably skinny (but not one of those supermodel type figures with a 3 inch waste and an IQ of less than zero) and a bad temperament. But I have that frame of mind for a completely different reason you understand! I have this temperament because I hate the week. He has this temperament because he hates his employees.
“Do this! Do that! DO THIS, NOT THAT!” You would hear, all through the working day. It was enough to drive a perfectly sane person mad. Luckily, everyone in the world is far from sane. Especially those who work in the CP building north of Maple Avenue.
If we were, we would have left.
Yet another reason why I hate Mondays was shown on this particular Monday in its full force. I was working hard, trying like hell to pass the time quickly so I could end my shift, when the plum came up behind me.
‘Taain’ he snapped.
Knowing that a snap from his mouth is usually followed from a snap of the bones in your arm breaking as he throws you onto the pavement, I instinctively rolled myself into a ball upon takeoff. Not that it helped, landing on a fire hydrant does wonders for your posture.
Especially if the flight was a good 10 feet strait down from the window ledge.
Not knowing what I had done wrong, I was about to object when I remembered what being hit by a coffee mug in the back of your head feels like.
When I picked up the mug, now chipped from the impact with the back of my head, it had a simple message written on it:
“Taain,
Consider your job terminated, due to a non-regulation size notebook being in the premises. You have about as long as it takes to read this before I throw a larger object at your head.
Get out of here now.
Your Boss
I.E. your God”
I took the time to read the note twice, before being knocked unconscious by a paper shredder.
Note to self: Never read things twice.
*
I woke up an hour later in the café across the avenue. When I asked what I could only assume to be the owner how I got there, he explained (in a rather strange accent)
‘This man brought you in. Never saw his face, wouldn’t take his damn bike helmet off. Still, I wouldn’t push him about it, he looked rather menacing in his leathers, if a bit short!’
After spending a good hour listening to him go on and on about how he saw what happened and that I should do something about it. As well as how I should do it, when I should do it and what phone numbers to call. After half an hour I had reserved myself to not giving a sh*t. I bought myself a strawberry cheesecake to shut him up, and sat by the window.
Looking at the CP building while eating my cheesecake made me think of many ways to get revenge on the ‘plum’.
They were various, ranging from putting a laxative in his coffee to shoving a paper shredder down his throat. And searching through the many ways of revenge, I was evaluating how good each method was.
Attacking the guy with a sausage roll? Nah, too much meat. Chasing him with a combine harvester? Nah, too expensive, four miles to the gallon is not exactly economical. Kicking him through the top story window Matrix style? Nah, too much like The Matrix. In the end I confided myself to blowing up the CP building, by lighting the gas main. Ok, it would blow up the rest of Maple Avenue, but even the commercial expanse of that part of the city was small compared to the guy’s ego.
I was contemplating how I would be able to get access to the gas mains when there was a flash, followed by the sort of bang a huge balloon would make if it were popped by a gunshot. Then something even more unexpected happened.
The building exploded.
‘Bugger’ I thought to myself, as I watched the concrete tumble. ‘Somebody got there first. Oh well, life’s a bitch.’
