Override

I have posted a couple times before about my current writing project, a more science-fiction based story currently titled Override.  I have hit somewhat of a lull in my writing, but I hope to be past that soon.  It is being written in first person, uses a good dose of sarcasm, and is (hopefully) more of a character driven book.  So we shall see.  However, I wanted to post an excerpt from the first chapter to show the kind of story it will be, and to get any first reactions to it.  So if the writing seems terrible, just let me know, and then maybe I'll stick to the normal fantasy writing I've done before. :)


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Life is good.  And by good, I don’t mean that it holds a high quality, or that it is naturally benevolent.  I mean it is skilled.  Skilled at reminding me just how much my life sucks.

What do you do when you’ve royally screwed over everything you’ve ever done?  Your life up to the present point has been an impressive assortment of tremendous miscalculations.  It’s nearly as though every choice you’ve ever made has been incorrect, from the shirts and pants you throw on each morning, to the woman you’ve selected as your lifelong mate.  Each morning, you wake up and prepare yourself for the job you should never have accepted, in the career field you don’t understand or excel at.  You’re surrounded by evidence of the truth that haunts your every waking moment: your life, at this very moment, is precisely the opposite of all you had hoped it would be, and completely reversed from everything it should be.

This sounds like the start of a self-help book.  But it’s not.  This is my scourging life.

Not that these exact examples have anything to do with me.  Seriously.  I just tried to come up with relatable things, things that normal people might have felt disappointment with.  The mistakes I’ve made are really not anything like this.  They’re much, much worse.

So, I’ll ask you again.  Actually, no, wait.  What in God’s green but now black and brown Earth am I talking about?  This is just inner monologue.  If I start to get responses, then I’ve obviously gone farther off the dock than I thought.  It’s a defense mechanism, as I’ve heard from a million different court-appointed counselors.  I also tend to daydream, moving my attention away from things in reality that I don’t really want to deal with.  And that’s what is happening now.  If you, nonexistent voyeur upon my thoughts, could see what was happening in front of my eyes at this very moment, you would want to escape from it too.  I only hope the sight is gone before I wake up.  It’s really rather frightening, though I have to admit, I have no idea why it’s happening.  I seem to be blocking out the last few moments.  Some part of my defense mechanism, I’m sure, or selective amnesia or some other psychological jargon that I wish I didn’t remember.  Well, whatever happened to bring me here, it appears to be really rather frightening.  I guess I already said that.  I pray that my bladder can restrain all of its contents.  I’ve heard of people having their life flash before their eyes in a moment of extreme panic, and I suppose that’s what this is.  Oh, good, cause all those wretched counselors haven’t made me rehash these events enough.

Anywho, this is my story, one that should never be told, since it never should have happened.  I am not who I should have been, or who anyone should have been.  I did not become what I was purposed for.  No, I’m not looking for pity, so wipe that sympathetic frown off your fictional face, cause I’m sure you haven’t hit the bull’s eye with every one of your choices.  But I’ve never hit it.  When you see all those marks on the wall, not even hitting the target, think of me.  Cause that’s where all my shots have hit in life.

What can I say?  I’ve been rather efficient at stupidity.

Or so I’ve been told.

It all started on the eighth of June, in the year 2182, in a run-down motel northeast of Saint Paul, Minnesota.  No, I admit that it doesn’t sound like the most exciting place to start a thrilling story, but what do you think this is, science fiction?  This is still just my life.  Anywho, it was the Happy River Motel, I believe.  A lovely little spot overlooking the Saint Croix River, except for all the roaches and the smell of death.  I don’t really remember that day, for I didn’t even start it alive, yet it is a day that will ever be important to me.  You see, it was the day I was conceived.  I know the date because it was carved on my father’s tombstone.