Richard was starting to become wary and paranoid that his first murder may have been simply a bad dream. His inner self was repeating and his conscious self was trying to convince himself that old page was dead.
"He was fired," Our hero would say, "In the way I fire people best. The man took my life from me that morning. He made me a fool. He knew the reasons for my tears and wanted to help. I did the only thing I could have reasonably."
Nobody ever really knew what he was telling himself so they figured it was a strange trait of a rather eccentric man. This was the point when he began to gain his repute as a man marked for a position of power eventually. He walked around for a full three days saying these words to random people and demanding that they could not hear him. Some theories included that Richard had a line or two in a movie or play. Our hero knew he was simply wiping all their thoughts clean with his strong presence. They knew nothing of the murder. Nobody expected this otherwise normal student. He was a night owl, perhaps, but this campus was filled with eccentric geniuses.
Richard decided it might be best to sit at the desk in his study and type furiously at the keys as to give at least the impression that he would like to be in some form of media. "A presence," he told others it was. "Whatever I can do to make a cool difference in this world."
Most agreed it seemed honorable as some of the greatest minds to walk these halls fell in line with his recent actions. And praise of his actions did not fall on deaf ears. But recently our hero met a woman that he did not overpower.
She was heart shaped and wearing red. She wore thick glasses and drank more brandy than Richard could stomach. She was usually seen with a glass and two ice cubes. He held his head high and drank with her on the commons. He hoped to impress her, as he had practiced two full nights leading to this commons gathering their school held at the beginning of the semester.
This moment was a turning point for our hero because he used it to ask her how a woman of such tiny stature could hold the liquor like she did. Our hero was intoxicated and feared his lust was some deeper emotion and not because of the cocktail of drug and drink he was normally accustom to.
"I hold an inner light," she told him, motioning towards the bathroom. He scooted after her hoping the motion indicated his second sexual encounter.
She laughed and pulled a small flap of folded paper from her bag. Richard saw a light peaking through the doorframe and noted to her politely that it split the moment in two. She poured white powder on a dry spot on the counter and told him this was her way. He knew what it was and asked for a line implying that he had used regularly for a few years. She obliged and Richard Channing took his first snort of cocaine.
A good night followed. Our hero did not go home with the heart shaped woman but drank as much as she did for the rest of the night. He was able to find his own portion of the drug that night and was surprised that his arguments were far more convincing than ever before. He had found his new vice. This was the way promised by that dark spirit he was following. He didn't ask the spirit, he just seemed to know.
Our hero wrote another poem:
"Seems the sand along the sides of our beaches are the perfect breeding ground for these and/or leaches. And
Though the only teachers that ever really teach us are those lowly teachers that are the ones who reach us."
Again she told him his poetry was beautiful.
So he thought that learning was important. This is more than simple because they taught everyone that at school. He continued his poem,
"But I'm glad I went to school.
Sane dreams are not always what they mean so, forty years old is not always what they seem though. Some people are much more partial to frequent massacre insight and some are partial to buying their education. There always seems to be two schools of thought, those that are for it and those that are against it.
And every year this could be quite the demon's anthem but the Toad of Toadsmere hall would see quite what the man would hand them."
No wonder she thought his poetry was beautiful.
But he feared now that this was not God blessed. So he asked and checked himself deep inside that he had always been a good person. "I never let the demon blood I had take over and lead my life," he paused in telling himself such blasphemy. He knew that, but he should be honest while nobody but him and the Toad were around.
It terrified our hero to look at the words he typed.
He knew that he was simply disassociating from the harm he placed upon the world up until this point. He only knew of his universe and it was one that centered on him. The rest of the world was his for the taking. Everyone knew that.
But when he would run out of time, this time he knew eventually he would pass from his position into the ether. There was nothing there. Since he had tried ether more than once. He could not find the drug on campus, but was told that it was sort of a misty presence that came when a person was in the presence of a ghost.
He knew it while he saw the Toad of Toadsmere hall. He even took to finding a mist maker to place a skull or toad skeleton in.
Nobody could understand like he did. And he could claim it was simply a science toy. He did like to play with toys such as this that much. So our hero took steps towards his cupboard and felt as if he knew that the heavens would part and love would reach us all. These triumphs would march from the sky like the national circus and he would have to move westward into the feigning light.
He wrote his prose that day from his home and told of matters that were not known to most. The life-giving glow of the sun was the spark like the light was a man who was capable of helping our hero in his ventures. He could not help but speak to himself as the sky and ground became dark.
He lied to himself about the comments that he made about wanting a war. They would work better that way, as he hoped that he could gain trust of these maggots that followed his cues.
He wrote that his heart would be still until the day came when his forces would come marching through the square.
When the maid entered she laughed at him because she thought that she could. She did not understand his affliction or need to cure the man who made him an outsider. He made sure that she did not see his idol, this simple little concave that would soon represent the Toad.
He pretended to be writing in his classic school sketchbook but as the maid began cleaning he knew that he would have to refrain from his worship of the spirit that he chose to love.
He wanted to write, "The light that shone after the heart of disaster and the minds that could not see these things." It was nonsense and he knew that. But that was unimportant because he took leave of his apartment and wanted to show his classmates the face of his neighbor after he had created the simple reflection of the spirit that allowed him to know what was what.
That person was a loser compared to him. Richard knew that for sure because he had tried as best he could to be more popular than the students that surrounded him. But the waiting moments he spent in the hall spun his head around the day and he managed to open the door and pass the commons and out to a park.
Richard was known to speak of magic, though he had never considered that people knew that much about him. He told himself that his fellows would quickly disown him if they knew that he followed any sort of spirit.
He fell asleep for a moment that night before bed and woke in startled as this scene was again out of character. It was three in the morning at that time and our hero knew that at least he was home when he woke. His absence did not matter as he was dreaming of open pastures filled with horses and hippopotamus that laughed in his face.
He was sent spinning in rage at the haunted life he was leading. He knew that his plan would be much better than the path that could be his true happiness. The dream left his heart sagging but he knew that it was in the right place because God told him one thing and his mind said another.
His mind wouldn't have been the one that lied. The mind is hoping for the best possible result for the lonely man it was attached to. Our hero would write his next assignment in the morning. He was falling behind in his classes but it would be easy to pull some family strings and get an A. His father would disagree but Richard felt strongly that it was the maids who had raised him and he was surprised that he cared.
He would gain more from listening to the Toad of his hall because until he found a woman that had presence of mind enough to share his bed every night he was alone in his thoughts and would be quite a reasonable person. He had nobody that he could leave a quick note for and he decided he would never call his girl again.
He needed more rest and lay on his bed thinking that all these little marks on his hands were the absolute truth behind paving his way as a leader that made sure he proved that he was better than some ill-fated spirit that called himself God.
The Toad could help with this. But it could not happen tonight because it was now 3:30 in the morning and he had a full day ahead of him. He wondered in the silence of night if these tepid feelings and nervousness was based around the worry he felt for his classes and not because of his thoughts of criminalizing the creator and making a world that held him with high onus when he had passed from this body into a torturous hell that he would be king of. He needed to do things right.
"We could end up thick with thieves tonight," he whispered under his blankets, "As I realize the crowds will get bigger and life will get easier as the days progress."
A shadow danced across the wall explaining to him that the new men who bashfully left him alone in this fight were the signs that marked this path filled with hardship. He would never be cool in this school so he knew that he had to trust the shadows that claimed to be far reaching evil spirit watchers that help people like him that want to make issue with things that they are not supposed to fight. Things like the creator that made him so cursed to be a loser in high school.
All night our hero tossed and turned because he could hear a typewriting clicking either down the hall or inside his worried mind. Maybe this sound was for the woman who wrote for many days to make such dieing versions of reports that they could submit to be published in a variety of news publications and magazines.
Richard spoke aloud as he lay awake in bed, "To the greatest works that these needles could fetch them…" And the typewriter stopped clicking. He knew that his peer had heard him and did not like his comment. Our hero lay still and silent hoping for validity of his comment before becoming a little embarrassed and hiding his face from the shadows that danced along the wall.
He heard a light tapping, a simple road scholar who continued to type on the noisy machine. So Richard decided to turn on his side and he heard the feint tapping of a tree on the window. The tapping became louder as the wind began to howl and our hero grew scared and made himself a small cluster of meat in some blankets. His heart was as black now as the night sky that told him these worlds are his for the taking. The blessings he had were requested to make such a martyr of simple decisions instead. He knew that this soft little tap at the window was not the Toad, but only a tree.
He peered from below his comforting blankets and told himself that these taps were the typing of a peer that had heard him and wrote of his failures as a student and man.
He thought of his friend and their discussions over coffee that made such an impact in his life as this man who knew that the results of his actions were final and not like the resulting impacts aligning as he was the simple man who wrote these passages and the man in the room next to his stopped his steady tapping at the machine. Richard laughed under his breath and closed his eyes until the window scraped again and he sat awake and cross-legged at the edge of his bed.
Richard told himself it was the Toad that was waking him in the middle of the night so he could learn more about the impulses and whims of this world that had treated him so cruelly.
"Woman will fall at my feet," he said clearly to the scraping at his window. "I will pass them money that lines my wallet and exist as a political man."
One day Richard would make a woman pregnant. That thought scared him now but he assumed that once he was a world leader he would have a good woman that would hold him together. They would have sex and he would make her a child so that his blood and assumptions could continue to live.
His children would know that he was the master of their domain and they would respect him in the dismal way his heart had. His plan and affiliation with his dark spirit leader would be something they could not know about. It would become such an issue and he would have to explain the reasons he wished to destroy the whole world.
But he wasn't quite there yet. Sure, Alice was a special lady to him, but he had so much work to do before he could make his life such as it would be with a child. He considered staying up all night again like the morning he had just had was a conscious decision.
But Richard Channing would become a drug-dealer by the time he was twenty. He planned this business with an amazing amount of detail. Dick never wrote or recorded his plan because of the paper trail that could pull him away. But he had the kind of mind that would remember things in a way that built on his previous ideas. If our hero never became President, he would choose Miami to live.
At the time, Miami was rather a rather easy place to smuggle drugs into the country. There was very little coastal security, mostly because there were fewer people importing such products and it was not the common discussion point it is now.
He planned to make an elitist drug available to the poor and disenfranchise of the world. It would be available in forms for the blue collar and below and would create hell in segregated ghetto worlds.
Richard had noted how cocaine was addictive and figured that he could create a whole subspecies of troubled drug addicts that could roam the streets paying him and doing his bidding. He noted that when a drug dealer was high, he could control the thoughts of his clients. Richard was able to do this as a sober thought so he would be very well good at these moments in the future.
He was more interested in people forced to act as he had suggested and doing his bidding. There is a chance that our hero could control the population of his nation by keeping them high. From his position as a supplier, Dick figured, those who took his drugs would unknowingly receive his commands that he sent to their subconscious.
With mass numbers of people snorting his drug and doing his bidding without truly knowing it, our hero thought that he could take over the world. But this remained "Plan B."
Not only would the money be good and his mind control plans would work but also women would have to accept his advances, as cocaine lords are dangerous and usually have groupies. He would also be able to vacation in tropical paradises.
This was one of the greatest perks. He knew the money was good, but he already had all he needed. He appreciated the evil nature of this crime. That intrigued him the most. He imagined free travel to secluded villas and mansions deep in the forests of tropical nations.
Dick Channing knew that the criminal would always win, in the end. The bad guy got the money and could hold the most powerful gun. As a crook Richard would be the coolest guy at the party who held all the drugs and the women would fall at his feet.
It was one thing to be a bad person in general but it was another to take pride in destroying the lives of strangers. He was glad that he could do what he wanted. This would be our hero's way. The more he dwelled on these insights, the more he wanted to become a cocaine dealer. Even to begin at the bottom until he fought his way to a position of power. Though he noted that it may be better to join the political movement and influence others. That way he could make the drugs all illegal while smoking cocaine through Cuban cigars. And this idea made him smile that crooked half smile.
But he wondered if he would have to start at the bottom, like the rest. He learned that most had to begin with running errands and hurting those who had debts with some high ranking official, as that is how people run criminal syndicates. They say that after a while one must move to commit murder so that they become a made man.
But of course, rules do not always apply to people like Richard. He would simply buy a kilo of cocaine to start with. They would respect his wishes.
He had always wanted to be in some sort of police standoff, one of those four-hour gunfights with the righteous forces of the law. He did not know how this goal would be achieved but he imagined that he would wear a black and white zebra print suit that was common for a pimp to wear in the 1970s. It would give a terrifying effect to his captives and the forces trying to release them.
The first thing he would need would be a pile of cocaine to keep him fueled for a few days while he remained crazy enough to scare the officials who had arrived to save his hostages.
Dick Channing was a hell of a guy. This refrain tended to mark scenes like this in his life. He had always like to make that comment as it made him laugh a little bit. "Yes," he would suggest, "I am a hell of a guy."
In his mind he had always planned to end up in that world, in case such a world had existed. The other way was filled with the sorts of weak people that Dick Channing did not want to occupy his time with. They probably wouldn't let him smoke or do drugs in heaven either. That was the sort of thing that the Devil had created for people like Richard. You know, all the fun stuff.
One should now note that Richard loved to smoke cocaine by this point, and that making those below his position of power unable to smoke the stuff would really up his high.
At the time cocaine dealing was seen as sort of a Mom and Pop operation. There were a few kilos that he could reach and hopefully he could hook his peers on the stuff, leading to more and more money and power in his hands. It was rather hard to come by, even in his wealthy prep school circles.
When our hero took his drug he felt all the evil in the world circulating in his blood. He felt that he could burn a city to the ground. It made him relevant. It opened his eyes wide but best of all, it allowed him to drink with the best of them. The older classmates finally noticed our hero and began to respect him so soon he was using the drug on a regular basis.
The resident advisor in his dorm once found a small amount of cocaine that he had left in his dresser drawer. He must have been high to do such a thing, he concluded later.
He was happy he rarely saw his parents and knew that the dresser drawer showed their common reaction. There was a small meeting that was called and his friends told him that his mother says neigh and his father did not condone the use of such narcotics. His mother was obviously mad at him. Dick Cheney just smiled emptily and walked away. His father had no clue what his son had really found so he bought some more, perhaps two grams or so.
Later that evening he had a fit in which it felt like his heart was going to jump out from his chest and dance on the ground. He was alone until the sun rose that morning and told himself lies about the situation for the rest of his life.
He had done little but pace around the wing of his summer home. In the morning he made coffee and laughed when they came to say hello. He lay in bed the rest of the day before chalking a few more lines and fell fast asleep about 10 am. Everything was cool.
When he woke he checked the calendar and rushed to show his friend his homework. Before realizing his missed date. He had forgotten to do his homework. That was the day he decided that he would use the drug dealing as a back-up plan. It would have the same effect.
Richard approached his friend Bob and handed him the assignment before purchasing his coffee. They quickly made their way down the block as his friend read the handout:
"There is a rezoning proposal across from the large skyscrapers that are near the beach. The quarter acre lot now holds a two family dwelling that appears to be an old mansion. It has held smoke-easies and transients as well as the followers of the Grateful Dead. The house has stood at the location as long as anyone can remember. It appears to have once been a mansion that was in 1964 converted into a two portioned home.
"There are two arguments for this development. First, the two people that live in the house are willing to move. This simplifies matters and the construction can start in three months. Second, it will do wonders for the modern look of Toadsmere. This four story complex will look in its rightful place next to the three story building and the eleven story monster that resides across Matterdie Avenue."
"This is a horrible report." The Bob told Richard.
"How?" Richard sharply replied.
"You have left out the developers name. You are obviously in support of the development and the Grateful Dead should never be mentioned in a school newspaper. This is a sheltered community." Bob was trying to help his friend in journalism.
"I was hoping," Richard said, "To develop a debate or repoire with another writer. This building does hold much history. It was originally built near a downtown core. A commercial district will pop up. That was going to be my next argument."
"I don't know. You could do it. Win-Win, buddy."
"Your better argument is that the city is growing and mentioning the tenant is a good idea. It snuffs any attempt at heartfelt tension in a response. The audience will surly be on your side."
"See, it's pretty good." Dick stated.
"Written work shouldn't need arguments after it."
"Bob, I am trying to be righteous and take both sides of this. The sheltered glory you mention. Is that the best you can do?"
And Bob remain silent. Dick had won the argument and there was no reason to keep it going. Richard continued, "I'm just trying to spread awareness. This is news."
"News needs action, needs victims. It needs a fight and touching story. Frat kids moving, is that the best you can do?"
"I just want to share my work, check and see if it's good, like. I don't need this sort of companionship. Do you want to write a rebuttal or not?"
Bob shrugged, "No shock, no news. No blood, no news. No struggle, no news. No pain, no glory, no news. It is entertainment."
Dick told his friend to stop acting goofy. He began with, "Make some sense, man."
They were now at the meeting of the Evil Laugh Scale Test Club First Level. They walked up the path surrounded by vines of alternating grape and ivy. The path was marked with and statues of men in military clothing, commemorating victories and defeats. There were also gargoyles hidden behind the foundation, one was visible.
The vines covered the walkway at gaps of a few paces but one could see rather clearly that the pillars were stone when a plaque was shaved out of the bushes.
When they came inside they walked through an open door and saw men of influence sitting in a row behind podiums. Richard and Bob took a seat at the back just as the speaker began.
"A man who keeps promises is one that is welcome here."
Everyone in the audience said, "Amen."
Richard was restless as soon as he sat and began to fidget in his chair amongst the other future leaders of the world. He was watching the old man speak but not listening to the worlds. Every now and again the audience would respond with an "Amen." But Richard was too busy thinking about his new occupation.
He really wanted badly to sell the ghetto's cocaine. He was sure that he could use his mind to control people who used the drug he sold them. He was obviously of strong character as his drug dealer tried but could not. He began to follow the tone of the speaker, his pauses and refrains. He watched as the speaker tore into the psyches of the crowd. The man paused and our hero watched the communal sign come over the expanse of the audience.
After about 20 seconds of silence the man continued and our hero saw the audience raise their chins to absorb what the speaker was saying. Dick had learned a trait of powerful men. One did not need to speak of what people wanted to hear, though that is important. In order to fool the masses one needed to be presentable. It was not the words spoken; it was the words not spoken. The pauses and missing phrases that implied that his audience was intelligent tended to guide their reasoning.
He learned to give credit to the people who gave him credit. You must speak to crowds as if they are your peers or at least pretend to be theirs.
Our hero was bright enough to use these skills to his advantage. So he made a mental note and began to listen to the words.
"And when in need we make decisions that only effect the bureaucracy. We feel that it is needed and that with enough people between powerful men and the commoner we truly needed to make the laws and enforce them."
Our hero stopped listening again and began to watch the stage. The stage was decorated the blue and red traditional colors of Festin, with some scepter and things of that nature nearby. There was no flag in a shape Richard could recognize.
The red were there, but less blue and it was as if it were folded strangely.
There were three men to either side of the speaker. They were all wearing suits made to be nearly as dark as his. The men beside the speaker were listening politely as if they were mostly for show. It made the speaker appear distinguished. They acted as if they already knew the facts that the man was lecturing the young leaders about.
The speaker appeared proper and right.
His voice began booming, "And there is a reason we are called the right wing!"
The students reacted by cheering wildly and the old man smiled.
"Children," he interrupted, hushing the crowd quickly, "You do not call back like that in these meetings. We are on hallowed ground here."
Richard felt good in this silence.
"Maybe he were a natural," the speaker continued, "But this young man near the back knew better." He was motioning to Richard and asked, "What is your name, son?"
Our hero spoke so all could hear, "Richard Channing, sir."
"Ah, a young man from a tremendous family, coming in high regard I am sure. Stand and say what you want to."
Richard stood and said, "I don't know what I should say to this distinguished room."
"Why do you want to join our society?"
"For the same reason all the rest of these members have joined."
A chuckle rang out over the crowd.
"I wanted to meet men of influence, men of power. I want to have connections in the affluent cliques that surround this school. We are the chosen few to lead the world, sir. It is still the divine right of kings."
An audience member coughed.
"We are the world leaders of tomorrow," Dick continued, "We are the men who will make the laws of the future. We decide the whims of our country. We will…"
The elder interrupted, "It is more important than 'whims,' son."
Richard cleared his throat, "For lack of a better expression, sir."
The men on stage sat a way from him, it was an old boys club and Richard could never know most of these powerful people. But he could know some.
Richard muttered to Bob, "I could go with him. Do you think I should know the man speaking or one of the silent?"
Bob was unsure, "Its all conditioning for the nimble tones on stage."
Richard remained silent. Bob was never any help but kept talking, "Forward marching men. This is a leader and the next step. A new elder that would teach us about politics."
That was the way but he was not careless. When Richard would talk to someone he needs to be sure they are good for him.
But Bob kept rambling, "It was a matter of conditioning but I fear his mind held a cloud of ignorance. Words that would matter in time, I am sure. Or was this whole meeting a bunch of nonsense. None shall know."
Richard responded, "Like me, I have a reason to feed them, you know. He would never get through this world. Go where you want, I told him, like I knew that that was what he wanted. He believed me. I think that went well."
But the whole thing was nonsense. Many men used their lives for much wiser things. Settling in to harmony our hero lit a cigarette. His path was clear now. He could not be an open air racist. He knew that everyone was a little crooked, but the trick in this industry is to cover your tracks. He only had time to make one first impression.
Richard usually made sure to check the structure of a room. It helped when he took a chance or to make a friend. He would have to make the elders laugh and be there and convenient. That is why he wanted into the business. He had his reasons.
Bob had no need for these sorts of men in his life. He hadn't thought that yet. The elder usually took the cool road and kept his head. Like this Richard and the elder would get along famously.
Our hero was soon invited to a famous and secret camp a little off of the main road. He was asked only bring a lighter and the riders would have a letting go. He was mindful of his actions and his lust to leave. Richard needed a rail. And he would as soon as he could leave this man's office.
It is better business sense to stay here and do the cocaine later. So his mind began to wander and he spoke softly, "The old world is not ours. We have moved on this evolutional path and we seem better for it. We do not follow the same instincts as most famous leaders, the Thomas Jefferson's of the world. And it is good that he has different instincts then myself. But I feel like I'm running on empty here, sir. I think I need a bite to eat."
His elder stated clearly that Richard could hope to make his mark in the elder's political party.
"Matter's of heaven and old omens that matter dearly to us as their leaders, when we are abide to the comforts of simple requested men," the old man told Richard as he left the office. Richard was unsure how to interpret such language and he made his way down the hall to the elevator.
He had always felt he was psychic. Not in the weird way like those people mention it or show off like it is medicine. He really knew certain things. He just chose to go with the Toad. But the elder should never know his affiliations and was acting aloof, but Richard saw deep in his eyes that he knew the Toad as well.
Nobody invisible is real, Richard told himself as he snorted one more rail on cocaine in the elevator. If he thought about it too much it would catch up with him. He sort of giggled and grunted while thinking of leaving vipers in the laundry when the elevator came to a stop and he were finally looking in the mirror.
He quickly shuffled out the lobby doors without making eye contact with anyone. He wasn't going to take more drugs until he got near home. That last rail should do him. They say that the stuff is reserved for royalty. He rubbed his nose but the staff did not seem to care so he moved through the lobby into a garden that lay before the street. That must be actual freemasonry.
A thought passed through his mind and vanished. Richard tried to recall what it was but could only think that it was a matter of time. Was this an illness? Documents that explained such events escaped him. He felt his heart leave his body, knowing that held truth because it seemed to light the back way. Richard became paranoid of these voices and hoped that the feeling would subside. "If not," he said aloud, "Take the brain fuel."
He was lucky nobody heard.
He began to think about Farsi. He knew very little about other languages. He was sure it had words and structure like his own. Was the language dead or just the country? He thought that this is the kind of thing he should discuss with his girlfriend. If she didn't know these things than Richard would have to make some other anecdote. He had cocaine to help.
"Did the car stop before turning up the driveway?" he asked a man selling newspapers.
The newsman told Richard that he did not know.
Richard kept walking and began to speak clearly, "Yeah, its fucking cool that I got to hang out with those party elders. But the woman was not there. I wonder if they are welcome. Needles in the hay, my friend."
He was on a date with Alice and could accept that she could not know everything. "Is Mitch Mitchell in Jimi Hendrix's band?" Richard wanted to look into it for her, but simply replied with a snide and rude comment about African people. His girlfriend no longer felt like loving him.
"If I have the pedal of sorcerers," Dick continued, "Or the fire that lay in front of them and their minds were part of this heated discussion about nothing…"
He trailed off as the car approached to pick up its master. The driver was tall with dirty blonde hair, lanky and skinny, not 6 feet tall, but strong. Our hero was just a little smaller and could not help imaging what it would be like if they were together. He got in the car first and did not mention it to Alice.
Her voice returned, "I just thought they had nice suits. But I don't dig racism, it makes every black man hotter than you."
This rendered Richard speechless.
The driver mysteriously chuckled at the gentle radio that played in the front seat.
"Oh fuck off then, bitch." Richard choked out with anger. His girlfriend was taken aback.
"Oh not you," he continued, "I paid for your dinner and bought you some drinks. This is my limousine and I treat you respectably. I must remember to write in my journal later. Something about Farsi."
And she never wanted to love him again. She stayed with him, but it was just to please her father. The rift developed in such a way that she did not see him write, "Wipe out Farsi."
When he wrote in his journal he couldn't find where the idea came from. Farsi was a language and most of the people from some other land keep it up. They were unknowing of him as a lad, but as a nation he knew about as much about them as he knew about himself so take this sentence out. Just keep writing. He did not mention his recent breakup. He glanced and was writing about Christopher, his driver.
"Yeah," Richard said aloud, "At least I don't mutter when I speak." "Excuse me sir. I have worked for your family for a long time. You are rude. You have no strength of character. In this splendid life make sure you listen to your mother. Your father is successful as he is. You are in a position to do anything you want and these men would do your every bidding. Act wisely, sir."
To which Richard replied, "Hurry driver, take me home."
Richard decided that he should commit to a rewrite of his story on the building near the beach.
"The city is growing because visitors have fallen in love with this place in the same way those they reside her have. Because of the extra population, developments are popping up so that more people can enjoy our schools, wineries, sunshine, outdoor recreation, culture, restaurants and beaches."
Our hero trailed off. It was partially lack of interest and partially the feeling that he had nothing to say.
"The issue," Richard maintained, "is nobody wants to hear about boring things like rezoning applications and that. Bob is right. People want to hear of a strange or rotten event, even Japanese drummers on the fourth of July. If I decided to use varied pseudonyms and tell tales of racism and grandeur it would be rather funny. If one writes disguised as different characters, keeps submitting new satirical coverage of local news stories, one is bound to gain the respect of these peons who run the school media. Just to start my backstage repute, which will grow so I can attack a different area. This idea is actually sort of brilliant and perfectly aligned with my prior work and sense of humor. When I find a story, I must take a character and find the solution."
Our hero paused a moment and the driver turned the corner, "When speaking of a rezoning application, a silly conclusion, by another wise and respectable guy is golden. You know what I mean. When words are needed to describe a city issue such as tax hikes or insights and intelligent arguments. If discussing sports, use a man who coached minor league. Use this experience to suggest a wealth of knowledge and then, one day explain calmly that it is a community service. You know, when discussing American politics.
"This is entertainment, baby. The key is to keep the people reading. A good will, intelligent ideas and entertaining comments with the proper insights in a respectable tone with the option to keep reading like choose your own adventure. Is a silly old world and I should do it. The first draft of anything is horrible."
And Richard lay down his pen. The driver was pulling into his driveway. It was the drugs that guided this flurry of activity.
The driver turned and said, "Here you are, sir." Dick looked at this insolent man, "Face your fears, draft dodger. If discussing child slavery, it is best to take an empathetic persona."
The driver nodded and Richard opened the door. The driver had no chance to run around. Richard continued, "I know it is better to use sincerity and truth in your statements. Do you think people support child slavery?"
Before the driver could answer Richard told him "That is the point of my tirade. I have something to discuss with a willing party they take time to listen and I have to make it worth their while. Sharing my opinion, my thought, something that I feel should be told. Something that is important for others to discuss or think about. Perhaps it is delusions of grandeur or some self-righteous idea from the stream of consciousness that my opinion matters. Maybe I just hope for acceptance like life is one half back step towards high school."
And Richard was standing in front of his school dormitory. He quickly fled the scene and tromped to his own room. Nobody was waiting for him but Richard assumed that they were not back yet.