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Behold, the world from a fictional teenager's perspective

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posted on Mar, 22 2004 @ 10:59 AM
I wrote this many years ago, and never finished it. I had massive writer's block and could never go back to it again. I thought the beginning was nice, but once I got deeper into the story, I found myself losing perspective as well as losing the ability to come up with dynamic characters. that plus the other thing = disaster in a story. Here is the first two chapters of this story, entitled "confusion". tell me what you think!

One who is confused usually doesn’t know he is confused until one tells him he is. Or, he is confused because he doesnt know how to react when life throws him a lemon. In any case, I guess I am talking about myself again. Relighting my Indian cigar, I felt a wave of vanilla come towards me under the guise of tobacco. With an inhalation, I shifted up to top gear and enjoyed the road before me. My car was something I took for granted. Correction: my car was the representative of how I took everything from granted. It’s a silver sports car that I begged my family to give me, and already I give it worse treatment than a perverse gynecologist. Perhaps that was too colorful of a metaphor.

“Hey! Wake up!” My friend next to me bellowed.

“Yeah, I’m awake. Chill!” I retorted in my own sanity’s defense.

Truth is, I really was awake! What was wrong with this kid next to me? I don’t have his talent of dosing off at regular times of the day, nor turning off my attention span. In fact, I would rather not have such an ability, as my attention span is short enough. Another inhalation of the mystical item between my lips brought me a small head rush that was followed by my feet and other appendages suddenly weighing over 60 pounds.

“Whoa. Smells like dog # ice cream.” My companion remarked.

“Why thank you!” I mimicked with a laugh. It was a dumb thing to smoke. Frankly I don’t know how much of the United States manages to inhale such a cash crop, which happens to be sprinkled with nicotine. The music in the background was now one of my favorite songs, which reminded me of the wonderful memories of sharing parts of your life with others. Another inhalation brought me to a small daze in which I began thinking of the object of my affection. I looked at my companion briefly, and noted his attention was directed at god knows what. So I knew I was safe to daydream.

And there she was, the girl. In my mind, a woman is an object of beauty. She is art. Some art is fabulous, and some is rather uninteresting to say the least. To compare a female human to art may be vindictive, but comparisons are cruel in themselves. Enough about this nonsense, time to move on with the girl.

“David!” my friend bellowed, “Whoa!! Those girls were hot! Honk! Honk!”

“No!” I denied his plea, “I hate honking at women. It’s so demeaning! And it makes me seem like a dog in heat!”

“So what do you want to do?”

“Well, I guess we’ll go down to Gainesville.” We always went down there. It’s like we would go down there and do nothing but well… just show up. I continued driving anyway. I was in one of those moods again. All I wanted to do now was think about that girl. It was because of the God damned Bidi and the music in the background. Not to mention my ability to think too much. Suddenly the phone rang.

“Hello?” I asked.

“Hi could I speak with my son?” It was Danny’s dad. Looks like he did something stupid yet again.

“He’s right here.” I handed the phone to the boy in question.

“Yeah? Yes, dad. Well it wasn’t my fault!” Thus ensued the typical Father vs. Son argument over a fallacy over at the local household. I automatically turned around, knowing that Danny boy was in trouble again. “Ok Dad, I’m on my way now.”

“What happened?” I asked quaintly.

“My idiot brother left the dog outside and he ran away. God damned jerk off.”

“Well, just give me a call later then.”

“Yeah, cool.” Within minutes, Danny was out of the car and our adventure towards Gainesville came to an end.

Slyly, I negotiated the shifter into its hated position; 1st gear. I say this with reason. It hates going into 1st because it needs to be shoved, and sometimes it emits a worrisome deep crunch. Applying full throttle, I drop the hammer and watch with amusement the tachometer’s needle rush hastily towards its designated redline. It was time to shift up a notch. Emitting a sharp snarl, which resembled an enthusiastic “yes!” my car responded, and the tachometer’s previous motions repeated itself. Now I was approaching certain limits in which the numbers on my tachometer no longer displayed only rotations per minute by the thousands, but points added to my license should I have been unluckily caught by Officer Billy Bob. Still the sights and sounds I was enjoying were well worth the risk, and I let the car have its orgasm in third gear. Now the car joined me in my glee, because the relationship between my foot and the gas pedal came to a mutual understanding of how much is enough. I noticed it was getting too cold inside, so I raised the windows lazily as if it was too much work to do so.


The Texan oil tycoons are to blame for my gas bill being over $60 per month, which is quite absurd for one my age. Or perhaps I am to blame because I do so much driving, but then again I am not the one with control over the crude oil in which becomes the gasoline my engine literally burns by the gallon. This is the stuff I was thinking about as I was watching the digital indicator rise from $6.00 to $17.00 faster than Mario Andretti in a Ferrari. Well at least I could enjoy the beautiful, raw smell of pure gasoline. Truly an aromatic odor, one appreciated usually in possession of a masculine personality. Ah, finally the loud click of relief is upon me. My car finally said “when”, whereas my wallet cried out “oh, why?” Climbing in the car, I was now relieved to reset the trip odometer to 0, which I always did as soon as I filled up the car. Such silliness, some might think, can actually be very useful as one can tell just about how much mileage is left in the gas tank before the engine decides to knock repeatedly and gasp for fuel. Fortunately, I have not had the opportunity to experience such distress, yet.

I took chances. A lot of them are stupid ones, which later have no benefits whatsoever. I suppose in a way, it’s entrepreneurial since the ability to take risks is an important factor to leading a successful business into a future. And here I will make my entrepreneurial decision to fire up this Bidi, on terms that I exchange my lungs and overall health for a moment of clarity and a bit of a daze. Obviously, this was a decision, which lacked any future, but it was one I made anyway. Then the phone rang.

“This is David,” I humbly proclaimed.

“Hey!” It was her. The one who began every thought of mine and ended every sentence of mine. Perhaps that was an exaggeration, but the point comes across.

“Vanessa! What’s up?” I asked eagerly. I was in over my head with this girl.

“Oh nothing much. I was calling you to see if you wanted to get together?” A very stupid question, nonetheless.

“Of course!” It was hard to contain my excitement, but I managed to keep from overloading, “I would love to do anything with you!” Well, never mind about the control.

“Great! Pick me up at home at 7?”

“Yeah,” that was perfect, “that would be fine!”

“See you then!” And she was gone; for now, at least.

The object I had in my mouth was now long gone as I unconsciously flung it out the window right after Vanessa’s call. Damn. Speaking of Vanessa, why not think about her? She stands tall and proud, accented with a touch of modesty. Her light blue eyes suggest tenderness about her, but then the ways they look suggest an aggressive personality. She had a delicate face, reinforced with pride and confidence. Her skin was soft to the touch, and her touch as heavenly as a saint’s. Her hair is a golden tan, with a natural softness and beauty. She has the build of a Greek goddess, and the appearance of a faerie. Why she liked me, I still can’t really figure out. It’s perfect that she asked that I go get her at 7, since that gives me time to go spend time cleaning out the pig sty that became my car. Also, I can take the car to a carwash and refresh my car’s appearance. Ah, this was getting better and better! This is going to be great to see Vanessa again. We’re going to have so much fun doing… uh… wait a minute. Doing what? We can’t just go see a movie. We’ve already done that so many times. I want to show this girl that David is not your ordinary “dinner and a movie” guy! God help me, I’m going to impress this girl tonight!

Chapter II

The sun was setting deep into the autumn sky, as time neared towards my destination. The car was a shimmering deep silver, like the day I got her. Inside, it was as clean as a whistle, and even had a sweet scent to it. Vanessa probably hated the stupid act of sticking things in one’s mouth and inhaling its odor as it burns, so I hid the cigars in my secret compartment. Oh man, was I ready for tonight! Wait, wait, wait, and hold your horses. No I wasn’t. I took all this time prepping the car and prepping myself for this wonderful privilege, and I still have yet to figure out what to do! I looked at the clock just above the climate controls and it wasn’t much help. I had only 20 minutes until 7:00 and “Mr. Creative” has yet to figure out what to do! Well, it’s time to stop complaining and time to start thinking.


It was a nice house, decorated with a pleasant garden. The yard was also accented with typically suburban lawn ornaments, such as gnomes, however the tricycle ornament intrigued me. The path to the door had those cool lights that illuminated the walk on both sides. The house looked pleasant. It had almost a perfectly calm aura about it. I was so proud when I pulled up to her house. Ok, now it’s time to leave the car and walk to the house that I had now been preaching about for so long. I left the car, and looked back. I was petty in the fact that my car gave me confidence. I loved my car, and I felt that it was an extension of myself (not my penis, as some would criticize about men). It was a sports luxury coupe, and I was proud to demonstrate its better features (read: show it off). I even was thrilled to just imagine Vanessa’s reaction to my ultra cool car. All right, that’s enough of this insignificant bragging. After all, it is just an automobile. It was time to move on, and knock on the door.

I walked, looking down at the neat lights below me. They illuminated everything from the well-managed grass around them, to the small imperfections of the pavement in between. I looked up and noticed the tall door ahead of me. The brass handle seemed to be shining with its own honor to it, and the small windows about the door were geometrically modern. Very cool, I thought to myself. I was about to raise my hand and ring the self-lit doorbell, when the owner of the tricycle ornament identified himself.

“Hey, are you David?” It was Vanessa’s younger brother, Joey, grabbing his red tricycle.

“Hey there!” I extended my hand while lowering myself to his stature, “Yes, I am. Nice to meet you.”

“Wow, you’re tall!” He remarked, “Vanessa likes you. I always make fun of her ‘cause she stays on the phone with you for so long and you guys sound all mushy.”

“Well,” I couldn’t resist chuckling, “I am guilty of that crime.” I was happy to see that he appreciated my joke.

“She should be out here any second. She was taking forever in the bathroom getting ready for you.” Wow, I really liked this kid!

“Thanks, buddy, for the info,” I’m patient. I was in no rush to hurry Vanessa’s preparations.

“Hey, is that your car?”

“Yeah, that would be mine.” Oh man, I loved the attention!

“Wow, really? That’s the same as her last boyfriend’s, except his was black.” A 4000-man shooting squad had instantly shot my optimism down.

“Oh…” I guess my hopes in showing off the car just took a Concorde to Paris.

“Just kidding!” He thought it was ultimately funny, and actually it was… if it were directed at someone else, “Vanessa’s last boyfriend had a big piece of junk van. It always smelled like funny grass.”

“Ah, ‘funny grass’, huh?” Gee, I wondered about what ‘funny grass’ was.

“Yeah, she hated it.” He seemed enamored to talk about Vanessa’s last guy, “He also had this weird laugh like ‘arrrrr hur hur hur hur’. Kinda like a donkey with a speech problem.”

“Huh. Guess you didn’t like him, huh?” I was enjoying this tête-à-tête!

“Nope, he was a real big loser.”

“Ahem!” Suddenly, Joey’s face changed from smile to big eyes and a big round “O” for a mouth. Of course, that must have to be related to the fact that that interruption came from his big sister, Vanessa. I, too, felt a shudder down my back as I felt like I was an accessory to whatever crime Joey was committing.

“I gotta go!” Almost at the speed of sound, Joey frantically peddled away in his tricycle and made his escape. I turned swiftly, but calmly, only to be surprised at what I saw before me.

“Hi!” It was a different Vanessa. A new, and improved Vanessa! She did something unimaginably beautiful to her hair, that it seemed so much more breathtaking than it normally was. She was wearing just enough makeup to accent her already-pretty facial features, and not too much to raise questions about her self-worth. And her clothes were far from disappointing. She wore a dark blue velvet button-down blouse, which wasn’t tight enough to be too revealing, but was thin enough to display her perfect-seeming female figure. Her black mini-skirt was not as shiny (in a velvety way, of course) as her top, but it proved to be a wise decision as it contrasted perfectly and was a nice touch to her overall appearance. Speaking of overall appearance, she must have been listening when I told her my favorite color combination was dark blue with black, and she really pulled it off nicely. Oh my, and when I thought I was done admiring the delight before me, I noticed there was icing on the cake. I was very much pleased that her shoes we delightfully stylish and indeed true candy to my humble eyes. They were, of course, modernistic closed platforms that were glossy enough to be noticed, but not shiny enough to be tacky mirrors. One word stuck in my head: Perfect.

“Perfect.” I echoed to myself

“Aren’t you going to say ‘hi’ back, David?” She smiled.

“Hi!” I goofily said, “You look astonishing.” I had to say something!

“Thank you. You look good too!” Damn it. That’s all that I look. I only look ‘good’. I didn’t look ‘great’ or ‘hot’ or… well, enough nitpicking.

“Well, whenever you’re ready, I’m right with you.” Jeez, what am I, some sort of bodyguard? That almost sounded demanding.

“Sure, let’s go.”

“Hey, wait, if it’s all right with you,” I couldn’t resist, “may I meet your parents? So perhaps they know who there daughter is with?”

“That’d be really nice of you!” She clamored.

“Ok, well, I’d love to meet them!”

“They’re not home right now, sorry.” Well that came out of nowhere.

“Oh! Well, then, I’ll have to meet them some other time.” I wondered who’s Sport Utility Vehicle that was in the driveway then with the Garfield doll hanging on the passenger-side window. Maybe she didn’t want me to meet her parents?

“Wow, is that your car?” Ah now here is my moment of glory.

“Yes,” the enthusiasm gleamed through me like an overzealous salesman, “This would be all mine. I just got it a month ago.”

“You’re so lucky. My parents won’t let me drive until my grades get better.”

“Well,” A moment of opportunity struck me like a bolt of lightning, “it would be my pleasure if you’d like to take the driver’s seat.”

“Really? Wow, I’d love to… but I’m afraid I’ll wreck it.”

“Oh don’t worry,” I could really lay it on thick now, but I’ll put the grease on hold for now, “we would do it in an empty parking lot so there wouldn’t be anyone in our way!”

“Is that so, David? So no one could see us do it?” Dear God, what had I said? I should watch my word choice a little more from here on. I opened the door for her, “Thank you!” Oh wow, this was definitely going to be a good night. I climbed in my seat, and shut the door. With almost a giddy pleasure, I turned the key and the engine started. “These seats are so comfy, I could just sleep in these!”

“I’m happy you like them,” She likes the car! She likes the car! Yea! “Where would you like to go?”

“Oh I don’t know. I was hoping you would decide for us.” Suddenly, my pride fell in the “toilet of humility” and I found myself stuck in the mud.

“Oh?” I scrambled and thought of nothing less corny, “Really, Vanessa, I think it would be better if you’d decide. I would be happy with anything you’d decide upon.”

“Aw, that’s so nice of you!” Success! I was saved! Until... “But really, David, I’ll leave it up to you. I would be happy with anything you’d like to do as long as I’m with you.”

“Thanks,” holy Jesus, did she just say that? As long as she’s with me! I was in a daze.

“So,” wake up call! Still haven’t figured out what to do, boy-genius, “what do you want to do?”

“Would you like to have dinner at this really great restaurant I know downtown?” Oh utter failure, David. It was utter failure, indeed.

“Sure!” Ok, maybe not utter failure… it is just… disappointing failure on my part. She sounded happy nonetheless.

posted on Mar, 22 2004 @ 05:09 PM
It's a good start, you should continue! This seriously freaked me out when I read the title and I read the paragraph about the woman being a piece of art.

It seriously scared me...

Seeing how I wrote ane ssay about how there's no way I could be real and my name is Art and...well that's confusing...I'll post it

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