In honor of St Patrick's Day the crew woke up, shook off their stupor and produced the most horrific set of limericks to insult the English language.
For a pretty poem, write a sonnet
Of fields, flowers and summer bonnets
A limerick you see
Is always meant to be
A work most crude and coarse and honest
Life was hopeless. I was 20. I remember that strongly. I remember laying there under the heavy down covers of the bed I’d slept in throughout my childhood. It was summer and hot and the house never had A/C. I didn’t care. I could melt into a puddle and never be seen again. I was a total failure who had to move back home to his parents. Out into the big world and the big floppy boomerang back. It was a “head hung low, a return to open arms” and an invitation to four months of utter despicable laziness. I came back limping after my attempt at surviving alone in California and Florida. What could have been beaches and non-stop scantily clad girls and spring break responsibility turned out to be far more sobering.
This is my first book! I posted it up on Amazon here https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0896YGBKT
I have included the first chapter here, I might post the rest of the chapters later.
It was cold and clammy in the Tennessee mountains. A late fall morning, the time of year when the sun was a little more reluctant to pop up over the horizon with each new day.
Down in the valley in the pre-dawn gloom, lieutenant Jacob Clemens rolled over on his narrow cot, nearly tipping into the dirt. He woke and cast his eye about the tiny tent he called home. Not much to see, standard army issue moldy gray canvas dripping with dew. He often wondered if being in the army was a good idea, especially in the middle of the War for Southern Independence. He had been told many times a war can make a career, but it can also make a person dead. He was not so interested in being dead. To top it off, the war was not going well. Not that wars ever really go well other than in history books, with the killing and mud and bad food.
The black cab chugged its way down the narrow lane, hedgerows laced with early summer flowers standing tall on either side. Thomas occasional glimpsed an old manor house through the gaps in the hedge. He thought of the old days of gentry and peasants, days long gone. He chuckled to himself thinking in those days it would have been impossible for someone such as himself to attend Oxford. The university did not technically give full ride scholarships, but consortiums of alumni set up various funds to allow third world students and the underclasses like himself an opportunity to attend. He considered it all very Noblesse Oblige when he was in a cynical frame of mind.
When winds blow from East to West, the Black star shines bright and lightning strikes twice, beware, he comes… - circa B.C. 1517 prophet unknown.
Arthur, using a short length of string, tied his shoulder-length hair into a ponytail. He pulled his coat sleeves down and gazed upon himself in the mirror. He nodded to himself in approval and left his bedroom though the simple wooden door.
Down in the kitchen his old gran baked muffins. Arthur took a deep lungful of the sweet smelling air. Gran’s sister who worked as a chief cook in the palace had sent some exotic fruit for the festival. Banana it was called. It was yellow and tasted as sweet as honey. Just the thought of it made Arthur's mouth water.
Gekijo needed to get away from the blazing alleyway - the Fire Department was bound to show up any moment, and then the NYPD, and this would become a crime scene. He didn't know what they'd find, a charred set of angel armor or maybe nothing at all, but he wasn't going to find out.
Tamashi started crying, she was naked in the freezing air. He was moving fast, and made it to the nearest subway station and into the bathroom. There he pulled off part of his armor and his shirt, soaked with sweat. He held it in front of the air hand dryer for a long time - it was a horrible swaddling cloth but better than nothing. He put the armor back on, and got onto the next train with Tamashi wrapped up and in his arms.
The only place he could go was his apartment. He needed to reunite with Sweet Atlanta and then they needed to get out of town. As he approached his apartment door, he contemplated just busting off the doorknob, but he felt Sweet Atlanta's presence, and knew that she was inside. He waited a moment, and the door swung open.