To the End of the World and Back Again


This novella is not finished. Please assess my imagination. The story continues with some thought grinding twists.


1. A Troubled Soul

“It was a normal afternoon. Started like the rest with a cup of tea and a biscuit, a small white table, chair and blue candles. Just normal...I think.” I heard in the distance, it was an English accent.

“I have black hair—it’s long enough to reach my shoulders…” I heard again. I turned slowly towards the voice. There was a man sitting in the meadow facing away from me. I thought I was the only one out here, but I guess not. It sounded like he was speaking to someone just over the horizon. I started to walk closer in wonder.

“Splash, ugh…a small earthquake tossed the tea out of my cup and onto my white tuxedo. I couldn’t help but look down. There are biscuit crumbs on my black tie and tea spots on my blue dress shirt. Well, at least the grass is still green and the flowers are still blooming. Keeps me sane…I think.” The mysterious man murmured looking at his sixteen ounce bottle of rum, which was on the table—moving his body in accordance to his words.

He’s a bit odd because there wasn’t really an earthquake, he just swished the tea around and it spilt on him. He then slowly crashed the biscuit into his tie, pulled it away, and set it on the table.

With the tea cup still in his hand he continued saying,

“Ever since this world began it has been a mystery to me; I mean, what’s in a man anyway? What purpose is there? I don't even…I can't even feel my limbs; if it weren’t for the fact that I could see them, I wouldn’t even believe they were there.”

I was now close enough to speak with him.

“Are you ok Mist…” I tried to say.

“What is death for that matter, gosh, I wonder if I'm dead. Could it be that I've gone head over heels for the grave? I sure hope not—I have a date. She’s gorgeous you know. Long beautiful hair and the cutest nose you could imagine. But it’s weird, recalling her name has been puzzling. Well maybe I’m crazy; but even if, the last thing I'd want is for people to think I'm six feet under.” He interrupted.


He looked at me and said, “listen kid…I’m trying to tell you something.”

I hunkered down on a bed of flowers and listened to the man. His story began…

“Now, there have been moments when I'd question myself. Not like this though, it’s gotten worse. It started with names. They'd flash in my mind and then nothing.

Hendrix: "Oh balls.”

Zed: "Where are you?"

Hendrix: ", my pants are on fire…hurry!"

Zed: "Keep talking!”

"Hendrix fails to reply. I can still hear him call for Zed..."

"Who?" A voice asks. "What about..." the voice wondered.

"Hendrix! Hendrix...Hendrix is his name. Turn that light off!" I murdered."Nowshush! Listen to me..." I continued.

"Bombs and mortar rounds are heard close by," I said softly.

Zed: "Hold on I'm coming."

I'm in a baby blue colored room. It’s about six feet by six feet. Bright lights beam at me like the sun glaring in your eyes, in the morning, after a good night sleep.

"Go away sun...go away!" I'd yell. But the men behind the black window I glare into just speak out of their speaker boxes--one in every corner.

"Mr. Jameson please continue," another voice said.

I look straight into their window and lick my lips, "of course." I replied.

I told them that Hendrix screamed like a girl. But he ain't one, he's about six four and two hundred pounds. He's talented and boy is he good at what he does...or did anyway. First Sargent Hendrix, he used to be a marine. Irony; I guess if you joined the marines you'd be doing something good for your country, as long as you don't end up like him.

"Hendrix screamed..." another voice continued.

Fools, they don't understand that questioning me would just frustrate them. I am bipolar and the doctors say it’s a miracle that my turrets are at such a level of control; don't be confused, it’s there I swear.

My body is cursed--my mind realizes. I must not have a soul--I conclude. The days seem long here in this insane asylum.”




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