Stories are always difficult to begin. You have only one chance to capture the reader’s attention to make them continue to read your words. It’s the perfect combination of modesty and excitement. If you’re too quiet, the reader will begin to skim and flip through pages to see how long the chapters are. But if you’re over the top, it’ll look like you’re trying too hard, trying to seem interesting rather than being genuine.
So, how should I star this? It’s tough because I’m your typical guy. I’m the definition of “John Smith”. I’m the “Bob from the office”. You already “know” me without actually knowing me. So how do I sound interesting without giving away too much of the story?
Well I can tell you that my wrist are covered with fresh blood (don’t worry, it’s not mine). I can also tell you that the only thing that has stayed loyal and consistent for the past eight years of my life, my cat “Bootz” is currently dead, flattened, and in a black garbage bag. Finally, my ex-fiancée, whom I haven’t spoken to in six years, is currently grabbing a knife with a twelve-inch blade with the intention to inflict an infinite amount of pain to my body.
Knowing in a few moments, I may very well be joining the status of my cat, this is when anyone that has been in a similar situation begins to shoot off the same two questions: ”What did this have to happen?” and “What could I have done different to avoid a painful death of sharp steel forcibly entering my body through my soft flesh to destroy my internal vital organs?”
Well, maybe that second question is a little too specific to my situation, but I’m sure there’s a variation that could easily fit into an “imminent death” situation.
I’m on my knees right now, my head slouched forward and my arms dangling down on my sides, making a small pool of blood where my hands meet the wooden floor.
Why don’t I run? To tell you the truth, I don’t want to. I have no desire to get up, I mean I know something horrible is coming my way but I’ll admit that I deserve this. Now that Bootz is gone, I really have nothing that I care about anymore.
This is the moment if you believe in a deity that has promised you a paradise in your afterlife, you would begin to communicate to them, “Hey! I’m coming to see you soon!” Or perhaps this is when you finally understand religion and you’re suddenly a “Born-Again” whatever. But if you’re like me, you’re scared. You don’t know what’s going to happen to you after this is all over. Does it just end? Is it simply blackness? If the afterlife is more than just nothing, what kind of pain am I going to go through in the fiery pits of Hell? Because one thing is for sure, I’m not going to be greeted by a bunch of virgins on a big fluffy cloud with a choir of angels singing beautiful melodies…
I messed up. No… wait…
I pretty much fucked up. Bad.
I’m not sure if that was modest at all, but you know what? This isn’t your typical “Bob from the office” water cooler talk.
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