I recently e-mailed my High School English teacher to find out the best way to begin a story is. He was very interested in how I came about his e-mail address. I can see the validity in his interest because of the fact that I graduated 17 and a half years ago and haven't spoken to him since. He is Jewish, and I hate him. I don't hate him because he is Jewish, though. I also don't hate him because he is not Jewish either. Despite his digression, he was competent enough to answer my question.
"Usually a good way to start a story is to introduce your character(s)" was his reply.
I sent him back a coupon I made in Microsoft Paint for half off a dozen eggs as a thank you. Hopefully they accept it at his local supermarket.
My main character is myself actually. Thankfully I am writing this for myself to relieve stress so I can skip most of the little details about me, because I am already familiar with those. One of my most prominent features is probably my receding hairline. It is also one of my most proud. Instead of trying to disguise it, I have decided to shave the back of my head, so that both sides are even. It reminds me of my new wave days and delivers a very fresh sense of nostalgia every time I pass by a mirror. I live in a condominium with three plants and a goldfish. My plants have names, but my goldfish does not. Him and I are in agreement that he has not proven himself enough to earn a name yet. I have an unexplainable fear of religious figures such as priests, nuns, and the pope.
I had an interesting week this week. My psychologist recommended that I document it, and I thought that this was a good idea too. I don't agree with my pyschologist on anything else usually, because he is a vegan and has no sense of fashion.
Early on in the week, while driving, I was cut off by an elderly woman. Used to this kind of behavior on the road, I simply muttered "Pardon me for getting in the way of the Queen of the Road." to no one in particular. "Actually that statement was directed towards the lady that just cut you off." I thought to myself afterwards. As per my usual routine to people who annoy me on the road, I followed this lady all the way to her house and parked down the street from her driveway. I wanted to know what drove her to commit such an unthoughtful act against a complete stranger.
A lot can be learned from observing what a person does in the general area in the front of their house. She left her house at least once a day to go somewhere. To where, I'll never know, because I was rooted in my looking spot. This means she was a somewhat moderately active individual, at least that was as far as I concluded in that matter. On at least two occasions a caravan filled with one or two adults and several children stopped by for a visit, both times roughly around the time you serve dinner. I assume she is a grandmother then because I also assume these are her grandchildren.
A total of six dogs and six people, most of the time paired up walk past her house every day. Four of the pair come from the west. Two come from the east. This occured every day except the fourth day on which it rained. I am still trying to figure out the pattern of the dog walkers because their flow was interrupted by a heavy downpour, but I have the rain to thank for my life, for without it I certainly would have dehydrated. I did not anticipate my study and therefore did not pack any food or water. Chewing on my leather upholstery staved off my hunger well enough, but without the rain I certainly would have died.
After the sixth day I decided that I had enough information to base a theory on, and I decided to go home and work with the data I had compiled. As soon as I walked in the door I ate my goldfish, three plants, and wicker basket that had been manufactured in Germany. My conscious will be clean from eating the goldfish and the plants because they were already dead from not being fed or watered for six days. The basket will take a considerably longer time to fully get over because it had been given to me as a gift.
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