Prelude

Everyone tells me I’m getting too big for my britches. Yep, a month or so ago my jeans fit, now they’re high water pants. My ankles are showing, hanging out. Growing like a weed and already taller than my dad, there’s more, greater heights to yet be achieved. Read in a book, girls reach full growth around age eighteen, and boys about age twenty. If my growth spurt continues unabated for five more years, I calculate I’ll be ten feet tall. Don’t need to work at it, it’s occurring without conscious effort. How to achieve bullet proof is an unsolved problem. Doesn’t everyone wish they to be ten feet tall and bullet proof?

Why do I wish to be bullet proof? That would be nice, I guess, for bullets to just bounce off me, but that isn’t really what I meant. Never had a bullet other than a BB fired at me, so far as practicality matters, impervious to bullets isn’t a very high priority. Where the bulletproof is desperately needed, is my aching heart. Rejection, betrayal, jealousy, woe, misery, anger, and death of a sweet dream that now can never be, all that confusion hurts something fierce! Broken heart? If it’s broken, how come it’s so painful? It’s my relationship that’s broken, not my furiously beating heart! Rip it right out of my chest, if I could, and survive afterwards. Survive! I need to survive this breakup. She ain’t the only girl in the world, and obviously, not the girl for me. I’ll show her. She’ll be sorry she treated me like dirt. I’ll show her!

Enjoy this tale dredged from youthful fantasies and memories.

Chapter 1 »