Okay, I am still sick, and due to some pharmaceutical help, I am going to fall asleep just about the time I publish this. The only question remaining is what to publish.
How ‘bout a stream of consciousness rant?
They peril the stork in sunbathing regalia. Nothing can complain when peaches are pickled. I have never eaten iced cream and don’t want to.
Doesn’t really work well, does it? Random words don’t flow together, and sentences formed in such haphazard manners little progress a plot. Yet, nonsense has been a talent of mine, and I could ostensibly blather for pages, and pages, and . . .
That’s right! One of my earliest attempts at writing. That’s what I’ll end this on. I remember falling in love with Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and trying to capture the same tone Douglass Adams had. It’s not good, but a pre-20s me had a lot of fun cobbling it together like a mad Frankenstein.
This was all written, unfortunately, before I learned how to use a comma, spell, or even what a sentence was. Prepare for run-ons, words I made up on the fly, fourth wall breaks as subtle as a steam engine, and in general, a confusing mess. Looking up the old file, I found it consisted of over 16 pages. Below are the first 2 or so.
I would like to dedicate this book to somebody, but I don’t know anyone who would want their name in any way associated with this
The train transported carcasses, the use of which I won’t tell you as a cheap way to build interest. There were 107 total bodies on this train (not counting dead bugs) 7 of which manned the train (and were alive), 4 of which were elephants (dead), 9 of which consisted of varying types of dogs (also dead), a penguin (bitterly dead as it was still hungry—never die hungry), 25 large cats (dead and full), 37 wolves (deader than the cats since the cats were quite restless due to the fact that they compiled a large amount of energy in their lives by sleeping and now they couldn’t use that energy), 20 were your average day dead guys, 3 dead girls (slightly less average then dead guys), and one not so dead guy. He defiantly wasn’t alive, but then again he wasn’t quite dead either. He purposed himself in this state for two main reasons; it was cheaper than buying tickets (most trains didn’t try to squeeze money from their dead passengers unlike certain revenue agents), and buying a ticket to where he wanted to go required a passport. He would have no problem getting a passport, but that one would have his correct identity which would become a problem. Certain people were looking for him, people he would prefer remaining a secret to. Secrecy was his weapon, that and good snacks which he only used in dire circumstances.
It was at this moment his plan went horribly right. It went horribly right only in the sense that what was happening—being mostly dead—was in fact horrible. And when I say “went horribly right” what I mean is this, he was mistaken for dead by one of the seven living people who was unlucky enough to be on curator duty.
You will note that a plan consisting of several steps can have only one step going bonkers to bonk up the whole bonked plan. The not so dead guy knew this (you will note I have neglected giving him a name in the hope you’ll just have to continue reading to find out) but still felt some satisfaction in achieving one small goal. He smiled. The smile was indeed noticed and it was at this point his plan consisting of several steps was now bonked because of one bonked step once thought to be a non-bonked step. The train engineer/undertaker/ curator/guy who was really creped out by the fact that a member of the non-risen-dead was suddenly smiling screamed. The scream (fortunately for the not so dead guy) went unnoticed for at that point the train whistle also wailed signaling the crossing into Eternal Night.
I think it’s time I give you a little background. Let’s start with the land of Eternal Night. Some people say that only a crazy person would willingly go there but in truth this is incorrect. Even the maddest of the mad, those who think they’re mad and are not, those who are mad and think they’re not, actors, and politicians know better. These groups make eighty percent of the population of crazy people, the other twenty percent would be girly girl blond cheerleaders who if asked whether they would go into Eternal Night would stare blankly at you then fall over in an obvious state of pain due to the fact that they were thinking. The fact was that until our not-so-dead guy nobody wanted to go there.
Another tidbit is that there is a constant stream of fresh decaying carcasses sent to Eternal Night by train, truck, and many other ingenious ways. The dead’s high demand is another attempt to increase interest in this book, I will come up with something to tell you latter.
So after his initial shock and reassuring himself that he had every reason to scream like a little girl, the engineer cautiously looked into the casket of which earlier viewings of the contents perpetrated his sudden knowledge of his own previously unknown alto range. The carcass was, thankfully, not smiling. This fact was, unfortunately, not reliving to the engineer because of the more evident fact that the body was not the original occupant of the coffin whose original occupant was in complete agreement with the engineer that smiling just now did not brighten his day. The train engineer/other things that take time to write down one of which does include potential wetter of pants looked around wildly for the correct carcass thinking about what an awful job he had and which bar maid he would complain to when he got to the pub after work.
In its eternal struggle for bodies Eternal Night (well those in charge this kind of thing) had come up with a thousand ingenious ways of attaining them. One of the more creative ways was an underground tunneler that would dig tunnels under graveyards so that as soon as you were set in your eternal resting place you were on your way to Eternal Night. It did lower a few problems in the case of large buildings (like churches that regularly accompany graveyards for economical reasons, in point you visit your long deceased relative to whom you promised you would turn your life around and you didn’t which is causing you a little emotional pain and you see the church, or your thoughts turn toward your own mortality and you see the church, this is of course is based on the fundamental of location location location.) Church attendance would sink along with the church, and investigations of the church’s foundations (spiritually and physically) would uncover the tunnels and in turn shut them down.
Another prosperous way to achieve possession of cadavers was to open retirement homes. Children would stick their decaying parents here thinking of finally being free to live their lives and forget about those whose actions made that possible. They would forget. The parents would die and due to the age old truth “out of sight out of mind” be shipped to eternal night with no one the wiser. Then the children’s kids would send their parents to retirement for much the same reasons and in this way Eternal Night had a constant stream of corpses. Now for all you children who (A) are reading this book or (B) having it read to you or (C) watching it in some screen adaption for which I have higher doubts about than the book’s publication I want you to know that everything about you is hereditary, even eventually having kids of your own(think about that), so treat your parents like you would want your kids treating you (and if you’re in circumstances that make treating your parents (guardian, gardener, or garden) right impossible you have my condolences.) This cycle dubbed “life” goes on in the real world without a fictitional land like Eternal Night propagating it.
Now our engineer who was previously cursing his job and looking for the jubilating corpse suddenly stopped looking and stopped cursing and in general stopped about everything, except a few bodily functions, for one very good reason, a long black flashlight charged by d batteries and of the type you see on security men’s belts came to a sudden halt as it’s course of movement (a collision course) hit it’s mark, his head. The flashlight’s significant mass plus it’s powerful momentum was enough to bring this man to a state he normally could only achieve after spending large portions of his wages and free time in a pub. This was cheaper faster in all other ways more efficient, so the man who did this (a no longer mostly-dead-guy) should, I think, have been rich if he only knew how to market his procedure with commercials of happy young pretty people being hit over the head by flashlights and having, in general, a good time.
Tale Told 
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