American Epic - Chapters One and Two. Followed by two draft excerpts.

I

          He has one eye.  He wears an eye patch over the socket of the missing eyeball that was pried out in Afghanistan.  In his dreams they are there.  Nightmares of black operations haunting the primal landscape.  Mercenaries weaving through the night beneath the breathing constellations.  The screaming missiles exploding upon the highland terrain.   The corpse of a village burning in a godless valley of Hell.  A small village on fire beneath infinite stars and the enigma of galaxies beyond.  “Light em’ up,” they would say, and they’d turn their heads toward the stars flickering in the night sky.  The jets sailed through the darkness howling like demons and you could see the fiery glare of the accelerating rockets.  Launched missiles tore through the surface of the shattering earth and the earth rippled like water.  He could see it now— the exploding missiles obliterating the trembling hills, illuminating the clouds in an eerily pale glow.  The bloodcurdling world immersed in eternal violence.  Bombs flashed then faded away and the stars reappeared above the embers of a decimated village.  The smoldering valley soon echoed with the swelling screams and moans of those alive and dying in the night.  Victims squirmed in carnal pain and darkness.  In his dreams they are there.  Bleeding men and women, murdered soldiers and strangers, the slaughtered children – little and blue – all dead in the final aftermath.  

                                                                                 II

          He was back home and the redwood forests prevailed through the gloomy fog enveloping the northern Pacific coast.  The midday sun pierced faintly through the overcast sky and in the distance, above the ocean, fighter jets maneuvered through the clouds.  He was lying on the bed in his room with his one eye closed and listening to the sounds of the jets.  They were performing training exercises off the coast and he had yet to readjust to the noise.  He heard the muffled sound of his father talking to the television in the living room downstairs.  There was a light knock on the door of his room and his mother spoke.

“William? …William, I’m taking your brother to the parade now.  If you change your mind about going, we’ll be sitting by the square.  I’m bringing an extra chair for you just in case.”
He said nothing and listened to his mom stepping downstairs and then assisting his brother out the door.  He heard the van doors open, the electric wheelchair lift moving around, and then the doors closed shut and the engine started.  The van backed out of the driveway and drove away.  Will heard his father continuing to blurt out remarks at the television.  He got up and looked out of his window toward the tree-covered hills and at the low clouds rolling through the evergreen forest.  The tips of the redwoods pierced through the clouds and appeared to be floating upon them.  On a clear day you could see the mountains in the east but since his return last week not one day has been clear.  He saw himself in the faint reflection of the window and he touched his eyepatch.  He sighed and he whispered “Jesus Christ.”  The phone began ringing and his father was hollering downstairs.
“Is anyone here to get that damn phone!?” his father yelled.  It rang a few more times and then stopped.  Will walked down the stairs to the living room.  His father turned to him from the couch where he was watching television.

“The phone was ringing,” his father said.

“I heard it.”

“I think your mother took your brother to the Fourth of July parade.”

“Yeah, they left.”

His father turned back to the T.V.

“Look at this damn parade in they’re having Washington.  It’s a monster!”  He was motioning to the television.  On the screen camouflage military vehicles towing immense missiles and fighter planes rolled through the streets of the National Mall.  The sidewalks and parks were packed with thousands of spectators and American flags.  There were hundreds of troops marching alongside tanks and hummers moving along the streets.  His father shook his head at the T.V.

“It’s a goddamn show of force.  And a goddamn waste of money.  This ain’t China. We’re not in Soviet Russia!” He was pounding the bottom of his cane on the floor.  “Jiminy Christmas, Fourth of July my ass…” 

The phone was ringing again. 

“Goddamnit!”

Will walked into the kitchen where the phone kept ringing.

“Are you gonna pick that thing up?” yelled his father from the other room.

After another ring the answering machine switched on and his mother’s greeting played: “Hi there, you’ve reached the Thompson’s.  Sorry we’re not able to take your call right now, but if you leave a message after the beep we’ll call you back when we have a chance.  Thanks, and God bless you.” 

 There was a beep and then a man spoke, “Good afternoon. This message is for Major William Thompson.  My name is Ian Chambers and I’m a publishing agent for Full Moon Press here in Los Angeles. I’m trying to contact Major Thompson to discuss the possibility of writing a book about his uhh…his experiences in Afghanistan.  I believe I have the correct number.  Ummm…please feel free to give me a call back at three-one-zero, four-five-four, eight-two-zero-five.  Alright, well once again my name is Ian Chambers and my office number is three-one-zero, four-five--“

Will picked the phone, “Hello?”

“Yes.  Hello.”

“Hi.  This is Will.”

“Major Thompson, it’s good to speak you with.  My name is Ian Chambers.  Did you hear any of the message I was leaving?”

“I heard some of it.  Something about a book.”

“Yes sir.  I work for a publishing house called Full Moon Press down here in L.A.  We’re interested in getting your story out to the public.”

“It’s already out in the public.”

“Yes, well, magazines and newspapers articles are quite different than a book.  Have you considered writing a story about your experience?  It’d be an opportunity to tell your side of the story without some journalist distorting what you have to say.”

“I’m not gonna write a book.”

“That’s okay.  You wouldn’t have to do much writing per se.  We can provide a writer for you, you’d just have to tell him the story and he’d write it out.  But your name would be on the cover of the book of course, as if you wrote it.”

“But who’s writing the book then?” Will asked.

“The ghost writer is, but in truth you are.  You’re telling him what to write.  And the ghost writer, or whoever it is, he does the writing.  But it’s your story, all you have to do is verbalize it, we’ll take care of the rest.”

Will look into the living room.  The television screen showed smiling politicians and military officials standing and clapping their hands above the parade of weapons in Washington D.C.  His father was shaking his head at them.  He could hear the agent tapping something against his desk in L.A.

“What do I get out of this?” asked Will. 

“Well, besides being able to dispel any misrepresentations about your story on the part of the media, we’re willing to offer you a large advance for your cooperation, and from there you get a cut of the sales.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yes.  The cut depends on how well the book sells, and there are things like books tours and speaking engagements which may come along with those, but that’s down the line.”
“I see.  How large is advance?”
“Well, please keep in mind that we’re not a big publishing house, and there’s also a general misconception in the public about how much revenue is generated from book sales, but in your case we’re willing to offer you ten thousand dollars up front if you contractually agree to write with us.”
“Ten thousand dollars?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
“That seems a bit low,” Will said.
“Yes, well I sorry it seems that way, but it’s quite a lot in the scheme of things, and it’s toward the higher end of the financial spectrum for us.  We’re not a huge company, but we do represent many best-sellers.  There’s a high chance you’ll see more money down the line through sales commissions.”
“Let me think about it and I’ll get back to you.”
“Sure.  Absolutely.  Do you have my number?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, well thanks for your time Major Thompson.  It’s been a pleasure speaking with you and I hope you consider the offer.”
“Okay, thanks, I’ll do that.”
“Major Thompson, I just wanted to add, that if you don’t write this book first – about what happened out there –then someone else will.  Hell, for all we know some reporter is probably working on it right now.”
“Okay.  Take care.”
Will hung up the phone.
His dad called out, “who was that?”
“A salesman from Los Angeles.”
“Los Angeles?” he yelled.
“Los Angeles,” Will replied.
“City of whores,” said his dad.
There was a dried chili pepper ristra hanging from the kitchen ceiling.  It was from New Mexico.  They had moved to Arcata from Albuquerque a decade ago, after Will had finished elementary school and before the developers had begun tearing up the mesas with bulldozers and rock crushers other large machines – leveling whole plateaus and constructing housing labyrinths and shopping plazas – urban sprawl in the Land of Enchantment.  Will thought about the surreal mesas of his childhood and remembered standing outside of their old house at dawn and seeing the colorful hot air balloons drifting across the red desert, the fumes and bright colors floating above the sands of the shriveling Rio Grande – home to roadrunners, jack rabbits, solitary rattlesnakes that slithered through blades of blue grama along the riverbed.  He remembered the little Navajo men that would hop reservation fences and then walk across the road to the Circle-K.  And the roadkill would be dispersed across the interstate that his family traveled upon in car – the entrails of dead bugs scattered over the windshield, the larva of horseflies squirming upon the glass – and in the barren wasteland beyond, twisting dirt devils raged like maniacal dervishes at sundown, trailing off into the desert beneath the apocalyptic sky.  Shades of turquoise swept across the twilight earth and blazing meteors, hurled out from the depths of space, fell beyond the horizon and then burned away into the void.
During his final winter in New Mexico, snow fell upon the desert and the snow gathered upon the frozen cacti and bone-dry tumbleweed.  The cold flakes of snow fell slowly and covered ancient petroglyphs that underworld beings had carved into black lava rock and upon the snow itself lay the tracks of a horned lizard and the traces of blood that had dripped from its eyes.  Will remembered that the snow was falling high upon the Rocky Mountains as he and his father stood inside the tramcar that swayed as it moved up toward Sandia Peak.  Will was holding on to the rails inside the tram and peering down at the dark crevasses that weaved through the cold and treacherous cliffs below.  He remembered his father asking him what he wanted to be when he grew up.  Will looked toward the small city of Albuquerque protruding out from the bleak wonderland in a desert of snow.
“I’d like to learn how to be a ventriloquist,” Will said.
“That’s a good answer,” his father replied, nodding his head toward the clouds.
His father did some looking around, came back, and said to him, “I’m sorry son, you can’t be a ventriloquist.  It’s a dying art, and there’s no one teaching it around here.”
The conversation had taken place in the living room of their old house.  They were playing chess on the floor.
“Oh,” said Will.
“What else would you like to be?”
Will looked down at his doomed little pieces.  He looked over to his younger brother who was rolling around in the corner of the room, leashed to the wall. 
“Well, I’d really like to be a marine biologist.”
“Ha!” his father shot back, “we live in a desert.  And this state is landlocked.  There’s no water around here, son.”  His father captured his queen and said “check.”
Will looked toward his knight and made a move, “well, then I’d like be a solider, like you were."
His father thought for a moment and then moved a piece.  “Checkmate.”

Draft Excerpts:

AT HOME, HIS BROTHER AND MOM

“You know you can’t get out of the straight jacket honey, you’ll hurt yourself.”
His brother began to gurgle and drool, his words jerking forth in a stutter, “I…want to…h-h-hurt…myself,” he exhaled and then babbled away.
“I know you do sweetie, I know you do.”  His mother wiped the drool from his face and patted him on his bald and disfigured head.  She sat beside him on the carpet and cradled the manchild in her arms, shushing him as they basked in the sunlight pouring in through the glass window.  Will’s retarded brother quietly mourned and slobbered in agony, his limp tongue drooped from his mouth and his infantile head was titled and pressed into his mother’s copious bosom.  Between her breasts was a silver angel attached to her necklace.  She rocked her deformed son in her arms lovingly and sang softly:

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You make me happyyy, when skies are greyyy.
You’ll never know dear, how much I love you.
So please don’t take my sunshine awayyy.”

She began to sing the same song again and there were tears in her eyes.  Will looked at them and he shook his head.  That lump of flesh on the floor was not his brother he thought.  There was no connection between them, yet he could recognize that the anguish searing through those lost and monstrous eyes was suicidal.  His mother was singing and his brother was moaning and tossing around in her arms.  He felt sorry for them both.  
“We should put him out of his misery,” he said, and he knew that would anger her.
“How dare you!” His mother had snapped her neck around to face him, her face was flushed and irate.  “How dare you!” she seethed, the hatred in her voice burned pure and raw.  “He is your brother!  He is my son!” she proclaimed, “He is my son…”  She wept and the tears were streaming down her face as she stroked the head of her babbling mutant child.  Her vision was blurred as she looked into his lifeless eyes to assuage him, “you are my darling son and mommy loves you.  Mommy loves you.”  Her son drooled and moaned, his eyes faced those of his mother whom kissed him and said “shhhhh, I’m sorry, I am so sorry…”
She turned back to Will and was enraged.  “Get out of my house!”  She was pointing toward the door with her free arm and yelled, “get out!!”
Will stared at them – his desperate mother, his blabbering and retarded brother – he shook his head in pity and walked to the front door.
“Don’t you ever come back” she said.
He looked at her.
“You mean that?”
“Get out and don’t you ever come back!” she screamed.  “May God save your soul.”  His brother was squirming in his straight jacket, grunting and drooling in her arms, he was staring at Will.  The high-pitched screaming had hurt his ear drums and he was stuttering and saying, “buh, buh, buy-buy, bye bye, bye...”  And Will imagined how he himself must have looked standing there by the door – stoic and indifferent – deadpan, wearing an eyepatch, a mutant in of himself.
“Bye,” he said.
He opened the heavy door and stepped out into the day and slammed the door with such force that the coat hanger on the other side fell down, as did a few framed pictures and paintings inside of the house.  His mother was left sobbing in a lullaby, and in her arms, the son she cradled and rocked said “bye, buh –buh, buh—buh—brother.”   



ON THE ROAD; WILL, CHRIS, SERGIO

Driving down the two lane road Chris was ranting about how the Russians were always going to get us and how the Russians controlled the weather and how the Cold War was not over.  He was behind the wheel and saying that “even the pussy-whipped Chinese government of China is being controlled by the Russians.  That’s almost two billion pussy-whipped Chinese little fuckers preparing for wholesale armageddon.  So America doesn’t stand a chance in Hell against the Russians unless we get our house in order.  And a four-hundred year-old empire ain’t got nothing on a three-thousand year-old one.  We ain’t got nothing.”
Chris stopped talking.  Sergio and Will were silent.
Chris went on, “the Soviets went nuclear for a reason.  They gave the Chinese nukes too, big time.  And the chinamen gave them to the crazy fucking North Koreans.  And the Koreans armed the Iranians.  I’m telling you, the fucking Russians have gone apeshit.  They’re ready to do some serious damage, it’s just a matter of time – they believe in the prophecies of Rasputin.  Mark my words, the Cold War ain’t over, buddy.  They’re even changing the time zones up on us,” he said.
“How do they change time zones on us?” Sergio asked from the back.
“What?” said Chris.
“I said how do they change time zones on us?”
“They just change them up,” Chris said.
“What do you mean?” Sergio said.
“What do you mean what do you mean?”
“I mean what do you mean they just change them up, the time zones?”
Chris breathed out and explained, “the country of Russia controls its own time, so they’re changing their zones of time in order to establish dominance over the world.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” said Sergio.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Chris said, keeping his eyes on the road.  “I’m talking about that Russia used to have eleven time zones, and ---“Will interrupted and said “do you know what you’re talking about, Chris?”
“Yeah.  I’m talking about the same thing you’re talking about.”
“I’m not talking about anything yet, other than asking you if you know what you were talking about or not.”
“Yeah,” he said with uncertainty, “we were talking about the Russians changing up the time zones in Russia.”
“I wasn’t talking about that.  But now that we’re on the subject, do you know how and why Russia is able to adjust their time zones in Russia without it affecting our time zones?”
From the back Sergio said, “Yeah, that’s what I want to know.”
“How about you Chris?” Will asked.
Chris shifted his eyes back and forth on the road ahead.
“How about me what?”
“How about you wanting to know why this can happen?”
“Yeah, I want to know why.”
“Well” said Will, “this can happen because the planet is a twisted fucking place.  Everywhere people are killing other people because some people are greedy and filled with hatred and intolerance. And throughout the history of the world groups of people at the top compete with other groups of people at the top in an effort to control the folks at the bottom.”
Chris was nodding his head agreeably.
“And so all of a sudden Russia has realized that they’ve got a massive country with too many time zones complicating the whole fucking situation.  So to cut down the bullshit they reduced the number of time zones in the interior of the country by changing and merging some of the time zones within, while keeping the time zones at the ends of the country the same.  So the time zones don’t change on the east and west borders, but are reduced and consolidated within the interior of country.  That’s how they change up their time zones without it affecting us.”
“I think there’s a cop car coming up on us,” said Chris.
Will looked in the passenger side view mirror and far behind them was a cop car driving closer to them, and just because the lights weren’t flashing didn’t mean they had nothing to fear.  (In the back seat) Sergio turned his head and looked back.
Chris said, “now why the fuck are you gonna turn your head back around and check to see if the cop behind us is behind us?”
“Just keep driving normally” said Will.
“Fuck” said Chris.
“We’ll be fine,” Will said.
“I know we’ll be fine, I’m just wondering why Squanto here had to check up on the police back there.”
“You don’t got nothing to worry about, man,” said Sergio.
“Whatcha’ mean I ain’t got nothing to worry about?  I’m here transporting some goddamn criminals.  You all are AWOL.  Did you forget about that shit?”
“I ain’t AWOL,” said Sergio,  “you just drive man.”
“I’m driving, nigger.  I’m driving.”
The police car was about a hundred feet away behind them, close enough to see the bumper sticker on Chris’s car which read LOVE MY COUNTRY, HATE MY GOVERNMENT.
Chris wringed his hands against the steering wheel and said, “you fools are some suspected murderers.  And as far as they’re concerned, I’m a goddamned accomplice.  And that makes all three of us terrorists.”
“Don’t worry about it” said Will, “calm down and keep on going like you were before.”
Green pastures and farmland lay ahead before them, the rolling hills of Arcaida and the clouds stood still in the blue and perfect sky.  Chris was looking about.  
“What’s the speed limit around here?” he asked.
Will looked into his rear view mirror.  The black and white paint of the police car was distinct behind them, he could see the dull red and blue of the lightbar, his heart was beating hard.     
“I’m going forty-five. Is that too fast?” asked Chris.
“I don’t know,” said Will.
“Well, this fucking cop is about to start riding my ass.  Is it too fucking slow?”
“Just keep it between forty-five and fifty,” Will said.
Will reached over and turned on the radio in effort to distract himself.  It was on the AM function and he was scanning through the channels.  The cop car was close behind them, and Chris could see the figures of the two officers in the front seats (of the car) in his rear view mirror.
“Stop doing that.  It looks like your hiding something?” Chris said.
“What?” said Will.
“Stop touching the radio, it looks like your doing something down there.”
Will stopped touching the radio dial.  The station that he had left it on was Family Radio.  The announcer was talking about how God was getting ready to do them in.  The old and creaking voice was saying:

…and by and far there is no tyrant that can stand up to the will of God.  There is no force of nature or man that is as powerful as the force of God.  For He is almighty and everlasting. For He is the creator of tyrants and of man and of nature alike.  And our creator, who hath sculpted our world – God – has put before man a test of faith and righteousness.  He has decreed upon the Kingdom of Man a holy date by which we are to submit to His eternal omnipotence or face the scorching fires of Hell.  And through the Holy Scripture He invites us to commit ourselves to the heavenly glory of His Holy Kingdom.  For the day reckoning is upon us all.  The Holy Bible of the word of God reads that this Day of Judgment falls on the twenty-first day of the tenth month in the present year of our Lord. Seek refugee in the word of Christ and the Holy Father God, repent and thou shall be save.  Aye, He calls upon us to commit ourselves to His will, as His one and only son did, and to make a great and solemn sacrifice on the forthcoming Day of Judgment.  Aye, the word of God is no lie, and when we fall upon the Day of Judgment He shall ask us who are his scared children on Earth to commit our lives to the eternal Kingdom of Heaven and to forever  --

 “This guy is nuts,” said Chris.
The cop car was still close behind them.
“He wants us to kill ourselves,” said Will. 
“I’ll tell you what.  I’ll repent if these silly fuckers get off our asses,” said Chris.
There was a green metal road sign posted up ahead on the road, the shiny white text on it read UNITED STATES COAST GUARD TRAINING FACILITY.  NEXT EXIT.
“Maybe they’re going to the Coast Guard training facility,” said Chris.
“Maybe they’re scanning your plates,” said Sergio.
The exit ramp came up and the exit road branched off into the hills of the coast and the cop car remained behind them on the route.  And posted up on the Coast Guard road onramp were a handful of police cars and vans and several military trucks that waited for them to pass before trundling onto the route and driving together in a swift and mechanized following behind the police car.
“Well that’s nice,” said Chris.
There were now about ten police and military vehicles driving in a line on the road behind their car.  Their hearts were racing and it was a beautiful day.  The preacher on the radio was still giving his sermon and warning that the Day of Judgment was upon them.       
“We’re gonna need to gas her up,” Chris said.
“What’s that?” asked Sergio.
“We need gas.”
The fuel light was on.
“How much more do you have?” asked Will.
“I don’t know,” said Chris, “but when this little light here goes on it’s telling me that this car needs gas, and that’s when I like to fill her up.  Because when I fill her up the light goes off.  I’ve never checked to see how much more gas the light means I have left, I just fill her up.  And honestly Will, I’m not sure how long the light’s been on because the cops and the fucking National Guard are riding my ass right now, and this guy on the radio is telling me that we’re all about to burn in Hell so my mind’s all jumbled up.”
Will turned off the radio.
“Well, I’m sure there’s a town up ahead and if we see a gas station we’ll pull in.”
“Won’t that look suspicious?” asked Sergio.
“Won’t what?” asked Will.
“Won’t it look suspicious if we pull in to the first gas station we see?”
“Maybe we can pull in to a deli or something first,” said Chris.
“Well that may look suspicious too,” said Sergio.
“Well what the in the hell am I supposed to do?  I gotta get some gas or else we’re gonna be in big trouble.  The light is on goddamnit, that means she needs gas.”  Chris was upset.
Will said, “we’ll get her some gas. You just keep on going Chris, keep on going right ahead toward that little town in the distance.  It’s just up the road.”
A sign post on the roadside read TWO ROCK. 1 MILE.  On the sign were the symbols of a gas pump and little forks and knives.  They passed the sign and could see the little houses and buildings of the small town visible up ahead.  They kept going – the formidable entourage of police and military vehicles at their rear – and entered the town of Two Rock, population 125.  A gas station was coming up ahead on their right and Chris let his foot off the gas as they approached it.  He was about to switch his blinker on until he saw that at the gas station were several police cars parked in the parking spaces and at the fuel stations.
“What the fuck is going on here?” said Will.
Chris kept going through the town.  The sole street light was green and they passed under it.  There was another gas station ahead on the left.
“Go there,” said Will.
“I’m going.”
Chris put his blinker on and slowed down.  He turned left and into the gas station and the police and military cars that were behind them passed by and kept going down the road and away. 

Comments

[SashaO]

hope you end your novel!!!!
I know nothing about writing, but this deserves an applause... Keep up the good work,