Here is a sample of something I started yesterday. Give it a read-over and let me know what you think! Got input? Because I need some! Thanks! Sample #1: I don't know how I lost it. My perfect childhood, lost in the spirals of adolescence. I remember growing up, loving my Barbie dolls, my bunk beds, my life. Never wanting it to end, but wanting to grow up nonetheless. Now that I'm here, I'm not all that sure that it was worth it. The hard work, the toil, the tears, that have brought me thus far. The people that work the hardest are no different than those who do nothing, who sit in bus stations and live out of vending machines. The government looks after us all the same. However, this is not a political novel. I'm too greased by the spinning wheels of social security to care much about the world of politics. Hopefully it will still be there by the time I reach retirement age in 2050.
Somehow, I can't seem to shrug the feeling that I will end up living in some alley in twenty years, weathered by my past, apprehensive as to my future. That is my so-called distorted self image. But isn't that where most of the intellectuals end up? So hard-worn by the careless that roam the earth, taxed by the troubles they have caused.
Isn't it everyone's dream at age six to grow up wealthy and famous, become a prince or princess and live in an enormous palace? How is it that ninety-nine point nine percent end up as blue-collar workers, laborers, menial household staff, and homeless? Where does the dream end and reality begin? I think I'm still trying to decipher that at my young age. What is my dream? My dream is to get through this life in one piece.
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