I must say after all the posting last month it has rekindled my poetic license and I feel as though I've been drawn back to my one true love.  I had begun writing a book and the idea had me very excited.  More than I ever had been before at the advent of a story.  Then I lost something.  It wasn't the idea because that still burns hot, very hot. Perhaps I was just sidetracked but in the end I came back.  Don't they always come back?  So on a whim I decided to post the first two pages of  chapter 1.  I hope you like it,  moreover I hope you want to read more.
Thanks for reading it regardless.
-Bushman
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Chapter 1

Cause and Effect

There were a lot of normal kids in our neighborhood.  Kids that played basketball and football and pick-up games of baseball in the vacant lot across from our house.  They were good at it.  Born with a healthy physique, they were strong willed and most of all naturally gifted.  I wasn’t one of them. 

I was the kid that was always picked last or more often than not told I was odd man out and had to sit until someone got tired.  No one ever got tired.  Not even the kid that stuttered and had asthma.  They picked him before me and I believe he was even a tad retarded.  My days consisted of reading books and lying for hours on end with my vast collection of Legos and dreaming of faraway places.  Little, square headed men building space ships and heavy defenses against invasion were my sport.

There was even a point that my step mother, at that particular time, took me to the doctors to see if I was all right.  I was only about 12 or 13 at the time.  The Dr. was a freak and checked my prostrate.  I think he was a pedophile wrapped in a white coat.  Nothing was found of course, in my ass or otherwise, and I continued life at its normal pace. 

I had accepted my role in life as a loner, subservient and buried myself in books and other imaginative process that would carry me away to far lands where I didn’t have to be strong or talented.  I was reading a book a day by the time I hit Jr. High School.  Girls?  Forget about it.  I often wondered if I was a result of tragic childhood experiences or if I was just a weirdo.  

This was the time of the great talk show debuts and you could trace everything back to a childhood experience.  In fact people were being murdered and the cases were judged not guilty due to the defendant not getting what he wanted for Christmas when he was 9 yrs. old.  It was a sad time and I remember thinking that I would not ever blame anything on my childhood.  I was the biggest advocate of “You are what you make yourself”.  Not “you are a cruel example of what can go wrong in the early years.”  I believed this for almost 30 years.  I wish I still did but the evidence states contrary my dear Watson.  

Time heals everything they say but what they don’t tell you is time also grows everything.  Like a tumor it hides in your belly and as the years go by it grows.  Sneaking and growing, crawling up and out and when it’s too late it bursts.  Unfortunately now there is no time for healing.  No time left.  You’re stripped, left naked and exposed.  Like a nerve in a tooth,  the layers are peeled away every touch becomes more and more painful until finally the tooth must come out.  It was time to stop.

There are many examples I could list.  Perhaps half dozen talk show episodes would be needed to cover them all.  In the end it really wasn’t about me.  Never was.  I was and still am, just a pawn in the game, slightly more than an extra but nonetheless not a major player.  Waiting on the sidelines until someone gets tired and then and only then do they come calling.  After all these years I finally get to go in the game.  The pinch hit, the winning field goal whatever the cause I will be the effect.  It was my time finally and boy did I ever shine.