The Betrayal of Times of Peace and Prosperity

By Alex Kudera

Andy does just enough to get by, sometimes less. Between hits from the bong, hallucinogenic shrooms, and eating dog food, Andy contemplates his friend’s suicide attempts, his final days of college assignments, and the importance of his education to his dismal-looking future. By his side are Macbeth-like witches, his meek roommate, and an eccentric professor. And, of course, a girl.

Edgy and darkly humorous but, like all the best literature, it still keeps an undercurrent of seriousness.

About the Author:
Alex Kudera has survived fifteen years of teaching overloads but in some circles is better known for his mysterious injuries. He has bussed dishes and tutored English in two countries, and Fight for Your Long Day, his first novel, was drafted in a walk-in closet during a summer in Seoul, South Korea. A lifelong Philadelphian until fall 2007, Alex currently teaches literature and writing at Clemson University in South Carolina.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gone Dog Press
• Release date: Feb 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458064578

Alex Kudera

Alex Kudera has survived fifteen years of teaching overloads but in some circles is better known for his mysterious injuries. He has bussed dishes and tutored English in two countries, and Fight for Your Long Day, his first novel, was drafted in a walk-in closet during a summer in Seoul, South Korea. A lifelong Philadelphian until fall 2007, Alex currently teaches literature and writing at Clemson University in South Carolina.

Book preview

The Betrayal of Times of Peace and Prosperity

a novella

Alex Kudera

Gone Dog Press

Verona, Va.

http://gonedogpress.wordpress.com

Copyright by Alex Kudera, 2011.

Smashwords Edition

Alex Kudera is also the author of the novel Fight for Your Long Day.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition License Notes:

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover Image: Denny Hall, University of Washington, Photographer: Calvin F. Todd. Used with permission from University of Washington Libraries, Special Collections, CFTo167.

Contents

I. Afternoon

II. Evening Turns to Night

III. Night Turns To Day

IV. Commencement

***

Publisher’s Note

About Alex Kudera

I. Afternoon

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Andy,

I want to die.

Sincerely,

Jake

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the fifteenth time in two weeks, I read Jake’s last line, ball up the letter, and throw it at the wall. I wipe the sleep from my eyes, and rise from a lying to sitting position. Then, pressing my left palm flat against the alarm clock that rests on the foot-high night table, I hoist myself up off the floor mattress, and push myself out of bed. When I see the clock, relief rushes through me because I still have over two hours until my last college seminar. It’s only 2:37 p.m., so I sidestep the tall bong perched in the room’s center and limp toward the bathroom.

Stiff and groggy and trying to climb over the high rim of the old rounded bathtub, I bang my left shin and stub my right toe. I rub away the pain, and then stand tall in the tub and turn on the water. The sharp bite of cold water pelts against my chest.

Twenty minutes later, back in my room, I search for clothes in my closet full of four years of excess. There’s the usual in old junk—rolled-up posters, unopened books, moldy hot pots from frosh-year dorm existence, and enough clothing to warm an undeveloped nation. I put on some that smell clean.

I move to John’s room and place one of his reggae CDs in the five-disc changer. I return to my room and pray once more to the god of ganja—and then return the two-foot long violet tinted smoking apparatus to John’s closet. On second thought, I cradle it in my arms and carry it downstairs and into the kitchen. I place it in the cabinet for tall food items, behind the vegetable oil and jumbo bags of potatoes and rice.

By the kitchen’s card table, stoned, I sit sipping coffee