Initium Novum: Part 1

By Casper Greysun

Disclaimer: This is not the entire novel. This is only the first of three parts. Flowing between episodes of comedy and tragedy, "Initium Novum: Part 1" tells the stories of multiple eternal recurrences. In a parody of the philosophical theory, it boasts a cast of unforgettable characters which include a hero with amnesia and voices in his head, a horny detective with a vendetta, a psychopath with a deeper vendetta, a girl with a book from God, an old geezer who keeps slipping on a sandwich, and many more. "Initium Novum: Part 1" is a fast-paced, witty, action-packed thriller with an unexpected romantic twist which is sure to have readers of all audiences wanting their own initium-novum (Latin for a new beginning).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Casper Greysun
• Release date: Aug 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370807116

Casper Greysun

Casper Greysun grew up in New York City. A long time writer, he recently decided to self-publish his work, foregoing the usual traditional publishing route. Greysun is also an aspiring filmmaker with a webisode series currently in development.

Book preview

INITIUM NOVUM:

THE WRITE GOD

By Casper Greysun

[Disclaimer: This is not the full novel.

This portion is only the first of three parts.

If you enjoy this free sample, please purchase the entire novel. Thank you…]

INTIUM NOVUM. Copyright © by YEAH DIGGITY PUBLISHING.

All rights reserved. Produced in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews, and for parody purposes as allowed by U.S. Copyright law.

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Dedicated to 3 eternal debates:

FREE WILL versus DESTINY

THE CHARACTER versus THE WRITER

PERCEPTION versus REALITY

(The heaviest burden)…

What, if some day or night, a demon were to come to you in your loneliest loneliness and say:

This life as you now live it and have lived it, lonely and miserable, you will have to live it again and innumerable times afterward; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh and everything, small or great, in your life will have to return to you, all in the same succession and sequence—even this spider and this moonlight between the trees, even this moment, and even I. The eternal hourglass of existence is turned upside down, again and again, and you with it, a speck of dust!

Would you throw yourself down and grind your jaw and curse the demon who revealed this truth? Or will you live, finally learning to become, to yourself and to your life, the master of earthly indulgences, to regret nothing and to live every moment as if it were one you would live again, and, with due serenity, accept this ultimate eternal loop, living life as an immortal would, forever and evermore?

~from Nietzsche's The Gay Science,

Casper Greysun transl.

PART 1: Initium Novum

CHAPTER 1:

With his vision fading in and out of focus, he finds himself waking up at the bathroom mirror. It doesn’t make the least bit of sense that he’s not in his bed. He has never slept walked before, so that can almost certainly be ruled out. Weirder still is the strange unfamiliarity with consciousness that he’s experiencing. It’s as if he has, just now, awoken for the first time ever. The memories of his past are with the young man but they’re blurry and obscure, as if he’s been drinking his whole life. He knows that he is, yet he cannot recall much else.

There’s no hang-over causing his minor amnesia, if it can even be called that. There’s no headache, upset stomach, or scent of alcohol to suggest that he had been drinking. Yet, his body is tired and it feels as if he’s gotten no sleep.

He ponders the possibility that he might have been drugged? But, no. Who would want to drug him, and towards what purpose? No, that just doesn’t make any sense, he mumbles as he shakes his head.

Maybe he drugged himself, he begins to ponder as he stares at the empty bottle of Vicodin on the shelf, near the toothpaste. The top of the pill bottle sits in the sink, forsaken and left behind. He wonders if it’s there because of him. Maybe he’s overdosing at the very moment and doesn’t even know it.

No… Again, towards what purpose would he drug himself for? And to his knowledge, Vicodin doesn’t affect the memory. Still, just to be sure, he checks his heart rate with his index and middle fingers on his neck, then the inside of his wrist, and examines his pupils for dilation in the mirror.

Fuck me, he says, rubbing his forehead as if it might joust his memory.

Everything about his life seems normal and in place. It’s just him. He feels out of place. He knows all of this, but fuck him if it doesn’t feel brand new.

He proceeds to do what he does in the bathroom, the normal routine, nothing special, nothing fancy. Heading back to his bedroom, he wonders where it might be at. His feet, however, never stop moving, never stop taking him to his room, even though he does not recall its exact location. It feels almost routine. He passes one bedroom, but does not enter it because it’s not his bedroom; somehow he knows this without even knowing that he knows it.

When he reaches his own bed, he lays down but is drawn back to his feet by a sudden urgency to rise. It’s as if he has to do something, somewhere to be, but his mind draws blanks.

It’s probably nothing he concludes, but the sinking feeling in his chest, so deep that three spatial dimensions couldn’t explain it, tells him he must move. It gives him the jitters. He stands there not knowing what to do, as still as the words on a finished page.

Then something happens.

A sound comes from nowhere.

Calendar.

The sound of an unknown voice reverberates around him. Feeling the vibration of the air surrounding him, he obeys the voice. His obedience is not a result of him following the command intentionally, but a result of the sound frightening him and placing him in an alarmed and nervous state. He quickly scans his room, but sees nothing which might have made the noise. After a minute or two, he finally calms himself down and decides to disregard the voice he swears he had heard.

That’s weird, he says out loud, then stares off into space. As he dazes out, he notices something on the wall.

Suddenly becoming aware of a facet of his life, he walks over to the small calendar. It’s posted there in an odd and out of place way on an otherwise bare wall. Today’s date is encircled. Inside the square, the word interview is written.

Oh shit, I have an interview for a job soon.

The realization dawns on him in an unusual fashion, as if it just became so, as if it were an interview out of thin air.

With that, he readies himself. Much to his convenience, there’s a neatly pressed suit in his closet. Unfortunately, the suit is completely unnecessary, but he wouldn’t know that, he couldn’t know that; unless there was something that knew it for him.

No suit.

He pauses as he’s dressing himself. For the second time in a matter of minutes, there’s a voice in the air which he swears he hears. Seconds of silence go by. The sound he thought he heard doesn’t recur. He shakes it off, puts the suit on, and begins to leave.

On his way out the door, he spots an eviction notice. There’s another note taped to that informing him that he has a week to produce two thousand and one hundred dollars, three months of back-rent and exactly half, his half specifically, of what is actually due. The actual amount is a little over four grand. The second note, written on a post-it and signed by T was left there not by the landlord but by the roommate as a blunt and intentional reminder. This T didn’t want his roommate to forget. The note also reminds him not to lock the door again.

Here’s hoping I get the job, he says, crossing his fingers as if the gesture will help him achieve his desire. He leaves, embarking on the half mile walk to the nearest train.

The sky is cloudy and the concrete is wet with patterns of drizzles. There is a crispness to the air which suggests that heavy rain is impending.

A man holding a delicious smelling sandwich walks closely by him; so close that the scent of the toasted croissant and bacon wafts through the air and tickles his nostrils. The time on his wrist watch reads 9:05 am. His interview is scheduled for 10:00 am. Surely, a quick stop at Dunkin Donuts couldn’t hurt his time, he rationalizes.