A Little Existence: The Beginning

By Edward Alex Smith

Alex has surpassed the enemy, but he and rest know one small victory is not enough in The Town With No Name. With all of the troubles ahead of them, Alex digs deep into his past to relive key moments so that he may come to terms with himself, and prepare for war. No more conflict, no more regret. Everything is going to burn.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Edward Alex Smith
• Release date: Mar 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311931160

Edward Alex Smith

Edward Alex Smith, writer, singer, gamer.Author of the A LITTLE EXISTENCE series! Check them out!Follow me on Twitter @edwardalexsmith for updates!

Book preview

Chapter 1

THE SLAUGHTERED PERFECTIONIST

Get out of here, or I will kill you. I said in the darkest of nights. I had just written myself a book of laws, standing tall and proud in the pouring rain. Costa, a traitor I once looked up to, was laying in a puddle of his own weakness and defeat. I had put him there, but the glory of humbling him was not mine alone. It was for my friends who he had nearly killed. I only beat him in anger, the anger he had caused with his sarcasm and his tainted attitude.

As I walked away I felt redeemed with every piece of spit and water dripping down my damaged face. I thought of lifting my arms and screaming for joy, screaming for pain. I just wanted to scream for something. Memories of the last seven months were racing through my head faster than ever before. Tomorrow did not exist, there was only this moment. I felt everything was turning gray and becoming as one. I looked back after taking those brutally difficult steps up to my front door to see his car and worthless body gone. He was a backstabber and a disloyal artist; he stunk like a traitor, but had the ambition of a star athlete. Most of the people that knew him considered him a waste of skin and time.

My friend, Tommy, was once on his side and they were both the same. Costa should have followed his own rules, and then maybe everything would have been all right. With Costa down for the count, Tommy had become my greatest ally.

Costa’s father had convinced him that we were all worthless, a bunch of nobodies with nothing to offer his organization. He painted a pretty picture for his son that we were the jackals and that he was the victim to our wasted skin. Costa’s hobbies were snorting cocaine, drinking his favorite whiskey and most of all, counting his filthy money. It made me sick that I was beginning to become this monster, the very person I hated. Money is never worth obsessing over because the love of money brings out the worst in people, but the difference between us was that it was the power I craved. I would never sell a true friend to gain a dollar.

I could not even sit down to write my novel with all this stress hanging over me. This was not the only answer to my redemption. I really had to dig deep to find myself. I had started to lose sight of who I really was, but as happy as I was leaving Costa to suffer, I still had my own problems. Dealing with them could be so confusing, not knowing where to begin or if there would ever be an ending.

Taking care of Costa would please a lot of the right people, but I had no intention to start spreading the good news because I knew I wasn’t always like this. I used to be quite the opposite: a very loud and obnoxious dork. I was always the class clown and nobody would have ever guessed that I recently blew off somebody’s kneecaps. I began to surprise myself and reacted well to the altered tables.

I have done a lot of stupid things. I said aloud.

I woke up the next morning feeling like I hadn’t even slept. The first thing that came to mind was the night before, Costa. My knuckles felt swollen.

I knew I could not stay locked in this house, I had to go out and do something, anything to keep my mind from imploding on itself. It was still too early in morning, but I went for a walk knowing none of my friends would be awake. I could see my breath linger in the cold morning air, noticing it in the reflections of every puddle. I walked past the very spot where I had beaten down Costa and kept walking toward the giant bridge in the center of town. It was odd how quiet it was. I could feel people looking at me, judging and with nothing good to say. People that would not even know my name, but judge me by the actions of what they saw themselves or heard from others. Mostly elders, gawking at me from their windows, with their unsettling eyes.

Did anybody see? Every house on my street was so close to each other that I must have mad more than enough noise that even the rain could not wash out. Even if they did see the worst, why should I have cared? This town was built on fighting, rage and all of the bullshit in between. I did the town a favor casting out one its demons.

Who was I becoming? I had too many mixed emotions to even choose which person I was now. Sometimes I was the clever one of the group, I gave the best advice and people were impressed with what I had to say. Other times, I would be the funniest and most entertaining. Despite the way I was, now I could barely look at myself. I watched my own words as if I were on trial. Every mirror would be turned around so I didn’t have to face reality.

Yet, I knew I had to relax. I just needed a good spark to feel like I was back on top, a not digging myself my own grave considering what the future might hold.

I eventually found myself at the edge of the canal, close to the bridge and I just sat down, content to enjoy the scene. I found a bench that I had passed thousands of times but never sat on. I stared at the scenery. Gazing comfortably, I wondered if I was truly ready to live this new lifestyle now. Half of me was prepared, but the other did not know what exactly to prepare for. The only thing I knew for sure was that a war was coming, and I had snap out of this contradicting puzzle, to shape this damaged conscience.

I just needed to remember how I saw things less than a year ago. I needed my dignity and happiness back, I needed to feel whole, and needed to feel together. I knew that if I could remember the right feeling, I wouldn’t be completely lost. I had been high, I had been drunk, and I had been beaten, bruised, dragged, broken, betrayed, scared - but most of all, I was taught a lot of things that most people do not learn in a lifetime. Still, I also knew that people all around the world were going through much worse. I wasn’t alone to struggle, and my wounds were self-inflicted.

That’s not what bothered me, I figured I should deal with the biggest problem first, but did not know what that was either. I learned to speak out loud because of my prior carbon monoxide poisoning. It had done something to my mind, that’s why I always talked. I never knew this until I was given my own apartment to spend so many nights alone. I would wonder between the empty walls back and forth just thinking of something to do when I already had things to do. Important things that I didn’t want to do anymore.

Being social was one of my strengths, but these last seven months said differently. This is what I wanted to take back, this is what I wanted to fight for now. This new life and change of events were more like a job, a job I couldn’t see myself enjoying anymore.

Tommy and I would be moving in less than a month, away from this hellhole. I hated and loved this town, and now Costa was gone so we could easily stay. A fresh start would be nice and it wouldn’t be impossible to see all my friends from where we were going. I prayed that it would fix everything and that this life did not follow us.

However, I would forever miss the love of my life, Eva. She too was constantly on my mind. We had broken up in the middle of the entire ordeal. She was very upset with me and was headed in her own direction of success with hatred for me. I missed her, but over time that got easier to deal with and I knew I was getting stronger. Maybe that’s where I should have started. I should have found her and talked to her. I wanted to lay all the cards on the table and see if I was finally able to move on, to let go and know not to ponder. It secretly killed me inside thinking about the possibility of her not caring if I had even been dead or alive. It was my own fault I lost her, and would always be my biggest regret.

I reached for my cell phone because I wanted to call her but I had already forgotten, that it had been destroyed. Another stupid fact, I wish I could’ve just enjoyed my victory against that drunken idiot.

The sun came up faster, and the shadows evaporated and faded away, shining into my pale skin.

I stood up, because I had always had a problem with sitting still. Every half an hour I would get up, yet remain near the bench as if I had a leash attached to it. I kicked stones, sat on a rock, and drew stupid pictures with some of my loose change. Every time I would stop doing one of these things I always looked back at the beautiful rising sun. It was beautiful and far from ordinary, it was my theory to get me through the morning. I realized then, that I had never enjoyed the simple things in life until that morning. Before I always had to be doing something that involved my mind moving at a faster pace. A part of me was learning to stop and enjoy these little things, but now it was too late because I would never have the time.

I wanted to change the world. I used to say that I had a belief that didn’t exist. It didn’t exist because I did not know what it really was I looking for. Sitting out there changed that. I wanted the world to redeem its mistakes or to at least acknowledge that we are all killing ourselves with the technology and greed that surrounds everyone and everything. It was hypocritical coming from the kid doing the very things he hated. I had done everything for an interesting story to tell my grandkids, but I was nothing more than a basic consumer for attention. I was the very product of what I wanted to end, and I was aware that my instinct and humanity were getting the best of me.

I sat there long enough to see the puddles dry up. The sun was high and I was starting to sweat and I knew that these were the last couple of hot days. October was not far, and somehow, it had reminded me of my father. He and I had talked numerous times but we never made the effort to go and see each other. Somewhere in the ongoing feud between my parents, my mother was victorious into us never seeing each other at the same time, my twin sister or even just myself. He had made his own mistakes but he had his head on straight and was becoming a very wealthy man. Smart, and a hard worker, I always got the feeling that he gave up a lot of his dreams to become the person he is now. I respected him for that, he never complained, and found happiness in the all paths he chose. It was all him, and the few visits throughout my life that made me who I am. The way that I thought, the reason I write, the person I am today is because of my father. So why was I questioning my morals and challenging myself to see how far I could fall?

It had been a few years and I wondered what the last thing I had to say to him was. I remember going to a summer camp, trick or treating on Halloween, Thanksgiving at my grandmother's, and doing normal family things with him. What drew the line for all of this to end? Why did he move so far away? Right now I needed to focus on more important things. I was in the eye of the storm and needed to go back in time to maybe rewrite my self-conflict.

Another man that reminded me of my father, was a lot like a brother.

Where is Tommy? I knew he would be going to my house and most likely pass me on his way, so I kept a look out for him and his unavoidable car. I wondered if I should have gone home to wait for him. This time when I got up, I began walking home and eventually when I made it back inside, I had a good look around my bare house. It was not spotless anymore; it had been tainted and felt dirty no matter how much I cleaned it. It was becoming a dump and everything in it was dead.

Once again, the lingering uncleanliness reminded of my father. I must have inherited my obsessive-compulsive disorder from him. He wrote the book on neatness and organization because his house was always perfect. Even the cleaning supplies were clean. Always pajamas before bed, every movie in alphabetical order, and every dish washed within the same hour he used it. We had a lot in common, my house always had to be clean but I never had the time to perfect the place because of everything else going on in my life. The house stunk like hatred; lies were everywhere, regret painted these walls. How could I possibly organize my thoughts jumping from one to another? Let alone clean my apartment.

Finally, from outside I heard two car doors slam shut and footsteps leading to the front door. It was about time, but Tommy was with Chelsea, which I did not expect.

Alex, answer your door! The words came out before he even knocked, it was impossible for anybody to wait for me.

I answered to see Tommy towering over Chelsea and her short self. They reminded me of characters from a modern-day television show. They seemed like opposites but were very much the same. I could see the faded cuts and bruises on Chelsea’s face covered with makeup, she was a soldier, but it still pained me knowing how she got them. I prayed nothing would scar.

What’s up? Chelsea asked.

I’ve been up for hours, come on in,

Tommy looked at me and somehow he knew right away something was different. He could not tell if it was either a good or bad thing. I let them in and Chelsea was the most excited to sit, she seemed eager. She slammed her feet down on my coffee table like she just worked a hard day, making herself right at home.

So. Tommy said, expecting something out of me.

So? I retorted.

What happened last night? He asked with a sarcastic tone.

I looked over at Chelsea while she was dazing off. I could tell she was still listening.

What do you mean?

Kid, I heard about your little fight. Everybody has, are you alright? Rumor flooded the town.

You did?

Yeah, and I heard you beat the ever-living shit out of Costa.

I paused. I wouldn’t say that.

Then what you would you say? He said, cocking his eyebrow.

I don’t really know. I added with a laugh and smile.

Chelsea must have already known. She didn’t even look up in interest to this conversation. I was not a fighter, and she knew that, so I thought she would find it a little out of the ordinary.

He wants you dead. Tommy stated.

Yeah, that`s no surprise.

He is scared, though. Of course he would never admit it himself, but he’s running. Not just because of my actions, but because of everybody else who wanted to see him out of commission, I figured. I should have fuckin' killed him. Maybe half the issue was my obsessive nature to have everything wrapped with a pretty little bow, to have no loose ends. Who knew what Costa was capable of now.

Tommy started to laugh; I didn’t find it funny at all. He was just surprised that after the entire wait, I was the one who finally ended the stupid game.

We got tricked into a game we never wanted to play.

No matter what Costa wanted to do to me, it was impossible after the moment I walked away in the rain. Not only did I have the belief, or the reason and excuse to kill the traitor, but now he was cast out of the town with no name, but I was becoming his doppelganger.

Let’s just not talk about it. I said, trying to end the discussion.

Yes, for both our sakes. He finished.

We had all spent a lot of time on high alert looking for him, with a friend of mine shot in the back, after Chelsea getting kicked in the face among everything else in that fire, what else was next?

How did it all get like this? I asked, rubbing my face.

Nothing is that simple, man.

Chelsea, was still off doing her own thing, in her own world. I looked at her wondering what the hell she was thinking. She could not seemed to be bothered. I looked at Tommy and pointed at her with my eyes signaling if she was having a bad day or something. His movements said no, and to just let it go, for both our sakes. I laughed inside.

My father was still on the forefront of my mind. I was thinking about him more than Costa.

Do you talk to your father? It felt out of place, but Tommy answered quickly enough.

Yeah, why?

I don’t. I used to, but I don’t.

He respected the question but was puzzled why I was asking. With no response from him, I decided to fill in the blanks.

I remember him, and I remember what he looks like, but I don’t know why we don’t talk anymore.

Did he abandon you? That probably would have been more civil.

No.

Is he dead?

No.

Then what?

It’s a long story.

It was time to start from the beginning. To retrace my steps so I could stop contemplating things that would distract me from infusing my body and spirit with my proper mind. I figured if I could somehow be like my father, my mind would be clear. Before I could redeem myself in the eyes of others, I had to believe in myself. Considering my story was about redemption, I had to redeem my own mind, in both past and present to take the next step forward.

Chapter 2

SCOTCH ON THE ROCKS

Dating back even to my birth, I could see millions of flashbacks pass before my eyes. As a teenager walking down the streets at night smoking cigarettes, to vandalizing property just for the hell of it. I had gone from one family to another, entering the town that would forever change me, and I had my whole life to face ahead. I would be reliving my entire childhood, filling in the void up into soles of the shoes I was wearing now. This would be my story explaining the birth of friendships, the failure of family, the pain of the unexpected and the unclear.

One of my earliest memories is derived from either a dream or a really bad day. All I could see through my young eyes was a red gate. We were in a restaurant, I think it was for a birthday party. I am not too sure who the party was for, but I remember the multi-colored walls and the nice people. I felt five inches tall. I had no idea what I was doing there. I don’t think I knew, even at that age.

I was the weird child compared to all the other kids. I was always overly nice and did not like the same things other kids did. My dad had signed me up for soccer. This was another thing I was not the greatest at, nor too fond of. He was the only one in the family tree that has those kinds of pictures: family pictures, team pictures, winning pictures. I knew they were kept somewhere to be shown for everybody to see.

I remember him saying, He’s going to be a writer. I played with the grass not even watching my team win. My stepbrother loved every sport. I enjoyed it, but I found my best interest in my imagination. My dad used to think it was funny watching my favorite show. I called it the ‘Black Show’. It was just a blank TV screen with my reflection staring back at me. I don’t know if I would actually watch this or go off into my own thoughts.

For as long as I could remember, my mother and father had never been together. He left my life again telling us that he could not see us anymore. My sister and I were visiting him on a long weekend, when he gave us the news. The reason was nothing more than an excuse, he blamed it all on my mother and I still have to this day not seen him. My mother hated him, and he hated her.

I would always get caught in the middle, something told me to just keep my mouth shut. What I would’ve done if I could have gone back in time. Although, after a while, a good year probably, the fighting had stopped. I never heard from him again, and we were left with my mother.

I forget what he looks like. I said to my sister a few years later.

I start to, but I keep looking at this.

She had a little box that had stupid little things in it, but his picture was in it too. I looked just like him, and I think that’s why Mom thought of me as the odd one out. Every time she looked at me, she saw a man she hated staring back.

I don’t think he looks like that now.

He’s grown up, his face won’t change. The things we say when we are kids.

At this age, it didn’t bother me, as much as it should have. I learned to adapt to the situation and I got used to it. Before David was in the picture, my