A Headway For Manners

By Andrew St. Lucero

Travel along with The Author and General Consensus in "A Headway For Manners" trying to discover the end of the very book you are reading. As you first hand explore the shallowness and depths of your mind as you forge your way through space, time, alternate realities, and parallel dimensions. Intelligibly solve hidden messages between words and phrases and create a new meaning to self-discovery in this spellbinding story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 3, 2016
• ISBN: 9781365300547

Book preview

A Headway For Manners

A HEADWAY FOR MANNERS

Andrew St. Lucero

Copyright © 2016 by Andrew St. Lucero

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: 2016

ISBN #: 978-1-365-30054-7

Woodstock, Georgia 30189

Reader

To The First 25 Years.

A HEADWAY FOR MANNERS

INTRODUCTION

Opinions, aren’t we are all just other’s opinions? We are so much more or less than what people perceive us to be.  Without knowing somebody, we can judge their characteristics by the way they look and act. Don't be fooled into thinking that people act a certain way all the time. It is proven that I think we do. The way somebody is nobody and nobody can make up everybody. You only know a certain amount of people. Therefore, you know more nobodies than you do somebodies. The ones you do know you know very little. No one can truly know somebody completely. You may feel as you do but you don't. I so far should appear as your Author and nothing more. You'll never know me only on what you have based your knowledge from what you've read.  Your idea of me feels familiar.

Let's start off by creating an image in your head. Your head is the only thing that lets us create the world you have never seen or heard of before, kind of. Let's remove any all of your senses; you can still keep the familiar ones.  It would feel as though you're doing much more than just reading. If you decided to keep your sense of touch then you're in luck. You need to make it available for now. We're in a room filled with loads of colorful cotton towels and dirty garments such as socks, jeans, shirts, sweaters, and such. You probably think we're in a laundry room or the cleaners by the distinct, colorful odor. Let me just say that we’re not. The air feels thick and humid with a light touch of sticky, and these sentences are difficult to read. They have a poor writing style. That's mostly your fault. If you find this difficult to read it might be because this book might not be meant for you. I'm not saying you're not special, but you probably aren't. Only a few will be chosen to read this. Let's find out. We’re in someone else's closet listening to that same someone speaking. You can't hear the words they're saying, but a muffling sound is certainly there. It's not the same muffling noise as an engine, but it's more of hands covering your ears sort of thing. I'm next to you, and we are both in a hunch position. The only light we can see through the cracks of a door that is before us. How do we know it's a door? We don't, it could be anything, but the shape is remarkably like a door figure. How do you know it's a closet? Well, we don't but now is not the time to question me.

I tell you that you're rather loud with your breathing, and we will be found if you keep it up. A muffled voice stops and footsteps can be heard in our direction. Our breathing is heavier as the noise is drawing in. This is not the drawing you would expect from a five-year-old but the kind that an experienced artist would do with some detailed design. The door opens, and we both crawl out on the ground like when finding money on the floor, with our faces down we dawdle on our knees till we see a pair of military combat boots. The artist continues to paint and conjures up the image by having those boots becoming leather bound with nylon shoe strings with factory sewed binding. Our faces lift up, way up! High and forward till we see a wrinkled old man in a uniform. He is a tall fellow. His height is true mostly because I say he is; a nine footman man usually is true.

Get up you two canaries, he says to us with a narrow face and eyes as wide as two stars. What do I have here, he asks.

"I'm The Author or Author and this is my special friend Reader, but we’re not canaries although they are lovely birds," I say.

Really and truly I hardly know you enough at all to call you my friend or special, but what he doesn't know won't hurt us also I hate canaries. I am about to ask him if he could give us his name so we may address him. I hope you don't mind, doesn't matter. I'll ask regardless.

General Consensus. You can call me that for now, he responds. You think to yourself, Is that's the kind of story this is? The kind with no self-control? Of course, you won't know until we go on, so quit your thinking and read.

What are you doing in here, The Reader’s thoughts? He asks. He does seem serious. The word serious always sounded to me like a collection of series. In the sense that there's a gaggle of geese there are a serious of series.

Just exploring, I reply.

I turn my face back to you to find that you’re already staring back at me. That's rude. You remind me of a canary. Still, the way words are worded still feel ugly to you, unnatural. Maybe this book isn't for you. I can tell it's frustrating. It is an unusual thing to have yourself in this situation so soon; just a while ago you were reading a small passage and now several words later a story has begun. What an awful serious. We, two look around now noticing that we're in a bunker. There is a color schemes of green; any shade of green you'd like but it has to have a touch of gray, whichever you prefer goes best with your eyes. Very bland if you ask me, the colors, but why would you ask me since I already stated how I feel. I would like to take Consensus or The General with us if that‘s not too much of a problem with you. If it is trouble with you, please stop reading and we'll leave within an instant. It may take The General a little longer because of his size!

You must have agreed. Everybody gets greedy now and again. Let me catch you up a bit. Right now we're all going back in the closet and once again it is dark, completely dark. Of course, now there is less room in the closet than before; now that The General is with us. I say a small joke that lightens the mood. The only problem is that the light from the joke is outside. The joke isn't worth repeating, so we will move on.

The crack of light from the door figure, which by the way turned out to be a door, is still there but the temperature you started initially reading, when in the closet, has dropped dramatically. We open the door. The image now given to you is yourself. The exact moment you're reading this. The same movements you make with your eyes moving across the page. You are looking curiously at yourself from a short distance. The door itself, from which we entered, is no longer around; only whatever is surrounding you at the moment. The air is cold, keep that in mind. Create a freezing place. Let go of all perception. Obsess over it. Distance you're reality. You see yourself and yourselves breath exiting from your frosty lips. The General would like to say, That it's colder than dolc icecream, but he can't because his mouth is frozen shut. Besides, polar bears are mammals. He's wrong. What a ginormous man to be frozen. A very general assumption to make since I already described the setting. He's bothering me too, The General I mean but we need him later. Silence is in the air but then I start to stumble back; tripping on my own shoe, thud! The image of you gets distracted by this book you are reading and looks in our direction toward the left. At this time, you take a pause a look away, but you don't see anyone, or yourself, and so you continue to read.

We are now invisible. General Consensus tells us. That was fast! We can be heard but not seen. Mostly because you don't believe we were there watching you read. We were. We are. Thankfully your doubtfulness in me has prevailed.

That is normally a good thing for now. Who knows how you would have reacted if you met yourself in a different realm? I know who, you. The image of the three of us shrinks and fades out into darkness again. It's obvious you don't believe in me or this book. How can we be real and, blah, blah, blah? I don't blame you, yet. Only the image you conjured of us is shrinking but sometimes in life, you feel like you're smaller than you are. It's because you're not believing enough on whatever your doubting. This time, we are not in the closet. There is no light. The only glimmer of an image is that we’re visible once more. That too was fast and all in the same paragraph. We know this because we're cramming together.

We can see that. You can see that. We're not being crammed in a closet but we were during the fading and shrinking image shaping you were doing. That hurts your back and your neck. Can't you feel it pulling on you? You don't want to admit it but your neck sort of hurts right now.

So just like that; you are visible again. Mostly because I didn't want to deal with you questioning my methods of your imagining. You, The General, and I are inside of a shape. You feel around for the perimeter of wherever in the shape we're inside. You look for anything of any size. The first shape you that think is not the one you are touching. That's just the one you're thinking. The General asks you to think again. He's so tall maybe even taller than you earlier imagined, but only by an inch or so. I cannot stress that enough. What a wonder! The second thought of a shape comes into your mind. You feel the texture of the shape against the tips of your fingers. You shed some light on us. The darkness turns gray, and the gray turns white, and the shape is now visible with a blackish outline. At least we didn't miss the light this time. That is some genuine thinking you've had going on.

The shape you've thought of appears to have an opening where we can get out. A small crack too plainly to see when first glanced. I guess you didn't close the shape all the way. You must be a little open minded. Who knows maybe you're the special. We walk through and discover nothing. Most would consider nothing to be vast land, an open forever, or even a monster. This time, nothing means nothing. There aren't any walls or ground, and the shape is losing its stability to becoming just an abstract thought as well. It's just us three standing still. Perfectly still, not the still that a picture can resemble but more of a pencil resting on a table. Probably the guided tool of the artist from earlier. We walk to see if there is an end to this nothing; maybe this nothing might be invisible as we were once. You have to be careful with that. A dramatic change has occurred. You notice when turning your head that our bodies have left behind us. You can see mine, The General, and your body engulfed in flames.

How tragic and morbid. I could describe it more, but I think you already have it in your mind. Now I want you to imagine that you are awake. You had dozed off. You don't feel as if you were asleep. You're not tired, refreshed, or have any indication that you were sleeping. Just believe me, when I say so. You fell into a slumber faster than your body can catch. Now, awake once more Reader. It seems as though you were inside of daydream inside of a dream. It is very common to a dreamer but not a go-getter, and a go-getter is what we need. Now that you're awake you can finally begin reading again. You may have to read over the section you dozed off in, but you can do that later when you have some spare time. 

I know this reading is tiring, but it might not last forever. I want you to see that the world as a disc. There are only two sides to it. Now think of where the edge might be. I want you to think where the edge couldn't be. It could be zillion miles from you or just a few inches. That doesn't matter which. I want you to dig a hole, so you'll end up on the other side. Hold on little eagerness. I have an idea. I will help you dig this magnificent gorge of a hole. Here are some shovels I found in your work ethics. You seem to be appreciative but also surprised I went there without your permission. You will find that I do that a lot.  Still your reading hasn't balanced out to the way I write. You'll get a rhythm if you're Special. We've been digging for hours, but you can't tell. Because when looking at the passage of time; it only passes when getting to the end of whatever you are reading. Your hands have grown tired, but the hole is almost complete. A few readings later and we will be done. If you want The General can come too; once the hole is full. I will advise you that he will be helpful to the plot if any, but if you don't want him, then I suggest you to stop reading you might as well if you're not The Special.

Hop inside Reader. The hole is not that deep yet, and so you do. Do you need any help, a few voices call.

We three look up. Surely it's some people, but the sun shadows their faces. I question about who they are and why they want to help. You know, their motives.

We three are you from a long time away, The other I answer.

I should have known, I respond. "The shortness of time would have been here already before we dug.

But you did know, I reply to myself.

The other versions of ourselves are taking over and start to do the work while we sit and relax. I can’t believe that my arms aren’t brittle yet. You disagree and begin to help yourself so you wouldn’t be so tired.

Am I alright? You call out.

Myself or I answer, Of course, but this has been a long trip.

Where did you go? I pursue myself.

Wherever you are about to! the other I answer.

Reader, did you enjoy yourself? I ask.

It's been different. The older you responds.

The other Author has decided to turn the story around and take control. He is now your temporary narrator.

Let's say this hole was made for us so we're not too tired. That way we can all get a little rest. Is that fine with you, Young Reader? A small avalanche of dirt falls on you and cover up the hole, the current you. I know what you're thinking. Why did my younger self place you inside the hole? You see I need things to happen in a particular order for my existence as the future Author. I'm giving you the opportunity and changing the past so that this moment for us has changed. I want you to be as special as you think you are.

All of us gather around the hole as if a funeral is taking place. We stare down at the gruesome sight of your body ditched in the hole, horrendous. I'm full of empathy for I see this as my fault. You can feel the wet clods of dirt ramble pass you skin as you press your way out reaching for air. It is then I see your hand bellow from the ground. I reach down to lift you up, but then your hand falls back into the ditch burying yourself alive. A swooping noise slips through the air and whispers, Waaaake, Waaaake. Both of The Generals, your current Author, your future you, and I watch as you awake, again. You have to stop sleeping while reading. It's going to hurt your already sensitive neck.

A stream of blood slips down sloping across your cheeks dribbling down your chin; however, it doesn't bother you. It seems like we're staying with the same plot; though, the last part you've just read was in your subconscious. There was no blood. It was never there. You probably imagined it from all the blood rushing to your head. You see the two Generals, your current Author, and I roam across for a moment huddled whispering. You can't hear what were saying. The future Reader pays no attention to us. The two Generals leave together while I have a discussion with the current Author about unimportant things. The General marches back carrying buckets full of ice. They skid down the ridges of the hole from which your body lays. "I'll

put some ice on your head so it'll numb the pain." The General say simultaneously.

Stop, It's giving him a brain freeze!.

Take a second or two from reading to catch back up. You should be okay by now because it's being heated from all the tension.

The brain freeze momentarily freezes us. The freeze gusts full memories of you as a baby. Memories you didn't know you had. We're now unfrozen. Usually when someone is frozen that means their body is losing a memory. Quickly, Reader, gather your thoughts before their whisked away by the wind. You look around at all the memories you have. Pick them up, quick! You reach your hands out, but there is no use you can't touch a memory.

You may not remember, but that's what happened the last time you've read this part. That's what the future Author told me. Your head begins to shatter and break. You probably read or have been reading too fast. A Headway For Manners isn't something you can skim! If you're careful, you'll find the hidden messages, riddles, and alternate stories the other Readers have placed for you.

Perfect, great, your mind was blown while you were busy catching up on old times. I sarcastically note, I hate that analogy too. Society has blown that out of proportion, and it gets worse whenever I talk about it.

You may close your eyes for a moment while reading to recover from your blown mind. It's a frightening thing to lose your memory but even more frightful to