Trampling On Your Own Dreams

Prologue:
This isn't a romance novel per regular terms. You will cry. I can guarantee this... the story I am about to tell you will make you want to help me... but you can not. You will always wonder what I did to deserve this, but you will always know, I brought this onto myself.

Why? Why? There is no why. There is only a how. And that how is of my own accordance as well. I was always a... bum. I never knew where I was going though. I just knew it had to happen. They say that you shouldn't hold out for the good things... but what happens when the good things could be the death of you?

I happen. I don't like to put myself down... but there is so much to my life, so much I screwed up, that I can't help but kick myself for it. I don't know why I let myself do this, but I did... and I paid for it. Better this way. I loved her so much, I had to write this all down. Word for word... somewhere. So on these napkins I shall write this to myself, and in my drunken despair, I shall work past it. Or let it eat away at me until I... died.

But I was always stronger than that... I was a fighter. A survivor. I was far from a winner... but this it what would occur.

So to you. My napkin... I write on.

End chapter.

That's my prologue.

I'll get to work on chapter one right, freaking, now.

It'll be longer. The chapters I mean. You know... best keep it short.

A bit reminiscent of a hagiography.
On ANOTHER note, this prologue is neither gripping nor poignant--in fact, its telling us that we 'will' cry, and 'want to help me' actually challenges the reader's emotional control and makes them feel no sympathy because they are too focused on proving the narrator wrong-- and, like a benign tumor, it should probably be removed. The fact that it could just about be the prologue of any romance novel doesn't help its cause, either.

I mean no malevolent intent, please don't get me wrong, but I think that you should consider just going straight to the first chapter.

Chapter 1:
I've been looked down on my entire life. It's made me hate humanity. It's made me inhuman. A monster in general words. You see, my parents kicked me out of the house at the age of eighteen. I had absolutely no qualifications, I could barely fend for myself. I lived out of the trash, a wretched thing. I was spit on, beaten, stolen from, mugged... every single thing I did had an unfortunate effect on my life.

One day, as I was walking down the street, I came upon a house. It was condemned, but I was freezing. I spent a good thirty minutes kicking at the planks, until finally it gave way, and I took my place in my humble abode. I rolled into a ball in the corner, and I just slept.

Five hours later I awoke to the sound of a gunshot. The streets of New York always held the worst of people, and today's typical scum was no difference. Of course, who was I to judge. Me, the prime example of a shitty kid. You may be asking, what did you do that was so bad.

I smoked weed, did drugs, sat around all day. I never had a job. Never, and that helped my parent's decisions. But who can blame them, I was a fucking shit-stain on there perfect life. I got what I deserved. Hell.

So I began my day scavenging for whatever I could find that would get me through the day. I was hungrier than most of the angry dogs I encountered throughout the day.

So I decided to head to the old pizza place... to scavenge.

Because that's what I am, a scavenger. A tramp. A bum... I was the armpit of the world. And I smelled like one too. Looking back now, I don't think any of the dumpster diving I did helped.

I arrived at the Pizza place, and went around back to the alley. As usual, I found what I wanted, a few boxes of cold pizzas. I fought off the rats, and grabbed the box. I slowly walked back to my home, looking at all the people. With their fat cat suits... they all knew what I was. A rat. A scavenger, a gross bastard child of the world. A ant in comparison to them.

Of course, now looking back, I'm sure that if I had asked for help... someone may have given it to me. But I don't claim to understand myself. I just survived, one day at a time. As I said, I was always a bum.

Arriving at my house, I threw the pizza on the floor, and sobbed, silently, wretchedly, to myself. Even as I write this, napkin, my hand quivers from what I had to go through.

But I survived.

Soon it was night, and I didn't want to live through that cold, cold, hell. I wouldn't. I needed something better. I needed something that would give me a step above my own skin and rags. So I did what I had to.

Full, I walked to a purple charity bin, sitting outside of a Wal Mart, and took four odd colored blankets. I felt great, and I knew the thrill, the danger, the... beauty... of thieving. I booked it back to my broken down tenement. As I walked through the door, a group of four teenagers jumped out of the shadows.

"Search the little tramp." Said the tallest, with a cocky sneer on his face and a grotesque scar running down his face.

"Go to hell, and leave me alone. You fucks don't belong here, you don't have any right to be here." I replied in a less than friendly tone.

They didn't say another word. The two grabbed my arms, and the one who told them to search me started punching me, the other kicking me. I got one to the side of the head, a punch to my mouth, and one to my gut. The other kid, the fourth, a sort of guido-ish looking 16 year old, the toughest of the four. He took over for the obvious leader and hit me with a nutshot. Then a gut punch, and finally a head butt to the head. That one got me.

When I awoke, I was in a park. I was stripped naked, and I didn't know where I was. I got up, and looked around. My pride was all but destroyed, and many eyes were looking at me. I couldn't do a thing.

"Look at him mom"

"He's naked!"

"Someone call the cops."

*There seem to be tear marks on the napkin here, smearing most of the ink, what could be saved was written here*

They ___ never saw it. Never __________________________________________, an- I knew wher-_________________. Devotchka always did the trick on a good d______________________. The Smiths on a bad.

"____ fighting for my food."

*End of napkin... the others seem less broken"

End of Chapter 1.


Well, that was chapter 1! I hope you liked it, and I found it very fun to write. Of course, Chapter 2 is coming in the next days, so hold your horses 'till then!