Young Writers Society

This is only the first 7 (extremely small) pages of a 252 pg novel I'm writing. Tell me how you like it!

Detectspie (a detectspie is a mixture of detective, spy, and pie) Nathan Fondue yawned. It wasn't a particularly exciting yawn, just another regular, garden-variety sleepy yawn. However, this yawn began the rather interesting day of October 16th, 2005. The date itself wasn't very exciting; like the yawn it was perfectly ordinary. It had a month, a day, and a year, and was only applicable once. Only the vents of the day (and the fact that it begins this tale. Nathan Fondue got up. Like the yawn and the date, the act of getting up was quite ordinary. Normally he did it twice a day. The days he got up twice were very special to Nathan, and he circled each one on his calendar.

On October 16th, 2005, Nathan Fondue began his day by performing his customary ritual of yawning and getting up and going back to sleep. When he got up again, he circled the date on his calendar, and ate a bowl of Chucky Larms' Cereal - it was magically delicious! - while he daydreamed. Once he finished, he had some chocolate milk and des religieuses, a french pastry. The French - now they knew how to cook. (He had been to England once. It was a traumatic experience.) After his breakfast was finished, he walked out the door to meet his limousine.

Nathan Fondue's limousine, unlike the yawn, the date, and the act of getting up, was quite extraordinary. The driver, Alphonso S., had he been a taxi driver, would obviously be a "taxicab overaccessorizer", but since he drove a limo he was immediately removed from that category. The limo driver had a nice black handlebar mustache, and his limo was like a carnival on Mardi Gras. It had bobble heads in every corner and lights flashed in random spots at random intervals. "Where to today, Mr.Fondue?" Alphonso S. asked in a thick Turkish accent. "971 Viewhi Circle," replied Fondue, and then blinked so he was not blinded by the sudden flash of light on his face. The limo continued down the street.

The street, Wilderviewin Heights, was a street picked straight out of The Stepford Wives. All the houses were the same, and Nathan was the only oddity. He never really grew up mentally, although he wasn't retarded. He looked like any other 36ish year old man, but his boundless enthusiasm made him a poor dinner guest. He would usually go straight to the chocolates and begin stuffing his face. What surprised everyone was that he never seemed to show it.

Nathan Fondue's limo driver had been hand picked by Hilton Mershey himself, leader and creator of the Candy Guardians. Mershey was a Candy Guardian Sidhi, which meant that he spent the rest of eternity inside the UberBubble and gave orders. Nathan Fondue knew that it would be a long time yet before he became a Candy Guardian Sidhi himself, but still found himself imagining the day he was found worthy of that honorable post.

The limo stopped just outside of 917 Viewhi Circle's gate. A chain-link fence surrounded the front yard, while the side and back yards were enclosed by a six foot privacy fence. Nathan rolled behind the privacy fence and peered through one of the cracks as his limo sped away to wait in the next neighborhood over. Fondue watched and waited.

Now, all this waiting and watching was rather boring. After a few short conversations with some squirrels (who told him that the nuts today were a bit dry) he found himself in the nether between sleep and consciousness. A few hours later, he was brought out of his reverie by a slamming car door, and a silver Mazda B3000 rolled backwards out of the driveway. He immediately called his limo with his watch-pager, and soon his limo was speeding around the corner. "After her!" he yelled at Alphonso S.

Slic Cinnamon was walking the last stretch of road before he reached Viewhi Circle when he saw his mother pass a limo speeding in the opposite direction. The limo entered his cul-de-sac briefly before tearing the way his mother had gone. Odd, he thought, and continued on his way home.

Senise Cinnamon glanced in the rearview mirror of her Mazda B3000. A limo was following her. No, she decided, not following her, just going somewhere in the vicinity of the post office drop-off box on Creek Spruce Road. As they drove over a bridge, the passenger began climbing out of the window. Senise's first thought was that the passenger was either rich, crazy, or both. The driver leapt into the bed of her truck. Senise's second thought was that the passenger thought that The Matrix: Reloaded was real. As the passenger pulled a gun that shot chocolate-covered cashews at her, she realized the passenger was rich, crazy, thought that The Matrix: Reloaded was real, and was Nathan Fondue. She opened the door of her truck, pulled the emergency brake, and leapt out. She could see the drop-off box up ahead. She HAD to reach it, or else revealing her identity would have been for nothing.

Each breath she took brought white-hot pain to her lungs, but she bottled it up, compressed it, and used it as fuel. Behind her, Nathan Fondue was running faster than any human should be able to go. Cursing, she stumbled. She recovered her balance, looked up, and saw the drop-off box to her right. She threw the package she had been carrying into it, before she took off running again.

The package contained a petition for the city of Oort Prange, Florida, to outlaw candy. It contained 2,524 signatures (most of which were Senise's alter egos), and was unignorable. Nathan Fondue stopped, panting. Because he had lost the race, he would have to fight the law from the outside, and he knew how hard that would be. He would have fished it out of the box, but then a cop might have come and he'd have to erase his memory and it would be really messy.