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Chapter One -

There was a boy..his life was what you might call, eventful. No, that's not right. His life was manufactured in much the same way a car is manufactured, there's a start point, a middle, and a definite end; a sale to a prospective buyer, a happy drive home, a nice cosy garage or a life of night times parked under a tree in the drive. The tree is constantly shedding leaves. The last part is not important. You can discard everything after end;.

However, the boy didn't believe in this description of his life, and fought against it constantly, only to notice the more he kicked and struggled against the inevitable, the more real the inevitable became. Coincidence became a byword for reality. Minutes unfolded with the surety of crystalline structures, uniform, unbending, slate upon slate no gaps, a straight line that did not deviate from its course of dread.

This maniacal (his description) situation brought some crazy people into his life. It brought some fences to squeeze through, rivers to ford. It created a reliance upon no-one, a chemical marriage to himself. It brought fear, soon replaced by a nagging feeling that all was not as it should be, that the universe was spinning just a wee bitty off kilter. Have you ever stopped to wonder? Not about anything in particular. Just wonder. This boy, he did it all the time. Birdsong. Fascinating. A thousand cadences in the street, the countryside. The farther afield he travelled he soaked up each note and warble the ornithological universe could throw at his ears.

I'm drifting, getting off the point. I was talking about the maniacal (his description) situation he found himself in. You should try that sometime. Find yourself, i mean. Anyway, i told you it brought crazy people in to his life. It also brought beautiful people. Beautiful people to touch, smell, be touched by, be smelt by. Bump into unexpectedly, laugh at, laugh with, infer, confer, attack, challenge, breathe same air as, exhale into same cosmic soup, destroy some brain cells with, some lung tissue. Touch, though. To him, that was the zenith of experience. Fate, an ugly word (his description), could be outwitted bytouch, by closing your eyes and feeling your way, shutting off the other senses until you were solely reliant on sensory input. He said a girl taught him that. I don't doubt. He was nothing if not sincere, a little misguided at times, but sincerity seeped through his pores, you could smell it.

This girl, the one who taught him the touch thing.

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