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The College Years (Prologue)
By Vader
”The name’s Jack. I’m sixteen years old, and I’ve just finished my first semester at college here in southern California. I’ve been bruised from the experience, and while it turned from a pleasant one in the beginning to unpleasant in the end, I’m glad I did experience it. It’s probably changed me for the better, and its taught me a few things along the way. You may be asking yourself what the heck I’ve been doing in college at my age. Your question shall be answered. What follows is the beginning of the true account of everything that happened . . .”
THE COLLEGE YEARS
Entry 1: The Beginning
PROLOGUE
The room was silent. I lay shivering, curled up in bed under a sheet. Every night pervious, I’d been sleeping with thick comforters due to reports of showers at night – but of course, the showers didn’t come, and I ended up being hot. So that night, I’d decided to sleep with only a sheet, and wouldn’t you know it – that was the night it rained.
Dawn was approaching quickly, yet the sun hadn’t quite begun its rise over southern California. It was the morning of Saturday, May 11th, 2002. The container housing my friend’s and mine’s advanced tickets for the midnight premiere of “Star Wars: Episode II – Attack of the Clones” sat next to my tiny, electronic alarm clock. The second 5:30 AM struck, the alarm clock went insane like a chimpanzee on angel’s dust. The uber-annoying, un-melodic, prolonged buzz issuing forth had no excuse for existing other than to ruin my morning.
Disturbed by the device, I sleepily slapped the top of it, managing to turn the sound off and slip back into dream land. Less than ten seconds later it started again. My fingers smacked against the surface of the clock, trying to stop its outcry. Nothing worked, since that little bitch wanted to play tough that morning. Grunting and groaning, I took up the nearest thing I felt with my fingertips off my shelf without opening my dreary eyelids and slammed it into that crazy mechanical box.
I heard a crack, and then the silence of the alarm, and opened my eyes to see a slender, miniature baseball bat split in two held in my palm – my Tony Gwynn autographed bat worth $200 dollars. “No!” I yelled, jumping out of bed to hold up each piece. The silence was broken by that twisted piece of machinery sputtering out a last effort to screw me over. Picking the clock up from the ground, I let it drop, and then politely introduced it to the top of my foot in mid-air.
“It’s about time that thing was put out of its misery,” I thought to myself, “I’ll set my stereo system to wake me with the radio in the morning from now on instead – won’t be nearly as frustrating.” Once again, I looked at my prized bat, tremendously disappointed I had to choose that particular item from my shelf to use as a beater.
“Great . . . that’s just great.” I shuffled my feet over to the door of my room and opened it, heading for the kitchen, where my mother was already preparing breakfast.
“What was all the commotion in there?” she asked.
“Nothing. It’s just my autographed bat broke.”
“What autographed bat?” Already in a bad mood, it wasn’t hard for me to stare at my mom as if she were the stupidest person in the world.
“You don’t know? The one I got autographed last summer.”
“Oh! Can’t you just glue it together?” I didn’t even want to respond to that one.
“I can, yeah, but it’ll look like crap. Whatever. Is breakfast ready?”
“Yup.” She brought the plate of eggs and fruit over to my place at the table.
“Thank you very much, Mom,” I told her as I digged into the food.
“Your Welcome. Did you have a good sleep last night?”
“Yes, it was unbelievably fantastic, as in mind-blowing-ly spectacular. The greatest thing since sliced bread,” I chuckled.
“I’m sorry about that.” My Mom may seem like not the sharpest tool in the toolbox sometimes, but she knows how to take a hint.
“Thanks. Doesn’t help though, I’ll be tired all through the test this morning.”
“Well, just do your best. You’ve got another forty-five minutes before we leave.”
“Yeah, I’ll take a shower as soon as I’m done.” I soon gobbled up the meal, and gave another ‘thank you’ to my mother, and then hurried into my room to grab a towel. I confronted the picture of the person I loved hanging within my closet – Rachel. I’d known her since I was four, and I hated her back then (all little boys hate g irls, what do you expect), but since then had grown to truly care for her. And, more importantly, she cared for me, which was more satisfying. I sighed, taking one last glance, an then headed into the bathroom.
I soon finished my shower, got dressed, and by that time, was ready for the big test. This was the test that could change my life. This was the test that could get me out of my god-forsaken high school and give me a jumpstart on the next step of education – college.
(More to come . . .)
12/7/2002 1:41:21 AM
(Updated: 12/7/2002 1:47:14 AM)
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