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Guy thinks he knows himself and what he wants in life but really doesn't know, brother dies than only sister and dad dies plus he feels lost in life because he has mental issues. Shows how strong one man can be as he comes back from rock bottom. Show his love for his father. Almost all of this is subliminal / metaphorical. So insanity with loss of almost entire family, close together the deaths were. The high life then loses everything, then fights back. What gives him strength? What does he fight for? Without getting too spiritual he fights back because of the love of his dead family. What is his meaning to life?






















When asked "What do you want to be when you grow up" most kids will tell you a profession that is considered fascinating and respectable to society. But I never really had an answer, and it seemed, as I look back now, that no one ever really asked me that particular question. Maybe I would have had a bull shit answer at first like every other fucking kid who was ever asked, and then gradually over time and countless inquisitions I would have come to some sort of conclusion or at least a general direction so that my answer wasn't complete crap. But like I said I was never really asked so I guess I will blame my lack of ambition on the previous generation for its lack of proper motivational inquiries. That's how it's meant to go right? Every generation blames the one before for its problems, only the millennials got it right, they have their parents blaming themselves for the way their kids act. It's all because little Bobby got a trophy just for participating. Damn, wish I could get an entire generation to be my scapegoat. My faults are my own, no one will be their fall guy except me.
It seems to me that my therapist is forever trying to get me to blame other people for the way I feel. I don't know what's more depressing my life or her psychoanalytical skills. I don't know why I continue to pay her when I can do a much better job of psychoanalyzing myself. Here it goes, I'm fucked up, glad I could be of service, see the receptionist on the way out, we except all forms of payment.
So, despite everyone else blaming their problems on everyone and everything else, I know where my situation stems from. This is one of the major problems with society, we will never be able to move forward if we can't fix our own problems. I mean how are we finally going to have a world that we can be happy with leaving to the future generations. We simply must fix our own problems, and not look for other people to fix them. I guess that's one of the side effects of being so independent. Yeah, I still live with my mother but that's mostly out of obligation, I have nothing but love for her so I stay. On the outside, it looks as if I'm weak and that's ok, go ahead underestimate me. But in all reality, I love everything not just my mother, I find beauty in the simplest forms, even garbage. I don't know how I turned out to be so sensitive. I have always been this way and it has guided me through my life, a life that has been extremely hard but full of love and beauty.
I'm not complaining here just trying to paint a picture for you. Trust me you need to follow the instructions on this one. That's right I come with an owner's manual; do not bother to look for it for you have already found it! Your reading the prologue right now, see how that works. I guess we will start off with something simple; by the way this entire narrative is in the first person so you feel as if I'm sitting right there talking to you, we can be friends...if you like.

Let's see, something simple...hmm. In the beginning momma said, boy he cries a lot. I was six weeks old when my parents found out I had a double hernia and a crushed left tactical...yes this is simply trust me...that I had since birth. I almost died figure that right out the shoot and the world says fuck you, you under no circumstances belong here. It wasn't because of the hernia that I was crying. I could just feel the hate of this world rejecting me and attempting to rid itself of my glorious presence. Any how the doctors fixed me up and I wasn't supposed to lift more than forty pounds at a time for the rest of my life...the end. Well that is to say that is the end of the simple stuff, things, fodder. Just know that that was not the end of the death threats.
Now for profundity, please bear with me for I am new at profound statements.
It seems that life has an answer for everything, and if it has an answer than life must surly have questions. We think we come up with the questions, i.e. why are we here. But that question any all the rest were here long before you were and everyone else. Answers will come but first we must find the question in order to be able to find the answers. It's funny though, once you fins the question it seems that sometimes the answers take forever to get to you.
So many questions plagued me my entire life, but none more than WHY. The question why can make you sad and lonely. It leaves you lost and rambling down this old dusty road that will never be placed on a map. So many people never ask themselves these questions. They listen to everything they are told and except that as their life. But oh so many people do ask and we have change and revolutions and less people dying young. So many people choose to look for those answers all their lives and end up growing society. Men like the founding fathers of the United States, or Einstein, and John Lennon. These men not only gave us answers but showed us how to ask the right questions, they are our leaders and we should never forget the price they paid for us.
So I was always asking questions my entire life, not just why is the sky blue. I asked the big questions, and I asked them of myself. No one would ever be here to help me of this I was sure. The first big question I asked myself was why am I pour. Later on I realized this wasn't just about me, I really wanted to know why anyone doesn't have enough. I mean it seems that the world has an abundance of everything so why can't everyone have enough. Then in school I learned that the continuation of a species is about survival of the fittest, only the strong survive kind of thing. Well this seems fine if we don't ask questions and just go along with the answers we are given. But I just didn't get it. Why should only a few have the majority of everything while the rest suffer. Then I learned about communism and how that didn't work because according to my teachers the few people in charge took advantage. But this wasn't the whole truth and I knew it. I analyzed communism and saw that people weren't really free to lead the life the really wanted to lead. And at the same time it went against our basic instincts of survival of the fittest. Maybe people didn't think of it that way but it's engrained in us to see something that isn't normal to human life, so we fight it, abolish the entire idea. Eradicate it like a cancer. But communism doesn't work any way just look at what might happen, Lois Lowry wrote a little book called the giver. Look at the basic rules of that society. People's whole lives were dictated for them. Sure everyone had enough so they didn't have to go without but they did go without they went without freedom.
The question was still there, why I had to go without. Not a simple question as it seems. Little did I know the answer is profoundly harder than the question. People very intelligent people are still trying to figure this one out. For me the simple answer was I went without because my mother and father did not make enough money to completely support our family. In all actuality it is way more complicated than that. Just know that many people in our society try to help people in my family's situation. And there are many people in my family's situation that take advantage of society and live off the rest of the world without pitching in, they are called the entitled pour. I can go on and on about this subject but as I said I would start out simple and that is about as simple as I get. To go on is fruitless because my being poor is not the subject of this manual. Just know that I still think about the problem of people going without all the time, but I moved on so I wouldn't get an ulcer so we shale too.
So my life was moving along just peachy like and my parents and my family move out of poverty after some time, and then my brother died. Oh boy, sit back relax make sure your seats and tables are in the upright position. 5...4...3...2...1. Death the final frontier...is it? Wait, wait your saying, how can he just jump to death. Trust me if we don't than we will never get to the end.
All my life death chased me, then it just jumps out and grabs a beautiful human being in his prime. Why. Of course why is it merely all good things must come to an end? Is it burning down the bushes so new vegetation can grow in its stead? Well how come so many people are living longer and longer and more meds are curing diseases all the time creating over population? In Christianity if you say the Lord's Prayer it says, "thy kingdom come thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven". It is taught that after Armageddon the world will be fruitful and the masses will multiply forever and ever, and there will always be enough room and food on the earth for all, forever. There will be only Gods law, and Jesus will be our king, there will be no currency so there will be no greed, and we will all share, sounds a little like communism. Is this where the simplest idea of communism comes from; the bible? Well there are many differences because we will have our freedom right? We will still have free will, right? We won't be told what to do right? Well we won't be allowed to sin or we will die, is that free? I really don't know about this, we were never meant to be sinners, we didn't even know what that was, yet we had free will. So take it from earth and place it in heaven. A place that is perfect, again we won't sin? Why won't we sin? So say were walking along in heaven and all of a sudden we sin, so what happens, does heaven crumble to the ground. Will heaven turn into earth? Or are we so how controlled not to sin, than do we really have free will? Will be become perfect? That must be it we become perfect. But if there is no normal than whose perfect are we? Is that what is meant by created in God's image? Are we perfect like him and Jesus? And Satan wasn't perfect so he was banished and now does evil things in the spite of God. Not saying we will turn evil if we are allowed free will, but what constitutes evil? What I'm getting at is we are not just going to change when we die. If we go to heaven we must be under some spell so we behave. Oh it won't be like that you say, so you figure it out what is going to keep us perfect, if we have freedom and free will. So whose version of perfect is god? Ours? How can we ever say some ones perfect? How are we so glorious that we can judge anything? It just is right? See I think it's all different than that. I Don't think there is a perfect, for there to be a perfect there has to be a standard by which to compare and since God is the only supreme being there is nothing else on his caliber to compare him with so obviously there is no perfect so heaven isn't perfect it's just clean and comfortable with our pain and hurt. We will still have free will we will still sin and god doesn't think he is perfect. Why would he be arrogant? To simply say I am perfect that's the way it has always been would be to deny enlightenment.
Yep Whole other level of fucked up. Most of this is heresy right, and I'm out of my mind. All I'm doing is proving a point, and I could go on and on. There are too many questions that will never be answered until we die and then only the individual will know the truth. Death is an altogether new journey. No religion has all the answers we have to live our life the way we see fit and believe what we believe but never presume that we know.
I went on for a while living my life after my brother's death. It seemed that everyone knew him and everyone was his best friend, yeah right. I miss him. I got through high school barely so no great colleges or universities were hunting me down. But I came into my own always thinking of so many questions. I started smoking marijuana when I was in ninth grade it help with the anxiety. God what a difference it made. I drug culture was just something I couldn't get into and there were so many other clich in school it was really all adolescent behavior. No one really knowing anything and all of us on the verge of fucking up our lives forever. But I pretty much stuck to myself I mean no one was talking about the things I thought abought. I was a loner with acquaintances. But I mean everyone liked me because I was a goofball it was my way of dealing.
I have always been very sensitive, like I said before don't underestimate me, I'm not weak by any means. I feel things deeper than almost every other human being. I really do care about everything and everyone. That doesn't mean I don't get mean or angry or jealous or any of the other human emotions. I fell them all much deeper. I have had to curb most of these emotions so I wouldn't hurt people or get into trouble with the law. I even had to take anger management classes. In the end I keep my mouth shut and bottle all my thoughts and emotions up inside me. I really am a ticking time bomb, especially since I have stopped self-medicating with drugs and alcohol. Nothing my psychiatrist gives me keeps me calm. If they knew how bad it really was I would be locked up, but since I really don't show outward signs of hostility towards myself or others, the cant 302 me, I think. I don't really know anymore what thoughts are mine and which thoughts are my psychosis. I know I hate most people and authoritative figures. Well not hate but the really do bug the shit out of me. That is why I prefer solitude, I hope when I die I just get this area all to myself so I won't have to deal with people, I don't want to be numbed into submission in heaven.
To speak of something you have never know is foolhardy, but I must. I have never been in love. I don't know if I will ever be, I also don't know if I would recognize it. There is someone I want to spend the rest of eternity with but I she loves someone else. A lot of people would call this nuts, but I find it beautiful. The pain and sadness I feel is nothing compared to the strength I have not to get involved with someone other than her. I know I can easily stay by myself for the rest of eternity if she wants nothing to do with me. I already said I don't like people so it will be easier. Some people might say I'm obsessed, but maybe I am in love all I know is it will be better in heaven and I can relax. So many people don't give a shit about any of this, so why bother telling. I have to this is deep seeded shit I have been dealing with for a long time and I want one single solitary person to say hey I fell you man.
I'm so disillusioned with society, I think everyone is at some point. So we would all have an F.B.I. file. Yet I really am and that will never change, I keep my head down and mouth shut, until now.
Maybe I should just write a story about the life of a magical leprechaun, but of course stories have to have adversity and triumph and shit. Why can't I just tell the story of a fucking leprechaun, just going through life aren't leprechauns awesome enough without some fucking outlandish adventure? No metaphorical rise, oh the fucking leprechaun is Jacks complete lack of empathy for dead chickens. Some girl in the back is like, "Oh I love leprechauns! I'm Irish!" my point exactly.
So that's my mental state, a very scary thing when you have to live with all that inside your head. I manage but I really do think about that stuff on a daily basis and so much more. I just want you to know so we can be on a level playing field. Many more bad things have happened in my life but let's try to stay positive now. I eventually graduated from the local university with a major in writing and a minor in English, I know it really shows. But I love my life now. I write during the day and at night I am a table games dealer at the casino over on the reservation, it pays the bills. It's really nothing like Vegas, although I have never been there so I can't say for sure but if this is like Vegas somethings wrong.
It's an ordinary day and an ordinary young man by the name of Samuel Dawson is walking down an ordinary street in an ordinary town, yet as Sam walks down Frawley street, a street he has walked down a million times, and here on his millionth and first time he notices a building he has never seen before. Stopping in front of it the sight of the monstrosity is almost overwhelming. It is several stories high and very dark in color, not paint but the look of wood that is very old. To Sam it seems more like a place of residence than a place set aside for retail, but there is a sign that reads open, it's an old wooden sign that seems to have been just as old as the building itself.
Stepping to the front door that seems a monstrosity even for the building it is attached to, he is delighted that this has turned out to not be such an ordinary day after all. As he steps through the threshold a smell of age and must hits him and he relaxes just a bit. Looking around he is first struck by the sight of thousands of old leather bound books on shelves that seem to go on forever. Then he notices that the only light in the place is coming from candles that must have been huge for wax had built up all around them. He walks to the closest shelve to his right, he reads title after title and none of them seem familiar. He has read hundreds of books in his young age and thought he had heard of every popular author but none of these ring a bell.
He feels something rub against his leg and looks down, he sees one of the oldest looking cats he has ever seen. It looks up at him and cries. The cat is all smoky grey except a star of white on her chest. Continuing on Sam scans the shelves for a title he knows, for all of these books are old and must be first editions. How awesome would it be to find a first edition Ulysses by James Joyce? Not watching where he is going he trips over a pile of books laying on the floor.
"Is that you Samuel, I have been expecting you. Don't worry about the books I was just putting those back on the shelves." Sam looks around and sees a very old man sitting at a desk writing something on parchment. How hadn't he notice this man before? And how did he know his name was Samuel? He pulls himself together and stands up. "I bet you have a million questions already, which is good. If you didn't have questions you wouldn't be you. My name too is Samuel, at least it was a long time ago, and people call me Watson now, whichever you prefer will suffice." Watson stood up from his writing and turned towards Samuel. A short man he was with very long white hair and a just as long beard to match. He was wearing a pair of glasses that could have been worn by Benjamin Franklin. Ink stained his fingers, and nicotine, probably from the pipe on the desk, had stained his mustache.
"How do you know my name? What is this place, I have never seen it before?"
"All in good time my boy. Funny thing time, we have so much of it yet people everywhere act like they have none." This last part was said under his breath and Sam didn't know if Watson was addressing him or the cat, for the cat had found a home in Watson's arms for the moment. "Would you like some tea it will help calm you down? Good very good, than fallow me." Samuel hadn't said a word to the affirmative yet he followed anyway. Watson seemed very energetic for his age and Sam found it hard to keep up with him, he almost had to run. "So how old are you now my boy. God it seems like forever." Again this last part was said under the breath.
"Just turned eighteen in June."
"Yes of course you did. And you have finished school too. Want to be a writer you do, well stick with me and I can help you with that my boy"
Sam was half listening to Watson and half taking in all the sights. Watson had lead them up an old staircase and down a long hall into a very comfortable looking room.
"Have a seat." Watson motion to a set of leather chairs in front of a massive fire place. The floor was hard wood but there was an old area rug which was thread bare in front of the two chairs. It seemed that everything in this place was old and well used. A fire was roaring and in no time we had our tea. 'I hope you like it, its earl grey."
"It is quite fine thank you. Now, why don't you tell me how you know my name?"
"Well that is because this is not our first meeting, and it won't be our last first meeting either."
"What on earth are you talking about?"
"Well you love to read don't you boy? I will give you a few books you can take with you which always works best. But for now just drink your tea."
For some reason Sam did exactly as he was told, he had a million questions but the tea really was calming to him. The old man felt comfortable to him, as if he knew him for years. "These books will answer all your questions and then some. I want to give you something." Watson got up from his seat and walked over to the far corner of the room. A chest of drawers at that seemed older than time sat there as black as night in the low light from the fire place. Reaching into the middle drawer he pulled out the boxes each one larger than the last.
Watching Watson with nervous anticipation, Sam had no idea what to think. Was all this real? This was all happening so fast and he hardly questioned any of it. The tea really did calm him. "You really need to answer some questions for me Watson. Why should I trust you at all? I don't even know why I'm still here."
"You want to be a writer, yes?"
"Yes of course I do, but how do you know that?"
"The books I will give you will answer all these questions. If they don't to your satisfaction, or you don't like what you find out you don't ever have to come back. You can forget about everything you have seen today and go on with your life. Here, this is an old pendant, in fact it is ancient." The Pendent was some Celtic symbol with an emerald in the middle of it, which was attached to a leather strap. "Wear this at all times, even in bed and in the shower. It will guide you as you write, and allow your thoughts to flow like a wild young river that is pregnant with winters melting snow. It will not give you the words you seek you have them inside you already." Watson opened the second box, a thick wooden box with a faded eagle painted on it clutching the same symbol as the pendant it its claws. "This is a journal, write all your ideas down in it while you are away from all your permanent writing materials I'm about to give you." He placed the journal carefully back into the box and placed it into a leather satchel that looked swollen. "And last your parchment and quill. This is real parchment always write your finished words on the parchment you get from me never on anything else. This quill is from a very important bird, you will read about it in the books in this satchel."
Watson placed everything neatly back together and placed them in the soft leather bag and handed it to Sam. "Everything you need is here in this bag, come back only when you're ready and then only if this is truly what you want. And above all else never tell anyone about any of this."
An infinite amount of questions ran through Sam's head as he walked the streets back to his family's home. What in the hell just happened. This man must be bat shit crazy! It began to rain as he walked, and the wind blew from the south and brought a chill with it that Sam did not recognize. The pendant felt warm and as he turned from the alleyway two blocks from his home he thought he heard a low crying sound muted by the wind. He turned to where he just came from looking for a sing of movement, and saw nothing. He stood there a minute rotating to face each direction but the streets were dead quiet, the silence was more bewildering than the cry.
The familiar warmth of his home, and the smell of starchy potatoes cooking in the kitchen was enough to remove the memory of the cry in the alleyway. "Honey why don't you wash for dinner, I made cheesy mashed potatoes they way you like." It was just him and his mother now living together for all the rest of his family had died. His brother was the first to pass when Sam was only sixteen. His brother whom he had shared a room with his entire life died at the age of twenty two in a car crash on a cold winter's night. Bobby had gone to see a band with his two friends and they decided they night was young so they didn't come straight home, instead they did a little joy riding. The driver was speeding as a deer ran out in front of the car and the front seat passenger grabbed the steering wheel and yanked it. The car must have also hit some ice for it went wildly spinning and eventually slammed ass end into a guard rail and Bobby was ejected out the back window of the car and died from blunt force trauma to the head. Getting woken up at four in the mourning and answering the door in your underwear is not embarrassing when you thought your brother had forgotten his key because the shock of seeing the coroner with a state trooper standing behind him tends to erase all thought of self out of your mind. The end of that winter will never come. It just gets colder and colder even if the thermometer reads ninety eight degrees and your sitting in the sun on a cloudless summer day.
The temperature dropped again later that year in September when his sister the middle of the three kids choked to death after having teeth pulled. To add insult to injury five months later his father died of complications due to pneumonia, which was earlier this year in February, the same month his brother died. Samuel's life temperature was near absolute zero, and the winter will never end. Holding it all together for the sake of the strongest woman in the world, his mother, is Sam's daily task.
Embracing the extraordinary imagination in his head he turned to the study of English and the written word. Placing pen to paper is his outlet. Some of the things he thinks of would scare the shit out of Stephen King, yet he does not hold back.
Nothing was asked of the satchel that he brought home with him as they ate in silence. He stared at his mother, still a young woman at forty five. She had lost everything. What Sam did not think about was that she continued on for him, and only him. She looked up at him for a second and a smile formed on her beautiful face, she almost seemed at peace to him.
No room in their lives for the why us thoughts they continue their live as a happy family, there is nothing else they can do. No time for why us, but Sam thought about death. How could he not with it being so prevalent in his life. Not particularly religious yet believing in an afterlife he was sure his family were in a better place. But where exactly that place was he didn't know. Believing in heaven and knowing it exists are two completely different things. Sam is smart enough to know that he doesn't know, and won't know until he takes that ride for himself.
The emptiness he felt in his heart was punctuated by the emptiness of his home. Now understanding the saying 'the sound of silence' is sadder to him than the actual moment he learned of their deaths. But he filled that emptiness with his words and now that he met Watson that emptiness wouldn't plague him again.
Sitting on the edge of his bed he stared at the satchel that was given to him earlier in the day. To indulge another man's insanity breeds insanity. He rested his head on his pillow and stared at his ceiling at first his mind was blank but then ideas as feelings formed in his head; deep profound ideas that seemed to form into words flood his mind. A warmth was felt where the pendant rested on his chest, it permeated his entire body. Sitting up quickly the warmth faded yet he remembered everything he thought about. So, he laid back again and closed his eyes this time. He focused on his last thought but nothing happened. Soon falling asleep, Sam would never forget this night of dreams. Sam opened his eyes and looked around, he had no clue where he was for he was no longer in his bedroom. Despite candles burning everywhere, it was too dark to make anything out. A familiar voice rang out in the dark, "welcome to the library." It was Watsons voice that he heard yet as he looked around Watson was nowhere to be found. "Don't bother looking for me my boy, I am not there, and technically neither are you. This is a place for reflection you will come here when you are seeking answers to your troubles. And then only while you are asleep which is the best time for that pursuit. This is the only time anyone else will ever enter your dreams. I see you have not read any part of the books I gave you. Well I guess that's ok you have plenty of time to decide what it is you want to do."
"Who are you Watson, why is all this happening?"
"Read the books." And the voice was gone.
Sam stirred in his sleep and woke up. It was already morning, and he had never felt as rested before in his life. He checked to see if the pendant was still there, it was. He made his way down to the kitchen where is mother had breakfast ready for him. "You slept late young man." His mother's Irish accent never sounded so good to his ears.
His mother and father were both born in County Cork Ireland. They moved to America with their families when they were teens. When Sam started writing years ago, his father told him that the best writers in the world come from Ireland. Everyone in the family had red hair and love their mothers mashed potatoes, talk about clich. Sam's favorite author was James Joyce, Sam had even read what some consider to be the hardest book to read in the world, Finnegan's Wake, but his favorite book by Joyce was Ulysses.

Sam finished his breakfast without saying a word and felt bad about it, one thing he and his mother had always done is tell each other everything. It was not going to be easy to keep his new-found secret from his mother.
After making his way back to his bedroom, Sam sat at his desk and stared at the satchel, this could be a great thing or something awful will come from it, he thought to himself. He opened the bag and pulled out all the contents onto his desk. In addition to the journal and parchment there were three large leather bound books. The first of with was titled 'How to write. A guide for new comers'. The second and third were titled 'How to write. A guide for people who have been doing this for a bit', 'How to write. If you don't know by now you will never know', respectively. Boy they really need to work on their titles, Sam thought to himself with a chuckle. Over the next three days same read every page of the three books, what he learned shocked, excited and scared him, not necessarily in that order.
On the fourth day, he laid in bed thinking, not trying to summon the power of the pendant. He could feel it calling to him just the same. He had a million more questions for Watson, he wasn't sure if he really wanted the answers. He slept. On the fifth day, he awoke and grabbed the satchel and walk to Frawley street. It was standing there just as before, and he wondered to himself, how could I have missed such a huge building. The open sign hung in the window as before so he let himself in.
"Watson, are you here?"
"Yes, my boy I am indeed here."
"I have decided to proceed with my writing"
"Of course you have boy! No need to state the obvious. Where are your things, your clothes and personal items? You will be gone a long time you will need more than just that satchel!"
"What do you mean."
"What do I mean? I don't know about you sometimes boy. Book four, you did read book four did you not?"
"I of course did not, there was not a fourth book in my bag."
"Oh, Gee will ackers. I'm sorry for the mix up, I guess I must explain to you myself than. You have been selected as one of the few from so, so many to learn are craft as a Keeper of the Word and attend university by that same name in Cork, not County Cork mind you, but Cork Ireland. You will leave immediately, and not return until you are through. Of course, all this is contingent on your signing your life away.' Watson Chuckled. 'Don't worry boy, just a little recruiter humor. But you must sign a letter of intent."
All this was a little much for Sam. Even more questions bounced around his head. His pedant started to vibrate and was heating up. It glowed green underneath his shirts. Watson noticed all this and offered Sam some tea. As they drank Watson explained all he could. "You will leave right away, and be given everything you need to survive your years at school. A copy of you will live with your mother, now don't fret boy she will not miss you in the slightest; over the years we have perfected the copying of our amities."
"I'm sure you have, but I will miss her. She is all I have we are all each other has."
"You will be able to talk to her through your surrogate, now I have told you too much already, its best in these cases that one learns for himself. Are you ready?"
The tea had calmed him down again, what wonderful stuff he thought to himself. "Yes, I am ready."
"Then sign here." Watson had pulled a single piece of parchment out of nowhere and held it before Sam. The writing on which was only a paragraph in length. Sam took a deep breath and signed to parchment. His head began to swirl. And the room began to spin he thought he would be sick but everything went black. The last thing he remembered Watson saying as he passed out was 'Read all the books you find in your locker right away, before you do anything.'
In perfect American English, he heard 'Not another American, they can't write worth shit.'
"Shut up Justin, he's cute!" Sam opened his eyes, looked around and thought to himself 'I thought I was going to Ireland'.
"Where am I?"
"Your locker fell on your head, you're lucky, you're not dead."
"Yes, but where am I? I was just drinking tea with Watson."
The boy and girl kneeling over Sam looked at each other. "Did you say Watson?' The girl asked. 'He's a legend! If he chose you, you must be something alright."
This was all too much for Sam his head began to spin again.
"We better get you to the infirmary." Justin picked Sam up like he was nothing, a strong guy he was.
"What about me locker? I need that everything is in there."
"Don't worry about that it will be placed in your set of rooms for you when you recover." The girl said. "My name is Belle, what's yours?"
Sam managed to spit out his name before he passed out.
Waking up in the infirmary, Sam realized hours had passed for it was pitch black outside as he stared out the huge arched windows of the room he was in. There were only five beds in the place so he thought there must not be many students here, that or no one gets sick. A beautiful woman walked towards Sam, never had he seen a woman like this, and never would again per his heart. Shoulder length auburn hair framed a face only a goddess could have. Warm blue eyes twinkled, and seemed to smile back at him. Sam's mouth hung agape and he quickly shut it. Curves that where subtle yet smart filled her jeans and shirt quite nicely Sam thought to himself. No makeup muddied her face; right then and there he realized he had a thing for women with no makeup. It showed him that she was not afraid to show the world her true self.
"Good your awake. My name is Angela, I am the nurse here at 'The Keep'."
"The Keep?"
"You know, Short for 'The Keepers of the Word'."
"Oh yes of course. Hey, way does everyone speak perfect English if we are in Cork?"
"Haven't you read the books yet?"
"Some."
"Well you had better hurry your first classes are in a week, and you better know everything. But to answer your question, your pendant allows you to understand all languages, I'm speaking Gaelic yet you here it as English a language you understand. You had a nasty fall from the worm hole, I don't think your trunk landed on your head for you would be dead."
"What are you talking about, there was no worm hole?"
"Watson sent you through a worm hole, that's how you got here so fast. You must have blacked out, that's why you don't remember."
"Worm holes are theoretical; how could I have traveled through a worm hole?"
"It wasn't the kind of worm hole you learned about in science class; it's a hole that we summon that was made by a book worm. You will learn all this and more with in your studies. I'm going to keep you here in the infirmary overnight, I made sure they will bring you your journal so you can jot down anything that comes to mind, you should always carry it with you. You should have a pouch in your locker to carry it in, but don't worry about all that just get some rest for now. I will be checking on you throughout the night."
She turned and walked away. Sam hadn't had time to relax and think about all this in quite some time. The quiet of the infirmary offered him solitude, if only for the night. He was still awake when they brought him his journal. He asked the boy who brought it if he had something to write with, they boy just stared at Sam for what seemed like an eternity, and thaen he simply held up his index finger and said, "use yours".