Losing My Way

Years passed after that tiny truth was uttered and I became a man, of no great importance but a lure for troubled souls. This tale concerns a few I met along my way. All good people lost in the eddies of the river of time, trying to get back into the flow of life. I believe they found me when I was stuck on a sandbar and nudged me back into the current. So will it be a happy tale? I hope so. All these great authors and others usually entertain me but they are so mean. That Dostoevsky fellow isn't happy unless there's murders and suicides and constant suffering, and what he did to that nice Prince Myshkin was so cruel. Why couldn't The Idiot have ended with the prince becoming a private eye in Moscow? Instead...I shudder to think about it. Read the book and be horribly depressed that an author could be so mean to such a nice guy. God, I hope nothing like that happens in my story, but I digress.

Where do I start? How about at the beginning? Well then....once upon a time, there was a Big Bang, though I doubt there was any sound, and since no creatures yet existed to hear it, it's just as well. 13.8 billion years, 9 months, 2 days, 13 hours, 16 minutes and 42 seconds later, I was torn from my mother's womb, and there was a Small Scream.