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chap. 3 of "prelude to a madman"

CHAPTER 3


jachob showed almost no fear as he stood from his coffin and watched as the locals watched. the bodys, burning with white hot intensity, still, the smell had been forgoten already. the thoughts of the backyard barbeques of the past were no longer in his mind, to jachob, this was just another hurdle on the track of life. "what do i do now" was the only thing on jachobs mind at this point. one of the locals finally noticed him and went over to "greet" himself, needless to say, he didnt exectly speak jachobs native tongue. as the native was speaking, jachob looked over the natives shoulder just in time to see the bushes rustle a little bit. what emerged seemed, to jachob, extremely out of place. a man, broad shoulder, khaki pants and vest, and short brown-blonde hair, arose from the bush and started towards jachob and the native.



the man let out a few words to the native and he slowly backed off, going back towards the group, not taking his eyes off of jachob at first, but turning about halfway. "excuse him, your pale skin is something of an oddity in these parts, the names jim wholesworth, most call me the professor." jachob stood up and steped out of the coffin and onto the sandy beach, he seemed very out off place, the blue and gray suit he was wearing didnt exactly feel right. "judging from your, residence, here, id say you were mixed up and accidently dropped here. a good thing to, youd be six feet under by now if you had made it. of course, if you were actually dead, youd be on one of those piles by now." the man said, pointing to the burning piles of flesh, now dying down, but the heat could still be felt whipping in the wind. "tell me son, how did you end up in this..predicament, so to say?" always one to think first, Jachob thought to himself about whether or not to tell the truth, not sure of how the man or for that fact the natives would take to a boy his age who tried to commit suicide. he decided that for now it would be best to fabricate a story.



"i was hit by a car in my home town, i guess it must of knocked me into a coma of some sort. i know my mother and father always wanted me to be buried in greece, on the family lot, that would explain why i was loaded up on a plane and somehow or another got dropped of here." jachob thought about it for a minute, dissapointed that he couldnt come up with a better story under pressure. "well, i suppose life works like that on times." the man said, patting jachob firmly on the shoulder. "now then, what say we get you out of that suit and into some comfortable cloths, besides, you might get killed dressed like that around here." the man took jachob by the shoulder and started walking back towards the bushes, when they passed the tree line and hit a path, jachob noticed that the horrible smell of burning flesh faded out, masked my the smell of fresh rain on the trees.



walking down the path, jachob immediantly saw animals that he had only read about, never even dreamed of seeing them in real life. as jachob was stoping several times to look at insects and other organisms, animals, plants and such, the man in khaki noticed jachobs facination with all of this. the path eventualy ended as it hit a small village. jachob had expected the grasstop huts of his books, but instead, he was surprised to find a village of buildings, most badly damaged by wars. ''welcome to twikia. a small community of native african peoples, some of ancient wisdom and some of military integrity. it all depends on who and of who you talk to." the man continued with story after story of war and tribulation, leading to the eventual story of how he himself ended up in the village community of twikia. "i came here, as a rhode scholar in the year 1993, since then, i have grown, accustomed, so to say, to their way of life. growing on them as they eventually grew on me, and if you continue to stay here as i did, the same shall happen as time passes." jachob looked up at the man, who, at the end of his speech, took a small wooded pipe with decorative carvings on the sides, out of his vest pocket and packed a small amout of tobacco in it as he sucked in a flame from a small blue bic lighter. jachob couldnt help but wonder where he found such a lighter out here, once again dissapointed in the fact that he was underestimating this community of people, a mistake he would try not to make again.



the two walked into a small two story blue building, one of the only ones left in one peice. "this is where i stay, there are two rooms on the top floor, the empty bedroom is where you'll stay until you reach the age of sixteen, which, by the look of you, is not to far away. after which, you will find a place of your own, by then the people will know you and you should know enough of the language to opperate efficiently. by the way, whilst i think about it, how old are you anyway?" jachob stood silent for a second, still in somewhat of a shock. "14" was whispered out in a hiss like voice, hoarse from so long without talking. "yes, well, anyway, go and make yourself a palet to sleep on while i find a sutable form of clothing, that suit just will not do, you had many a stare going your way on the way up here." at this, jachob did as he was told and started upstairs. unknowingly to jachob, jim wholesworth was looking at jachobs wrist the entire time as jachob climbed the stairs. why would someone hit by a car have such horrid marks on his wrist? jim figured it to be an abnormaly to be answered later and went on to find jachob a new form of clothing.




thank you for looking at my writings!

signed:J.J. Johnson III