Date: Tue, 17 May 2016 13:14:09 -0500 From: Eric Trager <trager2275@gmail.com> Subject: It Is What It Is: Prologue This story is a work of fiction. None of the characters in this story are based in whole, or in part, on actual people either living, or deceased. Some of the locations in the story are real, the use of which is solely to set scenes, and for no other purpose. This story is intended for a mature audience. This story contains sexual interaction of a homosexual nature between consenting individuals. If this type of material offends you, or if you are not of legal age to read this type of material, then don't read the story. Reader comments are welcome, especially constructive criticism, as this is the author's first attempt at fictional writing. From this first attempt I've gained a huge insight into just how much of an effort an author must put in to create a story. It's not easy. Where do you want your story to go? Is the character development good enough? What's the message(s) you're trying to get across? Will you hold the reader's interest? Are there inconsistencies that readers will catch? Proof-reading. Grammar. Spelling. I'm sure I've made my share of rookie mistakes, but I hope that readers will enjoy the story anyway. Email feedback can be sent to trager2275@gmail.com. © 2015 by Eric Trager. PROLOGUE May, 2088 A wizened old man makes his way down a cemetery path. The gravel crunches beneath his feet. He walks with a cane, slowly and deliberately, yet upright and steady. The late Spring Wisconsin sun shines warm upon his face. He's sure no one will disturb his parked car for the few minutes he will be there. In his gnarled free hand, he holds four red roses. Carefully, he places one at each of four adjacent headstones and collects the wilted ones he left the week before. He seats himself on a concrete park bench he paid the cemetery to install nearby. The old man has made the same trip, and sat on the same bench, every Wednesday afternoon, Winter, or Summer, rain or shine, since the first headstone went in almost 23 years ago. From his pocket, he pulls a small bag of salted in the shell peanuts to feed the squirrels that always know when he'll be there. Tossing out the peanuts, he contemplates the headstones one by one, moving slowly down the line. A solitary tear streaks his wrinkled cheek. In his mind, he paraphrases a line from the movie The Wizard of Oz: the last to go shall see the first six go before him. As he often does, he reminisces about the lives and loves of those six departed souls. A small smile can be seen. "I'm the last one left standing," he muses, "I guess one of us hadda be, guys... It gets lonely after all these years. The world keeps moving and doesn't spare time for an old fart like me. You know, our oldest is the same age you were when it was time for you to go, and our first great-great grandchild should be here soon if I last long enough..." directing his last comment to one particular headstone, pausing to reflect on his own life, at 91 years now in its twilight. A life well and truly lived. "It is what it is, guys. I'll see you next week, then..." The old man rose, made his way back to his car, closed the door and slowly exited the cemetery. AUGUST 2094 At Roosevelt Elementary School, the scrum of new Kindergarteners arrive excitedly for their very first day of school. Their parents proudly drop them off, smiling while wagging index fingers admonishing their tykes to behave themselves, and to mind the teacher. Two little boys, having arrived before most of the others, occupy themselves at the sandbox. Handsome boys, one a sturdy redhead, the other a slimmer, but slightly taller blonde. "Wanna play?" the redhead asks. "I'm Timmy! Wanna be friends?" "OK..." the blonde boy replied. "I'm Sean. What's youw wast name, Timmy?" "Dickson." "My wast name is Wyman. I'w caw you Dix. It's easiew." "OK, you can be Wymo! You're my bestest friend!" Timmy exclaimed, hugging Sean. "Coow!" the blonde boy said, returning the hug with a captivating, smirky smile. "Boys and girls!" The teacher calls out. "Welcome to Roosevelt School. Let's get started, shall we?"