By H. A. Covington
Shane Ryan is a mistaken man. mistaken race. unsuitable gender. mistaken category. fallacious part of the tracks. incorrect perspective. the United States within the close to destiny is a chilly, merciless position, specially within the hardscrabble rural Pacific Northwest. there is battle within the center East, a revived draft, mass unemployment, an economic climate completely at the skids, greed and corruption, incompetence and stupidity on the most sensible. bad blue-collar young ones from the trailer park are final in line for every thing. the United States has screwed Shane Ryan, and he returns the prefer. He joins the Northwest Volunteer military, a Revolutionary Organization 17 November devoted to overthrowing the U.S. executive and constructing an self reliant country. the United States is set to profit the tough manner that what is going round, comes round.
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Her name was Rooney. I honestly can’t remember when was the first time I noticed Rooney Wingfield in the corridors of Dundee High School. Washington used the old middle school system back then and so I went into Dundee High at the age of fourteen. The Wingfield kids had gone to West Harbor middle school and I went to Broad Street, so I didn’t know her before then. By the middle of the ninth grade at DHS she was definitely on my radar screen. Rooney was one of those kids you knew by sight but you never seemed to know her name.
Something different. Something better. There had to be. I had to find it, or I knew at some point I would go mad and die. I had to find it! From third grade on, I started spending as much time as I could in the library, alongside all the winos and homeless that used to crowd in on winter days to keep warm, pretending to read the magazines. I found a study carrel hidden away at the back of one of the stacks, and I used to stay hunched over it reading until I had to go home. I learned to tune out the ravings of the homeless lunatics in the library and my drunken parents at home, and in the pages of books I would immerse myself in whole different worlds I never knew existed.
I knew the Bible didn’t like anything to do with peepees. Don’t ask me where I got that. Not off TV, that’s for sure. ” exhaled Doctor-Rabbi Jake with satisfaction. “Now we’re getting somewhere! ” “No,” I said. Of course my parents didn’t read the Bible to me. They didn’t read anything to me or to themselves. They didn’t do anything except drink and fight and pass out on the floor. It was an incredibly stupid question. “Shane, you can tell me,” said Doctor-Rabbi Jake soothingly. ” “Well, my Mom has a Bible,” I said, floundering around trying to figure out what he wanted to hear, and it was true.