W, an 11-year-old resident of a small midwestern town, finds themself called for jury duty in a property dispute over the underworld. It gets weird from there. Soon enough, the story unravels, revealing itself to have been some sort of poorly constructed metaphor the whole time. A previous draft of Author's note received this praise: "Cleverly written... Adventure Yarn. Probe the deep mysteries of life" -My Grandma "The deepest trees of life?" -My Dad "Witty, thought provoking... surprising" -Uncredited This story has a sort of chaos in it that is easily explained by the way it has been haunting me for almost a decade. Over the years, I have attempted to squeeze it into a dozen different meanings, but my previous efforts, lacking an ending to limit them, always seem to bulge out through the cracks. It is a parasite on my soul. I cannot give it up and so have decided, instead, to publish it. Don't read this story. It's bad. Sincerely, The Author PS Updates every 15 days.
14 parts