Through The Vines is an idea I've thrown around in my head for years. There is some truth behind it and I'm still playing with the words trying to get it right. This is the rough opening.
I never assumed I knew where I was going, but regardless this is where I ended up, and the story of my escape is something of pure ambition. Now this isn't a story of triumph or overcoming the odds of being dealt a shit hand, rather something on the lines of a lonely boy that was sick of hearing phrases like those. Realistically, to me at least, those phrases meant nothing, and still really don't hold any real meaning.
I never intended to end up here and I likely wouldn't have if it wasn't for the people I ended up meeting on my journey through the great woods and mountains, across the sea and over that fucking rainbow. Maybe if I had access to a space ship back then I would've just roamed the universe with no direction and no purpose. I really always did find comfort in solitude, because I never fit in with the cool kids and their assorted cliques. You know you had the punks, the populars and those faygo kids, dying to be part of something, neglecting to see a bigger picture. Regardless, I always held out hope I might have found a group I fit in with, you know maybe a long lost Indian tribe hiding in the Rocky Mountains somewhere, never found them though.
Alright, anyway I'd like to tell you about the journey that I took through the vines.
“Through the Vines?” you may ask what the hell that entails, but I'm going to tell you that I fought tooth and nail to get through and I wasn't left unscathed. The scars still remain, like those lines on maps that make up the highways and rivers. I always have been fond of them myself because they somewhat remind me of a book with the pages tore out just wanting to be put back together and read. I could always put them all together and read away at a steady pace. So onwards we go, and the story of my scars I earned from place to place.
We grew up in a little town, down by a fairly good sized river, by we I mean my 3 brothers and 3 sisters obviously. My mom was there, well physically, but mentally not so much, and a bastard alcoholic man she called her husband, who wasn't my father, my father left a few years before, headed for the Gulf I had heard my mom say. She also said he met some internet babes, and could have been going to “hook” up with them for some bondage and some other crazy drunken times.