Shaming Odysseus

Chapter 1

Our story begins with a young, youthful boy. A juvenile sack of testosterone. A limber individual of the male gender. However he was not like many as you will see because literally anyone else wouldn't have screwed up in the monumental ways he managed to pull from the black, dismal abyss of idiocy and incompetence to understand the basic precepts of common-sense. He got chosen though and my job is to tell you his story so straddle up sea biscuit because if you think a story about space sharks and intergalactic equine racing can't come together into a compelling and moving story well you'll be proved right over and over again.

Welcome to earth, where the planet is blue and there's more carbon dioxide in the air than a tar pit full of melted coal, dipped in rotting peat. Our story starts in the United States but more specifically it's in the great state of Georgia in the city of Atlanta. On the city streets our young hero, Juan Vasquez strolls along the streets with the widest smile. He's got a pep in his step and still hopeful attitude about the day coming to a happy end. He walks around the block, goes up to his house and opens the door with his keys.

"Cómo estás mijo," said Karla Vasquez, Juan's mother.

"Muy bién mama," said Juan.

He took his shoes off and walked across the wooden floor in his socks. He wanted to slide so badly, but the living room was arranged like a pigeon got hit with a rock in the legs and was then ordered to feng shui the house.

"What's for dinner Mom?" said Juan.

"I'm making posóle. It'll be done in fifteen minutes," she said, "Tú papà should be coming soon. Go change in your room and come help me set the table."

"Sure thing Mom," and Juán went up the stairs and into his room.

Juán's room was a mix of hobbies, decorations, and religious items. His bed had plaid sheets and the window in his room looked out to the street, where if his TV went out he could see the Italian and French resturaunts' owners come out everyday and complain about something new like parking space, interfering advertisements, or the other's useless reasons for patriotism and national solidarity. They were really, really racist.

Juán came back down and greeted his father who was coming in the door. He was a sharply dressed man with a suit and tie that covered the overwhelmingly exhausted and empty man that hid inside a facade of business and professionalism. That was when he was at work though, but at home he was a light-hearted man that hugged his son and rushed to kiss his wife.

"Come está mi nena?," said Julio Vasquez.

"Oh be quiet and take your seat," said Karla trying not break her stern face with a giggle.

Eventually all the preparations were made and the whole family sat down to enjoy their supper. Karla talked about all the gossip that was going on in her social network. Julio talked about a some of the weird people he had as clients. Juán talked about new scientific discoveries that interested him. Each family member heard the other's talking point with full attention and rarely was it quiet. Everyone finished eating and the table was cleared and tidied up as everyone got up to do what they had to. Juán put everything in order, Julio washed the dishes, and Karla put up the cooking appliances.

Juán went to his room and sat down at his desk. He turned on the computer and the operating system booted up like an old man trying to get into tight leather pants while chained to a pole. Juán clicked on the browser and re-assessed himself as he the search bar showed all the disturbing and questionable stuff he had looked up. Not that it was bad, but a lonely, psychotic hermit that made a statue of a long, lost love out of yellow painted pistachios would have been more sane.

Juán made amends with himself and surfed through social media to see people living their lives happier and fuller than himself. He chatted with friends and with random people who threatened to report him if he didn't stop messaging them philosophical questions about life. Juán then get online to play one of various mmorpg's and spent an hour sitting on a chair, repeatedly clicking the mouse key as his avatar committed large scale genocide of many low-level enemies that were in the game. He turned the computer off and went to his bed.

He prayed and then put the covers up to his head and parted it so that everything but his nose was covered. He closed his eyes and started drifting to sleep and entering the world of dreams.