Phoenix Burning

1: Prologue: Death Of A Salesman

"After all the highways, and the trains, and the appointments, and the years, you end up worth more dead than alive."

~**~~**~

There are a lot of ways to lose one's head. For instance, there is the metaphorical way, of course. That's a given. Everyone loses their head one way or another during their lifetime. It's part of being alive.

The human experience. Or so to speak.

When tensions run high and emotions flutter, it's only natural for a dispute to turn ugly. People say and do things that they normally wouldn't in a fight.

Threats, insults, the like.

Sometimes, a fight can even bleed into a physical altercation.

Pun intended.

Nasty business, really. But to be honest, it's less macabre than the option.

Because there is also another way to lose one's head.

Physically.

Which was the exact predicament that Freddy Torrance currently found himself in.

And candidly, it was entirely his fault.

You see, throughout his life, since the very beginning, people had offered Freddy Torrance loads of advice.

His mother told him to always wash behind his ears.

His priest told him to respect all life, especially women's.

His father, a man of very few words, offered him no advice. Which perhaps might have been the best advice there was to give, seeing Freddy was a notoriously bad listener.

His grandfather told him to always bet on black, that way he'd never lose.

But Freddy didn't listen. To any of it.

He bet on red, he rarely showered, and on the off chance he found himself in a church, he tried to look up the nuns' skirts.

And all of this was due to the fact that Freddy Torrance thought Freddy Torrance knew what was best.

Always.

Except for when he didn't.

Because there was one piece of advice-- the only advice that mattered, really-- that Freddy should have listened to above all else.

Never lose your head.

As simple as that.

Just those four very, very important words.

It was the one piece of advice Freddy should have heeded.

But alas, he did not.

Because on a snowy day in November at 4:32 am, Freddy lost his head.

Quite literally, in fact.

It was actually embarrassing.

What sort of self-respecting salesman would just up and leave his head lying around for the world to see?

Though Freddy might argue that he hadn't lost his head. He knew exactly where it was.

He just couldn't seem to retrieve it at the moment.

Probably because he was currently under a dank overpass, his headless corpse rolling around in a rat's living room.

It was offensive, it was.

Disrespectful, even.

After all, Freddy Torrance didn't deserve to spend eternity apart from his better, and lower half.

He was too good of a man.

And sure, maybe he did embezzle thousands of dollars from his company. But who doesn't?

And yes, perhaps he had once watched his next-door neighbor (and cocaine supplier) overdose in the hot tub and did nothing but close the shades.

But come on, what was he supposed to do? Call an ambulance? It was SuperBowl Sunday and the Pats were playing.

It was a once-a-year game and he was supposed to miss it because some chump didn't know his limits?

Not a chance.

God wouldn't hold that against him. He was sure of it.

Though the more he thought about it, there was that one insignificant incident that might hinder his entrance to heaven.

A blimp on his otherwise spotless record. Something that should just get pushed under the rug.

Besides, in Freddy's opinion, being beheaded was punishment enough.

It seemed he really didn't get away with murder after all.

~**~~**~

A/N

BAM!

I'm super excited to write this book and to have you guys read it. 

As always, please comment, vote, and share!

I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Peace out, homies! 

:)