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Showing posts from April, 2017

Chapter 1 - The Clubhouse

August, 1977
I sit in the rusted folding chair in one corner of the clubhouse. I'm staring intently at ground in front of me. I'm waiting for something to happen. I don't really think it will.

This is experiment x00213.

It says so on the open page of the notebook at my feet.

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Two things you should know about the clubhouse.
It's not a house.It was never intended to contain a club. Clubs mean people. People get in the way.

I could call it a hideout, I suppose, but that implies an intent that I'm not prepared to concede. I'm not anti-social. I just don't want people in the clubhouse. The clubhouse is for reading. The clubhouse is for contemplation. The clubhouse is for experimentation.

These things are done alone.

I stare a bit longer at the seemingly random framework of sticks, paperclips, and rubber bands that I've built in the center of the clubhouse. It unfolds tentatively from the crusty dirt floor beneath my feet like some sort of shyly primitive a…