Post by Troll on Sept 19, 2010 21:31:03 GMT -5
Club Sandwich: Prologue
I'm part of a secret society. A club, you could say.
I'd like to elaborate a little before I tell you my story. You see, being in this sort of club isn't easy. It's quite exclusive, and not a lot of people know about it, hence the term "secret" society. Not just any sort of person can join a club like this; you have to be able to crack some sort of code to get in. Let's call it a password. It should be simple to get in though, shouldn't it? Just learn the password and you're in? You would think that, but we've still managed to stay quite secretive.
Now, once you manage to somehow get in, you'll immediately notice something. It's got layers. I'll explain what I mean by that in a minute. You come in, and you think you've seen everything, until you look up. There's a whole group of higher up members above you. And above them? Yes, there's more. We stop at three layers, or so I've been told to believe.
We called the members of the bottom layer "turkeys", for the way they wandered around aimlessly. These people don't know what they're doing; they don't know the motives of our organization. They're just turkeys, that's all. We treated the turkeys the same way the turkeys treated non-members, like garbage. They'd never know it though, as we never communicated between layers. It was as if there was a thick dough inbetween us.
I was a turkey once, when I was younger and much more naive. I thought being in this club was the greatest thing in the world, which it was, but I knew little to nothing of what went on above me. It was a much simpler time though, and if I could go back I would.
I'm on the upper level now, though that's kind of a misnomer. We're still only the second level. Members here know a bit more about the workings of this club, and we know there's another level above us. There are people here called BLTs that keep everything running smoothly. I don't know what that stands for; don't ask me. We know little about the upper level, though I've heard rumours that there's just a thin man holding this organization together.
I suppose that's enough information for now. I will get on with my story. This is a story about secrets. It is a story about truth. It is a story about love. It is a story about hate. It is a story about betrayal. It is a story about redemption. But enough about what it's about. It all started with a note.
I came home one day to find a folded note on my desk. There was no indication that anyone had broken in, nor could I tell who had left it there. I opened it up and looked inside. All it said was "Brandon Buccieri is a faggot." I showed it to my mom and my mom got scared, and said, "You're movin' with your auntie and uncle in Bel-Air." I whistled for a cab and when it came near The license plate said fresh and it had dice in the mirror. If anything I could say that this cab was rare, but I thought, "Nah, forget it. Yo, holmes to Bel-Air!" I pulled up to the house about 7 or 8 and I yelled to the cabbie, "Yo homes smell ya later!" Looked at my kingdom I was finally there, to sit on my throne as the prince of Bel-Air.
