AMERICAN PRAYER: A NOVEL…

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AMERICAN PRAYER consists of the novel AMERICAN FREAK and the sequel THE YOUNG SAINTS OF AMERICA. American Prayer is fiction.

Brief excerpt of AMERICAN PRAYER which is about three young men who go after the FBI’s MOST WANTED FUGITIVES for reward money.

Copyright@JamesA.Rice

“To the great creators and thinkers of our time, mortal Demi-gods of untold intellect and insight, who passionately fight to be heard amongst the chaotic masses, who struggle to find their inner voice which burns hot within their electric, neon doomed soul…to me that is the very definition of beauty.” Miles Seymour Dane. Los Angeles. 2017.

BRIEF EXCERPT OF CHAPTER ONE 

If I were you, I’d stop reading right now at this very moment. There’s no reason to get involved with it all, because the ending will baffle you. You will see everything we have done and not like the outcome, not one bit. You might even feel moved to write me a long question filled letter expressing your perplexed frustration for us three and for our dismal futures, but to that just let me say please don’t. I’ve gotten so many letters of late that I can barely keep up as it is. So my advice is to perhaps do something more constructive with your time. Buy a self-help book or use this $15 to get your significant other flowers, because you know that’s the better move. At any rate, if you must go on consider this a warning, because the last 900 days were something of a historical freak-out and nobody knows what to make of it all.

As you probably know, right now Herb, E.R. and I have some charges against us, but due to the unique circumstances surrounding those charges, we have become the new flavor of the month, the big news story of all news stories and they all want to talk to us: NBC, CBS, CNN, and FOX NEWS. In many ways that’s why I agreed to write this, to set the record straight so to speak, not to mention that this is all court ordered. So my advice is just put this down, because what you think may be right it turns out can be far from it, at least if our story is any indication. Besides you heard all this HBO-Movie of the week stuff before, booze here, fist fights there, liquor stores blowing up, cults being arrested, fugitives on the run, shoot outs, strip clubs, gang wars, reward money and all that Showtime Cable TV type ratings week programming. Only our story was no pay per view channel, this was our lives for nearly three years and the ending isn’t looking good. So you’d be best to put this down. Stephen King is to the right and Dean Koontz is likely not too far from there.

Whatever the case, I write to you now being monitored around the clock by a platoon of armed guards. I am in a cell with one wall of bulletproof, two-way glass and I am being analyzed and studied like a lab rat by some serious Master Degree and PhD minds. I sport an orange jumpsuit and orange Croc shoes. I eat what they loosely call breakfast at 7:00 a.m., which they say is scrambled eggs and toast. At noon lunch consists of a meaty gelatinous, glutinous conglomeration I wouldn’t feed my dog and then there is dinner. I never, ever eat dinner. This is always some sort of some bologna/processed meat sandwich that seems to have saw dust in it. See Also: Salty Pete. Anyways, welcome to my world. The cell here is eight feet by eight feet of concrete and musty locker room underarm odor. A guard has just walked in and put down what appears to be Salisbury steak and what looks like chopped carrots onto the end of this small table in which I am writing this opening salvo. He doesn’t say anything, head nods to me and leaves, locking the door behind him.

Judge Montclair, who was appointed to this case, ruled that I put all this on paper. He wanted me to explain things and write a brief description for public record. So for good or ill, this is said description.

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