90% of the things I've done in my life ain't as important as you sweeping that floor, or you sitting there eating your sandwich. You know why?

Okay. I'm going to use this blog responsibly, for what it's intended for.
Here's the first chapter of a novel I'm working on. Now, there isn't any reason you should read it, and there's even less of a reason that you should like it, but here it is

Chapter 1: Heaven Collapsing Under So Much Joy.

I don’t want to get emotional about this so I will tell it as plainly as I can.
There’s this car, maybe you have this car. Maybe you’re reading this book, about this car, in one of these cars.
If I told you which one you’d be like ‘no way, get outta here!’ It had an advert with a famous song on; a famous actor was driving the car, looking very angry at something. Probably the cup holder, which was very difficult to use and I’m sure made a lot of people angry.
What Car? Magazine called it ‘a solid piece of automotive joy’. Top Gear called it ‘Blisteringly fast’ and said it ‘takes off from the traffic lights like a ferret up a trouser leg’. If you watch a motorway for any longer than a minute, chances are you will have seen one of these cars.
It was very important to my mum and dad that they own this car. Not just for the ferret thing mentioned above, or the fact that everything seemed to have a heater in it, which could be counteracted by an air-conditioning unit that could freeze the sun. It was because they were at That Point in Their Lives where they had The House and The Kids and they could go to France on holiday, all they needed was The Car.
This Car had, and probably still has, a problem with the aforementioned seat heaters that can cause the engine to explode.
Remember that you or someone you know might own this car; you may be reading this book in this car which is in this book.
My sister Sophia and I were staying with friends and my parents had gone for a drive. You should understand that The Car was not only to be used for them to go to work or to get the shopping home, but should be driven in for the pure thrill of driving, like the famous actor on the expensive advert with the famous song playing in the background. This would have been when I was about ten years old and Soph’ would have been two.
This will get complicated but please bear with me.
My parents turned the seat heaters on at around four ‘o clock > The heat built up until five-thirty when it caused part of the foam inside the seat to melt > the molten foam dripped down into the car’s wiring, causing shorts all the way to the battery > the battery showered sparks throughout the engine, igniting everything flammable, which in a car is just about everything. Or, I should say in The Car, because only this particular model has flammable seating foam, or wiring from a Guatemalan sweatshop, or, and this is the most important part, a fuel line that ignites and carries a flame all the way up to the fuel tank.
According to the police, who should know, the car travelled four hundred meters while on fire, with my parents in the front seat. Eventually all the fuel it would have used to keep moving was burning off so it stopped in the inside lane of a major motorway, one you will have probably used if you were travelling to London from the South West. Even though I was told it would have been too late, it still hurts that nobody stopped to help. Firemen only arrived when the blaze was spotted on a speed camera. I really don’t know how bad it was, but I heard that two of the firemen had to do therapy afterwards.
There’s a big blank space around that time, Soph’ doesn’t remember much either. We didn’t have godparents so our Aunt and Uncle on our mother’s side stepped in to be our legal guardians. Our parent’s life insurance, the house we grew up in and the settlement from the car company added up to just under half a million pounds, which was put into a savings account for us. I know this because there are records, I don’t have any real memory of it happening. I also know I went to a school where I didn’t have many friends and didn’t play many sports but got pretty good grades. I know this because I finished school a year early and was done with University by the time I was twenty and the guys I went to school with who played sports and had a lot of friends now open the gate for me at work or change the oil on my car.
I’m going to talk about something that happened to me on a transatlantic flight and I’m sorry to say that the prose is going to get a little flowery. Believe me, this is necessary.
Before Soph’ was born both my parents worked and they had to go abroad a lot. We were flying to Boston, that’s a twelve hour flight and I was about nine years old. The Captain was good enough to let me see the cockpit and explain to me about the alto-meter. He also gave me a small toy plane from a box of small toy planes provided by the company. A few years later I found out that I only got special treatment because they confused me with a boy travelling to Chicago for a bone marrow transplant, but that isn’t really important.
We were four hours over the Atlantic when we hit bad weather and were told to buckle up. This story isn’t about the plane crashing so put that out of your mind. We strap ourselves in to those uncomfortable airplane seatbelts that’ll cut you in half if you hit something.
I had a window seat. That was my parents’ way of compensating me for joining them on their transcontinental journeys. I got see a satellite view of four different continents. So, we’re at about thirty-thousand feet and the turbulence warning gets me interested in what’s happening outside. At first it’s just clouds, like platforms of a 4-D chess set. Then- my dad told me that I started saying there were birds outside. This is one of those childhood memories where half of it comes from your parents. My dad said that birds couldn’t fly this high so I pressed my face to the glass hoping I could prove him wrong.
You see, there weren’t any birds outside. I mean, I’d seen feathers and wings, but the wings were attached to human bodies. I’d been seeing Angels outside my window. They were dead, lying splayed out on the clouds with their swords, shields and spears. There were clouds where whole phalanxes had died together, and others where one or two had died for each meter of imaginary ground gained. There were thousands of these things that don’t exist, lain out in their last moments of life on clouds.
I told my dad that there was a seat out there in the clouds, big as a skyscraper, and there was a guy on the seat sleeping, I guess it was God and I guess God is dead. Or sleeping.

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