Jimmy the Samurai

Chapter One

A cool breeze floated by, ridden by joyously singing birds. The sun was out, the air was warm, even the crime rate had dropped for the occasion, and everything in the world was as near perfect as can be. Except for the fact that a man named Jim, who called himself Jimmy the Samurai, was hanging off a ledge on a cliff face at roughly two thousand feet above sea level.

"Can somebody get me down or something?" he yelled at the top of his voice. There was no reply. He looked sullenly at the faraway ground below.

"Wow. I didn't really expect this to happen when I got out of bed this morning." he murmured gently, which was a strange manner of saying this, seeing as he was in grave peril at the moment.

However, Jimmy's peril wasn't technically as grave as one might think, mainly because he possessed unnatural finger strength. This affected his situation, you see, because he was hanging on to the ledge by his fingers.

He remembered what his dearly departed mother used to say about these unnaturally strong fingers, which everyone on her side of the family appeared to possess.

"Why, back durin' th' Civil War, th' used ta sent out us Jenkinses on th' front lines. We could killa Yank jus' ba flickin' 'im, er sometimes tappin' 'im on the shoulder. Now, ole Great-Granpappy Jenkins was better 'an allurvus, becausin he was so strong in his finger-parts 'at he could killa man jus' ba pointin' at him!"

Jimmy remembered that after he heard that story as a child, he would attempt to call up the finger strength of his ancestor and kill his classmates in the same manner. As one could expect, he ended up killing an entire class full of kids and three teachers. After he was sent to the school counselor several times, it was driven into his brain that it was rude to point at people.

"Oh, Momma, I wish you were here now," Jimmy said as he kept from looking down to his fate on the ground. "I can tell this is going to be very boring."

And indeed, Jimmy's predicament did grow quite boring, as there was nothing to do on that dreary ledge but hang on and occasionally scream for help. After a few hours and countless near-falls when Jimmy attempted to twiddle his thumbs, make shadow puppets, and do quirky little Irish jigs, Jimmy was the epitome of boredom.

"Hmm... I could do the typical angsty, vengeful hero thing and ponder ways to kill my enemies while I hang here," he thought. He then realized that this would make him appear extremely out-of-character, which is important to avoid during the first chapter, in which a sizable amount of characterization takes place. It would also be especially undesirable with the current description of the weather as perfect. If he wanted to do something like that, he would have to go hang somewhere dark and stormy, not a place with joyously singing birds. He also realized that he didn't even have any enemies.

"Nah."

A thoughtful expression appeared on his face, which is probably one of the better expressions to appear on one's face while thinking, seeing as it is the most likely.

"I could always have a conversation with myself," he suggested.

"Good idea," he replied.

"Wow. I've already got the hang of this."

"Thank you."

"So... how about the weather?"

"Oh, nothing much to say. I've seen better, but this isn't bad."

"Are you kidding? Where were you during that description during the first sentence of this chapter?"

"I was hanging here. I hadn't been introduced yet."

"Oh. Well, anyway, this weather is great."

"Umm... not so much."

"What?"

"I don't this weather is really that great. It's pretty overrated."

"What are you thinking? Are you freaking blind?"

"Nope. This weather is definitely lukewarm."

"Arg! Wait... weather isn't a liquid."

"I didn't say it was. I was only personifying it as a liquid so I could use the term 'lukewarm,' which, believe it or not, I couldn't think of any other synonyms for."

"But... if you were personifying it, wouldn't you have to be giving it a human characteristic?"

"Well, yes... but... Gahh!"

"Last time I checked, humans weren't referred to as lukewarm. And neither was weather."

"You know what I meant!"

"Oh, so now I'm a mindreader, eh?"

"Just... shut up! I hate talking to you!"

Jimmy hung there and steamed for a few minutes, almost, but luckily not, throwing up his hands in anger. He did not know that asking someone about the weather is a specimen of the rather pointless species known as "small talk," and no one really ever answers it with their honest opinion of the weather, they just say "Good," and then either change the subject or become silent. Frankly, no one really cares how the weather is at all most of the time; the question is really just a slightly classier alternative to a pickup line.

Then he realized that he had just been having a conversation with himself, and was somewhat ashamed at the level of emotion he was capable of in that situation.

He looked around in a frenzy of paranoia to see if any rogue passerby mountain climbers had been lurking about and had heard him in his moment of mental instability. Luckily for him, he saw no one, but as he looked down he was suddenly reminded of the fact that he was in danger for his life.

"Yipe!" he exclaimed, clutching the ledge a bit less nonchalantly. "That just sorta sprung out at me."

Little did Jimmy know that there had indeed been a rogue passerby at the moment of his conversation with himself. His being oblivious to this was probably due to the fact that this passerby was not of human appearance, but rather that of a large, hungry-looking vulture. Do not be mistaken; he was indeed a human mentally, but only a bird physically due to a strange clash of fate, science, and romance. His name was Monty, and he had relatively nothing at all to do with Jimmy. So, I will refrain from mentioning him for a while.

"This would be a great time for my life to flash before my eyes," said Jimmy, still a bit shaken. Then the significance of what he had just said hit him.

"That's it! I just play my life a bit slower than a flash, and I have something to do! Boredom, you have been utterly defeated! Mwahahahaha!"

He then closed his eyes and waited, not even noticing as Monty appraised what he thought was a delicious-looking carcass, pulled some spices out of his secret pouch that was anatomically impossible for him to have, and began to tenderize Jimmy by repeatedly pecking his head.