Alright. So I have issues finishing stories. I deleted my other two. Had no inspiration. This one has some, and it draws back to the days when I used to role play, so maybe I'll be able to continue it longer than just three chapters. I'm going to need you guys to be there to submit some serious reviews! I need the inspiration! So help me out! Thanks a lot peoples! This is just an introduction, so don't doubt the action, comedy, and maybe- MAYBE romance. Not sure on that.

There was so much noise here. The streets were flooded with an array of roaring automobiles, their various drivers more content to sit and ‘share’ their opinions out of their rolled down windows than to step out of the blistering vehicle and walk a few blocks to get to where they were going. It would have probably been faster in the long run anyway. Despite those many mentally or physically obese and lazy inhabitants of the city, there were what must have been thousands walking on any street at one time. There was a giant and stunning whisper of unnecessary coats brushing against each other, and the thundering of uneven footsteps falling against themselves. One wrong move and a fight could break out, which made it almost understandable as to why someone might lock themselves into a rolling shell rather than indulge in the ‘culture’ of their surroundings. The clash of buskers competing for attention was an unwelcome undertone to the roar of the streets.

Layered atop the chaos was a thick smog that one might feel weigh them down as it stuck to their bulky clothing. It clung like a wet sheet, and held fast to any heat around said person. It was suffocating. It took brute mental force to convince one’s body and soul to cope with this harsh urban environment. It wasn’t natural, and it ripped away people’s emotions. Anything that made them human. If a person managed to survive this place, it would not be worth it. They would have lost themselves; their ability to care, or feel. They’d forget everything about themselves and drown in the sea of working class men and women who bought more than they could pay for and told themselves they were happy when the truth was that sometimes they could not stand to look at themselves in a mirror.

All around him was a blur. He’d lived here his entire life and knew nothing of what was happening to him. By the day he died, he would be long emptied. There was a constant weight on his shoulders that he never once noticed. He was emotionally and spiritually drained. His characteristics were the same as all of those around him; deliciously self-confident, horribly over-analyzing, completely oblivious to happiness, and subconsciously depressed.

His name was Chad Wilson, and he paid great care to make sure he looked the part for his job. He was obsessed with the thought that any police officer had to be tall and handsome. He was a tad romantic in this aspect. He was not very tall, though, and blended in with those around him. He was about five nine and a half- average height as far as anyone else was concerned, but incredibly short in his eyes. His hair was naturally blonde, but only the roots showed it. The rest of his head was covered in flat brown hairs in the hopes of the tall dark and handsome stereotype. He was not clean shaven, and looked somewhat worn. His eyes were brown with tiny black or golden specks in them. He couldn’t stand the look of them. He wanted blue.

His feet drug on the ground as he forced his way through the flood of people, carving a path through his own figmental ocean. He could hear his heart in his head and it amazingly drowned out all of the noise of the busy street. He’d been fired. Fired! He had no idea what to do. He was lost. The polite term for what had happened was that he had been laid off. He just knew that he was not the most valued of employees at the NYPD. But did they even lay off policemen? He spat on a small patch of open concrete before grimacing as a middle aged woman landed an expensive looking boot on the spot. He mumbled sorry in his head before sitting on the steps of a large building. He didn’t care which one. He just needed to stop. Stop moving. Probably for the first time in twenty eight years.

He was overreacting, and he knew it, but what was left for him now? Surely he could find another job, but he was so overwhelmed right now that he could think of nothing to move him. He sat, staring at the sky as he lay back on the steps, feeling the corners stab into his back, and not caring even the slightest bit. He was drunk. Incredibly so, and it was only seven thirty. He justified it because it was a Saturday. His eyes shut, in a fashion of surrender. He had no one to comfort him, no job to help him survive, and no care for anyone but himself. He used to persuade himself that he cared about the people of the city, and that was why he did his job. But the truth was that he didn’t care even a little bit. It was for his selfish reasons. Self- that word was used far too much.

And suddenly his sorrow turned to anger and he screamed in his head, the amazing volume leaking out into the real world as a small groan as he gripped his skull. No one noticed him, too preoccupied with their own lives to pay him any attention. But, there is always one exception to the rule, isn’t there? One person who is not affected by the bitter truths of the world, and so oblivious that they were truly happy. No bitter apples had ever touched their lips, and they could live day by day finding the good buried deep inside each person and bring them closer to the surface.

He felt the brown bottle slip from his fingertips, and groaned as the now familiar feeling was pulled from him. His hand stretched, searching for it. He had not heard it fall, and it was not within reach. Then something cool touched his forehead and he bristled, startled and uncomfortable. His eyes cracked open, the sunlight burning and stinging at his pupils. Before he could see anyone he shut them back, too exhausted to care.

He thought he heard someone speak to him, but it was all a meshed together and he did not understand the words. He heard liquid poured onto concrete and he groaned again, knowing that someone had just disposed of his escape. He felt the coolness touch his face again, this time opening his mouth. He breathed in, the air cold and cutting in his lungs. Something hard and plastic touched his lower lip and was slowly tilted. His mouth was flooded with a cool and tasteless liquid, washing away the dryness of the alcohol he had befriended for the past three days. He drank it thirstily, and it invigorated him. How long had it been since he’d had straight water? His days were constantly filled with coffee, energy drinks, and generic cola. Water was foreign to him.

He sighed as the bottle was pulled from his lips, and he coughed, feeling an odd refreshment overcome him before the water filled his mouth again. He must have had the entire bottle, because it finally stopped returning. He opened his eyes again and looked around. There was someone next to him, dressed in white. This blinded him once more, and he closed his eyelids in response. He felt a tug on his right arm as he was dragged to his feet. Something was said to him again, but it was still too foggy for him to make out anything but a woman’s voice. It was slightly encouraging, though. He found himself led up the steps and into the building, the ferocious heat left out doors.

He heard doors open, and continued to walk, feeling incredibly dependant on the comforting hand on his shoulder. He stumbled as they walked, and he was caught by tiny hands. He was lead to his left and sat on something hard but cushioned. He felt safe and comfortable, and did not refuse as one of the 

small hands shifted him to lie on his side. He picked his feet up on his own and put them onto the bench. Nothing else happened, and he was left there, quietly beginning to drift off.

When he woke, he had no clue where he was. His eyes snapped open when he realized his consciousness, and blinked away the dust that had covered them while he slept. He was looking at the back of what he managed to guess was a bench, a pocket holding a book on the back of it. This was an unfamiliar sight to him. He sat up, still looking at the back of the bench still and reaching for the book. Pulling it from its confinements, he stared at the cover. The book was black, and on the front in gold was inscribed “Holy Bible”. He blinked. How had he gotten here? He could remember nothing from his drunken stupor. Snapping his head up, he found himself on one of the many rows of pews, staring at the giant cross hanging from the back wall.

There was a clean feeling in his mouth, and no flavor. There was no one near him, and he stood, placing the book back into its pocket. His fingers combed their way through his tangled hair, and he grimaced as they caught. “Holy…” And that was all he could say before the two large doors in the back of the room opened and a flood of people entered to find seats. He’d slept all night through, and it was now Sunday morning. He returned to his seat, ignoring the odd looks he received as people glared at his unkempt appearance. He sat for a half hour, being jostled by the people trying to get a seat. But he was beginning to relapse into the feeling of yesterday, the heat of these people, and their expensive church clothes suffocated him.

He plucked the bible from its pocket and opened it. He had never taken the time to read one before, too impatient to go through the constant ‘begets’ at the beginning. This did not change now. He shut it back almost immediately and handed it to the plump man next to him who was preoccupied searching through the pockets in front of him for a spare. Chad received no thanks from the man, but he did not care. Standing, he squeezed through the people, dodging their knees, much like at a movie theater. He hurriedly scurried from the unfamiliar environment, glancing around him with his head slightly ducked. Then he paused as a familiar white jacket caught his eye. He turned his head and looked at a woman. Her hair was long and brown, and she was watching him with piercing blue eyes. He felt a chill go down his spine and he stepped back into the cruel world that was New York City.

So this is obviously going to have to do a lot with faith and morals, and ethics. For those of you who aren't sure of the difference, morals are religious, and ethics are not. Both are 'the right thing to do'. So yeah. I've never read the bible, I'm not Christian, so I've got no idea what I'm doing. If anyone has any ideas for references to stories in the bible I could use, let me know. I'm Agnostic, so I've got very little clue as to what I'm doing. Don't forget to review! I love you all!