Preamble

I'm not a storyteller. I'm not really writer. That's okay, though, because this is not really a story. It's a mess of words with no direction or purpose, and even I don't know how it will end.

This is what I know: It's fiction. It's all made up. The whole thing comes from the depths of deranged minds (wait, did you say minds--plural minds?), and it's more likely to fizzle out than it is to conclude. It will never be a best-seller. It will never inspire the reader to greatness, but I guarantee it will make you laugh...or snicker...or (at the very least) shake your head and say, "Ana, that is the dumbest thing that anyone has ever written". Hey, that's something for which to aspire.

So, why am I writing this jumble of words that serves no purpose and has no goal? And, why does this story (if it can be called that) have a preamble?

Well, this jumble of words has a preamble because I hate prologues. And, even though this may be considered a prologue, the word 'preamble' makes me feel better about myself. Finally, I'm not writing this *ahem*story...you are. I'm just gluing it together.

Okay, that's a lie. I am writing it, but your deciding it. So, go ahead and torture me with your bad decisions. I'll find a way out of the mess you'll make for me...I hope.