A Vagrant Story Read Online Free Page B

remember that, it was ok in its day, until they kept coming up with the same old predictable storylines. You know the kind: hero saves the day from the clutches of the evil villain, only to get the girl at the end for some reason or another. I suppose when an idea becomes marketable it becomes a risk to change it.”
    Rum squinted dryly. “You know, I really don’t care. Other people have to live here too and we’re not all into that comic book crap. The hell is your problem anyway? A big guy like you shouldn’t be into that kiddy stuff. When I saw you first I never figured you for a comic nerd. You seemed a little too psychotic.”
    “That’s just ignorant. Comics aren’t for kids anymore than books or movies. Many comics have been considered too violent for our shores.”
    “You tell him to stop but it just gets worse. I don’t know whether to roll over and go to sleep or put you to sleep.” Rum mumbled under breath, “Weirdo, such a bloody weirdo. Always talking about shit nobody cares about.”
    “They’d do a lot more for our imaginations if more people read them. Many comics contain stories more complex and unique than much of what is brought to our screens and book shelves.”
    “Do you rehearse this stuff or something?”
    “No. It‘s fair to say a large portion of the movies we see are based on comic books alone. I may not be so far off in saying that comic books are the defining entertainment media of our age.”
    “Pretty pictures.”
    “Maybe some people read them for the art but I’ve always read them for the stories. I’ve always been impressed by them as far back as I can remember. I used to be so pulled down by the way our society manufactures books and movies these days that it killed any motivation I had to become a writer. Comics gave me my own way of writing, my own style that could have only been inspired by them. That’s why I started writing in the first place. Without comics I-”
    “You wouldn’t be here,” Rum interrupted.
    ”That’s not the point. They gave me a flare of originality I didn’t feel in the rest of our society. Their creativity is…”
    “Right, it’s creativity, excuse me. Look at this, I’m taking career guidance from a bum.”
    “You’ll never get it. Your deadbeat brain has aged too much I guess.”
    “Quit back talking. An overgrown man-child freak has no place to be back talking.”
    “I gave up caring about the things you call people long ago.”
    The old bum formed a frown. “Quit caring? Of course you care, you’re just one of those people who keep it all inside until you burst, like a true freak.”
    In an effort to shut Rum up, Sierra said, “I guess most of you people really are like that.”
    Alex returned a questioning frown.
    “Writers. You people always seem so closed off you never seem to know what to do when confronted directly. You just hold it all in.”
    “That’s not true.”
    “Then there’s that other quality they have … how they have to point out how they’re right and everyone else is wrong, and if they’re proven wrong they’ll say you don’t know what you’re talking about and secretly loathe you till they get bored. That’s why you should never put too many writers in the same room. They’re kind of like cats. I guess all artists must be like that to some degree.”
    “Sounds like your confusing writers in general with someone you knew.”
    “My dad … at least my foster dad, my third foster dad. He used to be a writer. His name was John, he used to talk like that a lot, about how our western society is caving at the seams. Stupid stuff now that I think of it but it made me feel kind of dumb at the time. I always get that about writers, they seem to know it all like that.”
    “That why you ran away from him?” Alex asked.
    Rum shuffled as if to smack Alex for the question. He settled once Sierra showed signs of answering.
    “John killed himself. That’s why I left. After Dad number three went bye