Unnamed Story Part 1

There once was a girl who could not cook. Really. I mean, she was physically incapable of cooking. Of course, she could throw some eggs and milk and flour and chocolate chips into a bowl and mix them up and put them in the oven; but her creations always came out tasting terrible like sandpaper or horse dung or some other awful and unedible thing. This non-talent was quite a detriment, since she happened to be the current cook-in-residence of the only inn in Pick-Axe Town, a small mining town populated only by men running from their past. However, none of the men could cook any better than she, so none of them complained; at least, not so anybody could hear them.

What they did complain about were her crazy mood swings. She had this knack for being the most expressive person in the room, but what she was expressing was the complete opposite of what everyone else was feeling. For instance, if someone had died in a terrible mining accident, had just gotten his head crushed and his body mangled by some cave-in and had died a slow, horrible, painful death where nobody could extract him in time, the rest of the town would be mourning for weeks. None of the men would speak much, nobody would eat, they would drink themselves into comas. But this girl, Janine, oh she would just sing and smile and glide about like a happy little elf attempting to spread her joy to the rest of the world. It was God-awful annoying. Then, if say the mining town struck gold, found out that their mine was the biggest and riches in the country and they would all be billionaires before they could blink an eye and would never have to work again another day in their lives, the men would all be rejoicing, eating up all the food in the Pick-Ax Inn, laughing rowdily and probably breaking into fights, and drinking themselves into comas, while she would complain and mope and break into random fits of sobbing. It was ridiculous. But, I can't say too many bad things about her, considering that she is my wife, and she WILL kill me - at least, she will if everyone else is in a good mood. You can't hear it, but I'm heaving an exasperated sigh at the moment. Somebody help me.

Anyways, that's actually not really part of my story, and it's probably a really crappy introduction. So, here is the real introduction. This is a story about me. My name is Nathaniel Benson Waternewski XXIII. I come from a long, proud line of Nathaniel Benson Waternewskis, all of which have owned successful inns across the country, and even across other countries. Waternewski Inns have always been some of the best in the country. In fact, during the time of my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather, Nathaniel Benson Waternewskey XII, our inns monopolized the whole country. It was a proud time in the family history. On top of this, all of our men have served at least one term in the military, proving themselves as men and the hard workers that they are expected to be, and always have been. Our family trophy shelf has countless awards for bravery and courage, which all of my forefathers have won on the battlefield for their sterling character, hard work, and extreme manhood.

And then, somewhere down the line, something tragic happened to the family. I was born.