He donned a beige overcoat and long black jeans. Sprawled on crusty asphalt and the stiff sidewalk, he could feel the softest pitter-patter of rain on his open palms. The warm glow of a streetlamp watched over him, dangling like ornaments on a Christmas tree.


    What am I?


    Something was protruding on his side. A nagging sensation. Bending over to his side revealed a brown satchel, a thin leather handle draped over his left shoulder. The worn gold button gave a clicking sound, as the satchel flap opened wide, like that of a twisting key. In lay a book, weathered with time.


    <A MANUAL TO EXISTENCE: V00>


    Curious. Maybe this would have answers. The boy opened the book, poring over the first page.


    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    <First boot - Starting up>


    FONS.


    That is who you are. What lies in this book will guide you through existence, should you follow its suggestions-


    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    The sky cried down on him. Momentarily pausing, he picked himself up, lumbering over to the framed park bench.


    Fons. That is who I am.


    fons...Fons.


    So many more questions. Fons furrowed his brow. Was it sweat or rain?


    Rain? Sweat?


    What was going on?