Make it stand out.
The First Slice
Shane Wright & Cillian Knight
Copyright Shane Wright 2023
The First Slice has been formatted on this website for viewers like you.
Thank you.
Warning:
Brace yourself! When you flip this page, you will be thrown into the chaotic environment of another human being's psyche.
If you start feeling uncomfortable or combative toward the authors, just remember: Like a kidney stone, this too shall pass.
"What does that even mean?"
What it means, Cillian Knight, is that the reader should ready themselves for a unique approach to storytelling. Starting with the next six pages that work as a map and compass to help navigate their journey forward.
"Does that make me like the north star in the night to guide their way?"
No. Now go back and wait in your cell.
"When you find yourself at dinner, waiting for your waiter,
in that moment, do you not become the waiter?”
_ _ - -
( - ) ( - ) “(. ) (. )”
— O
Hello, honored guest.
Welcome to The Dragons of Eden Tavern,
My name is Shane Paul Wright, and I will be your server this evening.
I welcome you to view the written recipe for tonight's stew, before you partake.
If you’re reading this, it means that after thousands of hours, I’ve finally finished The First Slice of this project.
I call it a project, because if I call it a book, critics get to twist the narrative like a lawyer who got OJ off.
And in The First Slice, no one gets off. (Sorry Henry Miller)
The purpose of the first novel in the series A Man Cut Into Slices is to provide an empowering experience, not just an immersive story. I want you to really learn what time in jail feels like. Why does that matter? Because what I endured, became the foundation of a world of creation, instead of a hell to escape from.
A world now open for others to come into and create along side me.
This journey you’re about to begin, was conceived in a jail cell—An 8X10 cold classroom with nothing but a dictionary, pencil, notepad, and imagination. Even after we left the physical cell, the story continued to write itself within a prison of my own mind.
My fictional alter-ego, Cillian Knight, and I won’t win literature awards for being clever, and I’m not striving to be considered “one of the best,” but I have read thousands of books from esteemed authors that've left me thinking “We can create something too". That mindset has pushed me to keep the narrative raw, real, and alive.
The First Slice is written as semi-fictional, which allows me the freedom I crave to create. It might feel amateurish and experimental often, but I prefer the term prison poetry over amateur poetry.
I spent countless hours editing this myself, with a few friends kindly pointing out errors along the way. I struggle with my natural dyslexia, especially in spelling and sentence structure. With time and effort though, I have been able to transform my errors into double meanings and clever wordplay.
There are a few errors throughout the series that I have decided not to correct. Why? Because for this project, ./?[}-<.;:'", it feels Wright to break the rules a little. I don’t want to break the actual law of writing, so if you feel like a grammar lawyer, please don’t hesitate to give me your two cents pro bono after reading this flowing web version.
In an age where AI is churning out slop for almost everything, I want to acknowledge how it has been connected to my own artwork. Only one of the two books you're about to read has any AI influence whatsoever (unless you're counting the spellcheck thing)
Spoiler alert: It is The Book of Knight.
I leaned heavily on AI to teach me how to
translate my written words
into the style of The Book of Mormon to create The Book of Knight, which is a unique storytelling device and a dedication to my late father and his deeply held LDS beliefs.
Religious beliefs that shaped both of our entire lives.
This is not the place for me to go explaining my crime or my fathers intentions, but in the light of transparency and clarity, I’ve dedicated a space on the website AManCutIntoSlices.com, called My Crime, to address just such curiosities.
Allow me to enlighten you briefly, on just a slice of the kind of doctrine I was expected to swallow whole after reading The Book of Mormon for the first time at the age of eight.
According to church doctrine Joseph Smith's method of translation of the Book of Mormon involved placing the Urim and Thummim, (or his personal seer stone) into a hat to block out ambient light. He would then place his face into the hat and read aloud the English words that appeared on the stone by divine light.
I'm too old, now at 33, to tell you if Joseph Smiths translations are divine or not, but I really wanted to take a page out of his golden plates and trade the Urim and Thummim for this mysterious technology that has allowed The Book of Knight to come unto this Earth.
If you feel any sort of way about The Book of Knight, then I'll give you the same response any inmate will give you if you complain: Don't like it, don't come to jail. Meaning if you don't like it, keep it's name outcha mouth and don't fucking read it.
Pardon my French there, but this is an edgy world of vulgarity you're dabbling in now. I have put considerable amount of effort into attempting to walk the line of being honest and raw, without being too offensive.
Which makes now a good time to give you a modern day trigger warning. This book has the following:
Manslaughter/murder, physical assault, self-harm (suicide references), blood and injury descriptions. Phycological trauma, PTSD, emotional abuse, various mental health struggles (split personality and dissociation). Drug use, drug addiction, withdrawal experiences. Sexual references, innuendo, or lustful thoughts, non-consensual situations, and and stressful situations, (there are no rape scenes). It's PG-13, until strong profanity/coarse language probably push it over the edge into R-rated territory.
Let's get back into the good stuff shall we? Just to reiterate, The First Slice is meant to be more than just a story. Part memoir, part social experiment, part literary art, this book invites you to witness a journey of human resilience, reflection, and the pursuit of understanding in a system that tests it all. Beyond the story, A Man Cut Into Slices is an invitation to readers to become writers themselves, offering a safe space to contribute, create, and be part of a project that grows as much from the audience as from the authors themselves.”
Most importantly though, I want to remind us all of a life-altering message: Perspective is everything. We have far more control over the way we see life, and its treasures, than the media or our daily distractions will admit.
My deepest gratitude goes out to you for purchasing this peace of artwork. So without further ado, let us go down this rabbit hole together—separated only by time and molecules.
—Shane Wright
“Psssst! Over here! I, Cillian Knight, was able to escape from my jail cell for a few moments to give you the secret ingredient that was taken out of the recipe! Everyone deserves to go to Hell… then escape. For those of you that want to feel true power, Shane and I put together a creative writing project for you to participate in. I don't have time to share the entire thing, but here is a slice. Picture this if you will: You are taking the reigns of my world. You will be writing your own adventure using The First Slice, as a guide for a short story of your own to-”
Hey! What’s going on here!? Cillian, damnit, how did you escape again? Get back to your cell!
“Shit, gotta run! The details and step by step breakdown of the super-easy-to follow project can be found in depth at AManCutIntoSlices.com where everything is free of charge, free of membership signup, and free of advertisements/pop-ups. Unlike me, it really is FREE.”
Well, he is right about that, it is all literally 100% free.
Preface
Tarot is familiar to almost everyone, but few recognize what sits at its center: the path of the Fool—a journey of the soul moving through the world, within a human vessel.
In this case, he steps into the world unknowing and curious, facing trials, teachers, and revelations within. Each card reflects through a mirror of growth and understanding self. With every challenge, he gathers the slices of himself, learning to reconcile each severed piece, striving toward wholeness.
Each chapter of this series is tied to a Tarot card, a step along the Fool’s journey—Reflections of trials, tribulations, and ultimately, the choices that shape us.
Some cards shine with clarity, offering guidance and hope; others are shadowed, warning of missteps, loss, or the consequences of ignoring the lessons before him.
As the Fool moves from card to card, the reader will witness the fragments of his soul—his slices—tested, broken, and recombined, revealing both the beauty and danger of self-discovery.
A profound truth is we are all The Fool,
Striving to become whole,
through the process of,
Becoming Gods teacher,
not the Devils student.
The Book of Knight
Chapter 0.0
1 And it came to pass that Cillian, who is called Knight, was drunken with strong drink and spake foolishly unto his friend John, saying: Lo, she departeth from me, for I have forgotten the sweetness of her day; therefore must I go and bring her the choicest chocolate, that her heart may turn again unto me.
2 But John answered him, saying: Surely thou art full of wine, and the road is long unto Cali. Let us sleep and rise up early, and when sobriety returneth, we shall go and find the gift.
3 Yet Knight would not hearken, but cried aloud: We have no time! For she leaveth within the week; therefore I must go now!
4 Then John stretched forth his hand to take the keys, saying: Give them unto me, lest thou perish upon the highway.
5 But Knight hardened his heart and smote his friend upon the nose, and blood issued forth.
6 And John was wroth, saying: So is this the thanks I receive, after all I have done for thee? Go then, thou selfish man; take thy chariot and seek thy destruction. And he turned and went into the house in anger.
7 Then Knight was alone, and silence fell about him; and he spake within himself, saying: None regardeth my counsel. None understandeth my heart.
8 Wherefore he entered his chariot and said, First, let there be music. And he found the record called Heavy Mood, and lo, a song of Tool arose mightily, crying, I am praying for rain; I am praying for tidal waves.
9 And Knight sang with a loud voice, saying, Behold, the sign is clear! The song speaketh of the ocean, and thus am I bound westward!
10 And he set his face toward the freeway, which leadeth unto the sea.
11 The night was cool, and the wind came unto him as a pillow of feathers.
12 He closed his eyes, imagining the waves and the shore, and said, “this is the place”.
13 But behold, there came a sound, even a mighty THUNK, and his eyes were opened.
14 He beheld a barrier of rock before him, and in fear he turned the wheel and smote the brakes, and his chariot spun about as a whirlwind.
15 When it ceased, he saw that all things yet moved, though they stood still, and his heart pounded within him as a drum of war.
16 And his car faced backward upon the road, and he looked upon the marks of his wheels; and at the beginning thereof he saw a figure lying still in the street.
17 Then remembrance struck him as lightning, and he said within himself: The sound!
18 He silenced the music and was seized with trembling; for the rum within him made war against his breath, and he vomited upon the ground, crying, This cannot be happening.
19 After a time he rose upon unsteady legs and went toward the man, whispering: Please be not dead, please be not dead.
20 And lo, it was an old man, clothed in rags; one shoe was lost, and his toe was bare.
21 Knight bent to feel the pulse and said, Yea, thou livest, though thy limbs are broken. And he smelled the odors of the street and said, Surely thou art homeless.
22 Then came upon him a thought dreadful and quick: I am drunk; and because of this, trouble has found me; John hath spoken truly.
23 He spat upon the dust, but his mouth was dry, and the spittle failed him.
24 He looked about and saw no witness, no recording devices, and no eye to behold his deed.
25 And he said to the man, Thou art a burden upon the working. Why should I suffer ruin for thy sake? If the universe desireth thee to live, it shall provide a way; if not, one less trouble for the world.
26 And the words echoed in his breast, and he felt the weight of their shame.
27 Then he softened his voice, saying, Perhaps thy sorrows are many, and grief laid thee low. Thou art still a man.
28 But the man answered not, for he lay senseless.
29 Knight lifted his device of precious metals to call for help, but his thumb wavered above the button. If I call, I am undone, he said. I shall lose all things: my name, my record, my life. He is old and I am young; it is not fair.
30 And he stood breathing hard upon the road, the future unfolding before him—guilt and shame and the weight of the night.
31 After many moments he finally pressed the button, and thus sealed his fate.
32 And so ended the first chapter in the fall of Cillian, who was called Knight.
End of Chapter 0.0
Belief to be the leaf, even when the tree is odd.
Keywords: Beginnings, innocence, a single step.
The story opens on the cliff’s edge. A traveler lifts his eyes to the sky, knapsack light, white rose in hand, loyal dog at heel. He does not see the drop—only the horizon. The mountains wait behind him, but they are tomorrow’s problem. Today, he leaps.
The First Slice
Prologue
“Noo, YOUUUU come back inside,” Knight said, slurring his words. “I need to get her chocolate, I forgot to on Valentine’s Day. That’s why she’s leaving, I know it. I bet if I go bring her those good chocolates, she’ll stay here. She’s just testing me.”
“Okay, well, we’re drunk as hell, and we wouldn’t even make it halfway to Cali before passing out. Let’s head out tomorrow and get them when we’re sobered up,” John replied.
“No, no, no, we don’t have time, man, she’s leaving next week, so we have to go now!”
“I know you’ve told me 7,000 times, but you’re not leaving right now, so give me your damn keys,” John said as he tried to snatch the fob from Knight’s hand.
“Get the fuck away from me! I can take care of myself!”
John persisted, going in for the keys again. “Come on, dude, don’t be an idiot”.
“I said, get away!” Knight shouted, as he threw a looping overhand hook that connected squarely with John’s nose.
John stumbled back, blood starting to leak. “Okay, motherfucker, I see how it is,” he growled. “This is the thanks I get after everything I’ve done for you? Go on then, get out of here you selfish little prick. Have fun getting a DUI!” He turned and stormed back into the house.
Knight stood swaying alone in silence for a few moments before heading to his car. '“Why does nobody listen to me” he thought, as he almost tripped over himself opening the car door.
“Okay, first things first, music. Let’s seeeeee.”
As he drove off, he found the playlist called Heavy Mood, hit shuffle, and a Tool song started blasting. Singing along loudly to the song, he knew his favorite part was coming up. “I’m praying for rain! I’m praying for tidal waves! OOO, I wanna see the ground give way! Wanna watch it all go downnn.”
“Seeee, there’s a sign about going to the ocean right there. It’s clear I’m righttt where I need to be,” he said aloud, slurring to his car. “How can she leave a man who’s willing to drive one thousand miles to get her chocolate?”
The freeway heading west was just ahead, and without another thought, he swerved into the right lane.
It was a cool autumn night, so Knight turned up the heat and rolled the windows down. The cool breeze hit him like a pillow of feathers. His body began to immediately relax, and the tension started to fade away. He closed his eyes and imagined he was standing at the beach feeling the cool ocean breeze. He took a deep breath through his nose and started talking to his car again.
“This is just what I need right now...This is…”
THUNK.
Knight’s eyes shot open. He saw a cement barrier a few feet ahead and instinctively turned the wheel. Unfortunately, instincts made him slam on the brakes, too, causing life to spin out of control.
When the car finally came to a stop, his vision told him everything was still moving. After many deep breaths, he started to see straight again, but Cillian Knight’s heart was ready to explode. His car ended up facing the direction he had come from, and he could see the marks on the street that his tires left behind. His eyes followed the path of the burnt rubber, and all of a sudden, his blood went cold. There, at the start of the skid, was a shadowy figure lying silent in the street.
Then he remembered the thunk, and his heart fell deep into his stomach. He turned off the blasting music, and thoughts came rushing in his mind like a dam breaking loose. All of a sudden he could not breathe. Air! He needed air! He frantically opened the car door, and right when he exited, the rum decided it was time to make an escape.
On his hands and knees, Knight’s stupid decisions from the evening were putting on a violent display. Trying to breathe between the dry heaves felt impossible as he was stuck thinking the same four words in his head: This. Can’t. Be. Happening.
After what felt like an eternity, he was able to stagger to his feet. Wiping the bile from the corner of his mouth, he stood on shaky legs staring at the figure lying fifty feet away. He slowly started walking over while chanting under his breath, “Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.”
As he reached the body, he observed an older man dressed in ragged clothes. One of his sneakers had come off which revealed a big toe poking through his sock. The man appeared homeless, likely living under a bridge. As he bent down to check the man’s pulse, Knight’s nose filled with unpleasant smells. “Yeah, you’re homeless, alright,” he mumbled after confirming a pulse. The awkward way the man’s body was contorted suggested a broken leg and maybe a rib or two. Knight pulled out his phone and spoke to the unmoving man, “Well, better get you to a hospital.”
Then a realization hit him: I’m drunk, and this is going to be a damn DUI. “John, you bastard — of course you would be right”. He attempted to seal the curse with a wad of spit to splat on the ground, but his mouth was so dry, all he could muster up was a small mix of saliva and bile.
After getting spittle all over the front of his shirt, Cillian Knight found himself looking around. He saw no cameras, no witnesses — nothing to pin him to the scene. “Nahh, that’ss messed up,” he muttered, as he unlocked his phone. He saw his News app next to the Phone app and remembered reading an article a few days ago about the ongoing homeless crisis. He also remembered being pretty annoyed after reading it.
“You’re a freaking bum,” he said suddenly to the unconscious man. “You rely on working people like me! I pay my taxes, I give back to my community. What do you do? Sit in your stupid makeshift tent and get drunk and high all day. I should leave you here, and if the universe wants you to survive, it will provide a way. If not, that’s one less problem for society.”
Knights words echoed through his mind, and his shoulders slumped. “This is so stupid. Who knows why you became a bum anyway? I don’t know your story, and would it even matter if I did? You’re still human.”
The unconscious man did not respond.
Knight dialed 9-1-1 but hesitated before pressing the call button. “Wait, wait, wait. Let’s just think about this for a second.” Trembling, his thumb hovered over the green call button.
“If I press this button, I’m screwed. I’ll lose everything. I’ll be a criminal. I’ll ruin my perfect record! What if you end up suing me? You’ve got nothing to lose, and I’ve got everything to lose! I’m young with my whole life ahead of me, and you’re old, you had yours already!”
Standing there panting, Cillian Knight glimpsed a future filled with paranoia, guilt, and shame if he abandoned the man. Could he really live with himself if he chose that path?
The question would never be answered, as he sealed his fate and pressed call.
End of Prologue
When the lights always on, the shadows grow strong.