Shady Friday, #5

Hello Bookworms!
Spring break, so I haven't been able to post. One day near the end of summer, the power went out so I found myself writing a new book. The problem was I didn't know what time period I was writing about or where or anything, all I had was a small picture in my mind and I couldn't look it up online. So, I rambled on in first person for a bit trying to make it as interesting as possible, and this is what I came up with. (Small warning, I've figured out that the boy is about 9 years old, and really doesn't understand severity.)
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How much can you truly know of someone? You look at a woman passing you by on the train and you think you know all about her. You think up her life’s story and then choose whether or not to associate with her based on what you think.  Where is the sense? You aren’t choosing not to associate with the woman; you are choosing not to associate with an idea. When the lady smacks you upside your head with her purse for no good reason, then that is a different matter. And when that bag has a ten pound brick in it which completely knocks you out cold, then that is a completely different matter entirely.

Who am I? You are asking yourself this very question. It’s a good question too, a very good question. After all, I am, um, who am I again? Oh, that’s right, the boy tied up in a dark cell, waiting to see just where the heck I am. A name would probably help, and a life story. Unfortunately, those are both things which I can’t seem to remember, due to the banging in my head from the brick. You remember the one in the lady’s purse? I mentioned it about a paragraph ago. You probably want to know the year. I don’t exactly know that either. Sometime after the invention of the train, but I’m not quite certain how long after. I want to say that this is the 1950s, but that doesn’t feel right. Then again, neither does anything else. Oh, and it’s after the invention of the automobile. I think. Maybe my father is working on it though, perhaps the automobile hasn’t even been invented yet, and it’s just an idea floating around in my head. Like all of you. Yes, you are all just tiny ideas floating around in my head. Sort of like Johnny. Only, Johnny isn’t floating around, he’s just stuck in one place. I know he’s there because he’s started speaking to me again. I can’t really hear what he’s saying though, so I have to guess. He’s probably telling me to get up, but I can’t really get up, my hands are tied. Oh, Johnny is an idea; but not an ordinary idea. Johnny is a time traveling idea that shows up in random places and at random times. He once appeared inside my head while I was riding in an automobile with my dad and told me not to get on a train that I was about to…. Oh. I guess he was right. Um, now I have to apologize to him. This could take a while. I’ll be back in just a moment. 

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I haven't been able to get any further than that, but so far it's just one of those random stories somewhere on the back shelf of my mind. Please let me know what you think, and also where this story can go! I'm thinking that the boy should be the son of one of the pioneers in the automobile industry and I should turn it into a historical-fiction book, but I'm not entirely sure. Please comment!

Habent sua fata libelli!