Here is a sample from my first novel, The Religion of Self-Enlightenment. You can purchase it on Amazon: http://abv8.me/4m4.
He was the kind of person who has forgotten why he is here. He was boring, and proudly so. Every ounce of ingredients the world had thrown at Carrick Ares had been thrown onwards into his life’s oven. The result was horrific, of course – just not to Other People. Yet because this was a segment of Carrick’s reality whose opinions he courted fiercely, he managed to sustain the impression that he was that death-of-all-deaths: okay. “How are you?” they would say. “I’m okay”, he would reply. But there was no reason for this, because deep down Carrick could never be anything other than extraordinary. And there was never a single, dreary, rain-soaked moment of his life in which he could reduce himself to the depths of being merely ‘okay’.
If Carrick had his way with how you saw him, if he could really orchestrate your mind as he so tried to, he would make you believe the idea of understanding him to be something of excruciating pain. For when he woke up each day, he would turn on a light, and make a conscious decision to reveal nothing that it could not shine upon. He sometimes lost himself in sadness, but aside from these lapses of raw, choking sorrow, he was fine – drained of emotion and devoid of desire, but fine. He understood that this is how you should live. He had seen it in the newspaper and in the eyes and words of the people he met: images of war and rape, violent condemnation for violent acts, the hatred of who we are.