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“The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable man tries to adapt the world to himself. Therefore, the unreasonable man is the source of all progress in the world.” – George Bernard Shaw |
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“Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like a man who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like.” – James 1:23-24 |
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“To be Christian is far from quiet
conformity. On the contrary, it is
Christ’s example as the unreasonable man which shows us how we are
undertaking the daunting task of changing the world, one soul at a time.” – |
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Here are the first couple chapters of a story that I’m not sure will ever be finished. The idea was to write a story about a boy who’s a savant. His genius, however, is at a grave price – his sanity. Even as he helps people with his uncanny empathy, understanding, and insight he himself dives into a self-destructive spiral of self hatred and a backwards sense of glory, humility, martyrdom, and tragedy…. And unfortunately I don’t really touch on that
here….*sigh* ce la vie. Miscellaneous stuff to put in somewhere. |
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Untitled Short-Story in Progress Poetry (coming soon) About the Writer (coming soon) |
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By
Prologue Do you think it’ll work? I’m not sure He
might go insane We’ll have to build insanity into him.
Maybe if he starts insane it’ll seem normal to him. Is it right to place the world on his
shoulders? It’s the only way. If
it works, he’ll hate us for it. Maybe he never has to find out about us. If we engineered him to never find us, he’d
never accomplish what we need him to do. Then we will have to face his anger. Anger
we can handle. It’s hate that will kill us. Might kill us. If
it didn’t kill us, it would at least hurt us so badly that we will wish for
death. Maybe we can take away his hate? That would be even crueler. Without his hate for us, he would never
recognize the love that is our gift to him.
But if we die— Then we die But
the world would also— No. It wouldn’t die. It would still live. But
wouldn’t it be just like us if we lived after his hate? It would live, indeed, but it would wish
for death. Doesn’t it already wish for death? No. It’s worse: it doesn’t wish for
anything. Is
this how they feel all the time? How
can they scurry around so frantically, trying to stave off the inevitable
when there’s the word itself: inevitable.
You’re not going to change the end.
When
faced with fate, make the road to that end be as interesting as possible. We’re all
doomed aren’t we? It’s
all on his shoulders now. You, our
beloved child, are our Atlas in strength as you are our Savior in heart. You are our Mark. Benny Cr-re-ea-ak... Despite all the chirping around me, that gritting creak was the only thing I could hear. It was the only thing I wanted to hear. Cr-re-ea-ak... It was the sound I discovered as I jammed my pen into the space between the boards of the picnic table where I was sitting. It was a sound which jarred the brain, yet somehow it provided a certain sort of bliss for it was only in that all-interrupting sound that I was able to think of nothing. Nothing. I had spent the past hour thinking—thinking of everything. No, it hadn't been hours. It had been days—weeks...
Years I have spent my entire life thinking. Little did I know that others didn't think the way that I did. Little did I know that the world had somehow created me with a brain, a heart, and an twisted essence for such a unique purpose that I was cursed to never have a normal life. Little did I know that I was blessed— blessed with a talent to help people, but right now, the pain it involved to help people was beginning to be too much.
Cr-re-ea-ak... went the pen as I twisted it further into the gap.
Ahhh...the sound of blissful arrogance... wait— Arrogance? I meant ignorance didn't I? What Freudian slip is this? Ah of course. Damn you Adam, Peter, and Alice. Damn you Lance, Linda, and Sam. You, and all your kind, were — no are arrogant ignorance. And that sound, that — Cr-re-ea-ak... While immersed in that sound, do I — yes I do — feel arrogant. Somehow, I feel so much better when I know nothing. Only then do I feel like I know everything. Only then do I feel like I have any power in the world. Only then do I feel... normal. Cr-re-ea-ak...cr-re-ea-ak...cr-re-ea-ak... One more twist from oblivion. Just one more... Cr-re-ea— Cheer-ee-up! Chip-chip! Cheer-ee-up!
I blinked. Wha--?
Clatter-ratter-atter-ak. That was the sound of the pen falling out of the gap and rolling across the table, finally stopping at the edge of the table. But that sound was already in the back of my mind. What had made that other sound? I looked around. My dark brown eyes — eyes so dark at times they seemed black — darted from side to side, taking in the entire park in an instant. It was silent. The traffic lights must have lined up to stop traffic from traveling down the roads surrounding the park. Even the wind was absent—as it had been for days. I am alone, I thought, it’s just me, the grass, the trees, the swings, the birds... As if in answer a bright red-chested robin came hopping onto the table. Its mouth gaped in a ridiculous manner. Cheer-ee-up! Chip-Chip! Cheer-ee-up! I glared at him. "Go away, robin. I was one twist away when--" I was interrupted by his sudden decision to knock my pen into the grass. My fist went flying at him as I let out a roar. I had no intention to hit him (and I didn't). It was simply an act to get the nutsy little bird to fly away (which he did). I bent over to pick up the pen, unsure what I was going to do with it. I had already finished writing out my frustrations in my journal. I just knew that it would be such a waste to loose a new pen. As I picked up my pen from the grass, a sudden tension grew. I looked at the swings. What was wrong? Those swings were about 50 feet away from me, swaying back and forth shining in their new bright green paint. I narrowed my eyes at those swings. What does this mean?
Blink
Blink. It doesn't mean anything. You're just some silly fool. Try the cell phone again. I pulled out my massive black cell-phone. In this day and age such an old cell phone was already a relic. I toyed with the idea of presenting it to the university museum just to get a kick out of it. Sigh. Well the thing was free — at least free of any cost I had to pay, and it served its purpose and the bulk of it was countered by its long battery life. Grrr. And here I am contemplating my cell phone when I have work to do. Ugh, do I have to call it work? No, I'm just being a confidant. Being the person who if he succeeds will be rewarded by being accredited the success of the relationship, and who if he fails will face the blame of the person who will hurt him the most — himself. Stories are never written from the confidant's point of view. At least I have never read such a book. Perhaps it's impossible. A confidant in its very essence requires that it be the third person. And here I am again distracting myself. Darn me. Darn me to Earth. Let's see, press OK to reach the phone book, start scrolling down. Aida (my sister), Amanda, Andy (my brother), Benny... I can't call him yet. Maybe Maggie. Yes. She's the one who started all of this. Or at least she's the one who introduced this particular problem. Maria the marvelous 14 year old girl who can't help but confuse people by her bizarre mix between holy purity and down to earth street-smart sensibility. These two mixed with teen-angst made her amazing and fearsome at the same time. Anyway, she sucked me into this predicament days ago by calling me up and suddenly asking me about Clair. Or rather, asking me about Clair's boyfriend (Benny). It turns out that Maria is a close friend of a girl who claims to have been making out with Benny. Sigh. "Oh Benny, how could you do this?" was what I thought. Sigh. Yesterday I had actually run into him. Or rather, he ran into me. I was at a Coffee Shop called the Coffee Pot. The sign was composed of a terra-cotta pot with vines growing out of it spelling out the words in a chaotic yet elegant manner. The Coffee Pot had become known to many as the Coffee Jungle, or just "The Jungle" for inside the establishment it most certainly did feel like a jungle. Luscious plants grew in every corner, and vines—some real, some plastic, and some just painted--sprawled all across the walls. Flowers were sold all year in the far corner. Yet I digress. I was sitting inside the Jungle when in walks Benny. I had just decided to put the entire issue out of my head until I could deal with it more rationally when there he was striding right through the door. He brushed aside a stray vine that had somehow lost its hold to the ceiling. He saw me. I looked back at him, and then looked away. I did not want to deal with him. He said hi to the others at the table he knew, and then looked straight at me until I was forced to meet his gaze. He gestured using his nearly chin-less head at the door. I took a deep breath, and he gestured more forcefully this time, pointing also with his thumb. His jet-black ponytail bounced from side to side with the movement. I sighed, excused myself from the table, and followed him out of the door. Once outside I was suddenly reminded of how tall he was. He was a giant. He wasn't tall and then skinny like a ladder. He had a presence of seeming very large, and it was fortunate that his gentleness shone through; otherwise most people would be afraid of him. I could tell that when he did get angry, though, everyone would see that his size would be used to its full potential. I wondered at that moment if he had ever truly tapped into that destructive potential. Then again, if Maggie's report on his unfaithfulness were true... then perhaps he was already tapping into that force. Oh Benny. The thing that had always been so irksome about Benny to me was that I could always tell that there was so much more inside him that he would let anybody know. Sure, you can say that about a lot of people, but in Benny's case, he's aware that there's something else inside him. I can almost see it sometimes, but he always seems to flee the scene before I can do anything. I met him years ago, but I at any point I tried to connect to him, he'd somehow find a way to disappear. I don't think he did it on purpose, but... well why does he disappear? Here, I wasn't at all certain of what to expect. Why did Benny want to talk to me? Had he found out that I had found out? How would he know? Unless Maria had told her friend that she told me and then her friend told Benny. Why does that sentence sound so...so...teen-sitcomish? My eyes rolled involuntarily as I did this. I was immediately grateful that Benny's back was still turned to me so he couldn't see. At the completion of this thought, Benny turned around and started talking to me. He was talking in an awkward fashion. "I don't really know how to put this..." was what he first said. "I don't really know how to put this, Mark. I — well you've been spending a lot of time with Clarity and you know her pretty well and you know about 'us' and...I don't know how to say this..." "There's another girl." I said. I had meant to say it as a question, but the effort it took to say it forced it out as a fact. Yet in my unconscious certainty, I was stricken unprepared for what he said next: "No." No?
He said no? Is he lying? No. There's something more. Clarity may have said that she doesn't
always know if he's completely trustworthy but, there's something here. He's
telling the truth—or at least some form of the truth. Some twisted form of the truth that was the
truth nonetheless. It was just in some shape that most people would still
interpret it as a lie. "There's
not another girl. It's just
that...well...you've been spending a lot of time with her, and you know how
it is. Things just aren't fair. Somehow, despite everything we do to be
together, she's able to spend more time with — with you than she can with
me. With you, and all her other
friends, she gets to stay up 'til I was flabbergasted. Weeks ago, I had heard these things echoed from Clarity herself. Both of them had been facing the same conflicts but both of them were being relatively silent about it. Their love had bonded them, but the circumstances split them. At the same time each of them had come to the point of desperation — the point of giving up — they always fell back in love—even further in love and yet the problems remain unsolved. "Things will be better once she moves out of her parents' house. It's her parents who prevent her from spending time with you – her boyfriend." “I know, but still..." "Why come to me with this?" I asked. "I don't know. I guess I just needed to talk to." "Well I'm used to people talking to me about things like this." I said, instinctively manipulating the conversation. "I've been in this position many times—being the confidant. It's a burden I bear to help other people." "I know what it's like too. I'm so sorry for putting you into the middle of this." "Oh don't apologize. I'm a masochist—an emotional masochist." "Well I'm a Masochist-Sadist according to my shrink." "Sadist?" "Yeah.
As much as I like pain, apparently I like to inflict pain on others." "So that's the S in 'S & M' " He nodded "Kinky. Clarity must love that." He
laughed. Great! It's working. He's relaxing. Keep going. No, some info first. "I'm sorry, I'm just sort of... well...
disoriented. I hadn't thought that
this would be what you wanted to talk to me about. You see there was... well... someone I know
told me that you were kissing another girl." "Whoa. Hey.
Who told you that?" "I
probably shouldn't say." "That
was her kissing me. I
didn't kiss her. This girl is 14
years old. Do you think I'd want
to be with a 14 year old?" "Oh!" I said, betraying my relief with the tone of my voice. "I'm so glad that—well I thought that this would be—well I didn't know what to think." Yes I was relieved, but at the same time, in the back of my head, I remembered that Maggie had said they were making out. That usually is a mutual thing. So there in my head there was that haunting thought. Yet there was the tone of his voice. He really detested the thought of being with a 14 year old. How old is he? If I'm 18, and just graduated, and he graduated -- what a year ago? He must be 19? I always found it suspicious when Maggie said that her friend told her that Benny said that he had "such a hard time waiting for her (Maggie's friend) to grow up and develop." Something always sounded so strange about that. She's fourteen. What does this all mean? I didn't know any more. Instead I stared past Benny at the hand-crafted stainless steel windmill spinning—slowly spinning. I was tense. I marku. My attention was returned to Benny. "She's had all the insecurities, doubts, and frustrations which you have, Benny. It's amazing the two of you have lasted this long without solving this obstacle." "It's been two and a half years." "Two and a half years." I repeated, quietly thinking to myself that yes it was two and half years and not the two years that Clarity had mentioned the last time I talked to her. "And in all that time, the two of you have carried along the same problems. Have you guys ever really talked about this?" I already knew that they had talked many times, but for some reason I needed to hear it from him. "Yes." There was a pause. I had thought he would say more. "What's happened in those times that the two of you have talked?" I honestly can't remember what it was that he had said. For some reason which remains unknown to me, I knew that his answer was irrelevant. I only caught enough to eventually drive him towards where I knew he was supposed to go. "Who usually brings this sort of stuff up?" He
thought for a minute, "Usually me." "And
what happens? When you bring it up?" "She starts to cry and then I... I can't do anything." You love her, chained to her willingly, yet there's something more isn't there? "I just don't know what to do." He said. "Maybe what you need to do," I said as a panic grew inside me, "is to step away from the relationship." Was I actually saying this? Me?!? The one who always looks for a way to keep love going? Me?!? The hopeless romantic who believes that love can and will conquer all? Me?!? The person who always finds the answer is telling him to step away? He's going to try to break up with her!!! No! "Stepping away might be the only way that the two of you will be separated enough to be able to handle the problem. Then, and only then, will you be able to figure out what to do." I continued to say to my own horror. Why am I saying this? I wanted to escape. I wanted to run. I wanted to find some way of figuring out why I was betraying my own morals. I thought I'd never tell anyone to step out of a relationship. I'm a believer in "people can always solve their problems together within a relationship and stepping away is just distancing yourself until you destroy the relationship." Why was I saying this, then, if I so adamantly believe in the power of love? Maybe that's it: I believe in the power of love -- But what a strange way of forcing people into showing it. How could I do this to anybody? And here I am doing it! I need to get out of here! At
that moment, Michael came to my rescue.
Flamey is the best way to describe him for it captures him on multiple
levels. There's a fire in his eyes
when he has a stroke of brilliance in his quirky obsessions with
architecture. There's a wild quality
to his ember-colored hair which retains its untamed quality even when wrapped
in a ponytail. Then of course, he was
flamey in the "gay" sense.
Despite his greatest efforts he could never get rid of his wrist-flick
habit, and the occasional lisp. So at
some point in the past he simply stopped fighting it and his
"gayness" swept over him like wild-fire. The odd part is that he isn't gay. He walked out of The Coffee Pot with his
arm around the equally tall although not quite as skinny Violet, whose
passion for blues and purples countered and complimented Michael's fiery reds
and yellows. Even her hair was
artfully died with subtle Benny winked at me and said nothing. "Michael, you are so gay" I said jokingly. "He had better not!" cried Violet, pretending to be worried. "Nope he isn't. It's really too bad. I can see that we would have been such a great couple." Violet attempted to glare at me, but could only manage scrunch up her nose in such a ridiculous manner that I burst laughing. Benny laughed too. Yes! Thank you Michael! Benny's gone and now I can escape. "I'm going to grab the Italian soda I left inside." I said to excuse myself from the group. It wasn't a lie. I really did leave behind an Italian Soda inside The Jungle—Peach and Tropical something-or-other flavored. Quite a good mix really. I highly recommend it. I watched the group from inside The Jungle. The windows outside perpetually had a glare that prevented anyone from being able to look in without cupping their hands around their eyes and going right up to the window -- only to see everybody inside staring at him or her and become thoroughly embarrassed. Inside, on the other hand, you could see that the glass was so clean, clear, and glare-free that one could easily forget it was there. Every once in a while, a little clunk proved that someone did forget it was there. It was safe to watch Benny from my seat. I saw him talking to Michael and Violet. Someone else joined the conversation. I didn't know who it she was. Something seemed distinctly different about Benny. When he had talked to me he had this strange look in his eye. Something had happened. Something had changed. Something allowed him to just talk to these people about – about nothing! It's all meaningless talk that's done out of habit. It's as though he's practiced some way of blocking. Some way to...
He's put up a shield! I could see it so clearly. With one little wink he had wrapped himself up in a shield that prevented him from betraying a single hint of any real angst he was going through. Michael had no idea what was on Benny's mind, and so they made the joking sort of conversation which is what makes one think of everybody else as the shallow gossiping gaggle of geese we all loathe. What are you hiding? What are you hiding, Benny? That was how I started my journal entry today. It goes on with all my questions and speculations for 3 pages, finally ending in a stream of violent cursing. I never used to do that—swear I mean. I would always be the nice guy, who refrains from such vulgarities, but recently there's just so much to handle that a little swearing was definitely what any sensible doctor would have prescribed. Anger management perhaps? That
night I decided to dream. tapestry "Even the wind was absent—as it had been for
days."
"Benny?" "Yes?" "It's me, Mark." "Let me tell you my story." A pain shot through Mark's arm. A stripe on his shoulder was turning purple. What caused this?, he thought. A metal cane flashed through the air, next to a middle-aged man. The movement of the cane swirled the smoke surrounding this man — cigarette smoke. A brief sniff revealed a second odor: alcohol. Mark reached up to touch the smoke. He grabbed and the smoke, the cane, and the face all crumpled as though mere parchment. Mark tore away at the scene, crumpling the image as the next page was revealed. A woman, so lovely that she glowed
stood there. Her hair was like the Clarity The dream replayed over
and over in Mark's mind, and even as he woke, he could see with perfect
clarity those whirling blades, the rusting swing set, and most importantly
Benny. I'm going to have to talk to
Clarity today. But what am I going to say? I'll figure something out. Mark shook the image from his mind. "There's no use dwelling over that
now." he said aloud. He looked
around his room. Every surface had at
least 3 pictures on it; most surfaces had dozens. They were pictures of friends, family, events,
landscapes, objects...anything and everything it seemed. Some were artistic, some were normal. Some were horrid to look at alone, yet
somehow, among its brethren it was made fascinating. The walls were a maze of color, design, and
emotion. A look at the ceiling
revealed how many things were hung precariously by tape and string. These pictures weren't simply displayed on
the wall; they were hung in front of the wall creating an eerie depth. Some pictures were specifically hung to
spin with the otherwise imperceptible movements of the air. Mark's paintings were also hung, but they
somehow became lost among the photography.
That's what Mark did – he took pictures. He was going to the local university with a
full freshman-year scholarship because of his photography. His work was already displayed in multiple
galleries throughout the city. Two
shots had been bought by advertising companies. "Okay,
what's fallen?" This
was Mark's waking statement every day now.
Ever since he had moved into this new apartment, he had bombarded
every surface of his room with pictures but he didn't bother with the usual
means of mounting and displaying. He
used normal tape and some string off a spool he found a couple months ago in
the gutter. As a result, his room was
constantly shifting. Every once in a while you'd hear a sliding and then the
odd mix between a clunk and a whack whenever a picture fell
down. Most of the time he'd put them back where they were before, but
sometimes he'd completely change his mind.
He sometimes even just leaves them on the floor, or wherever they had
landed. He kept a path on the floor
clear for walking, but otherwise even the floor was covered with photographs. He also kept the ceiling above his bed
clear. He had learned after a week of
being woken up at three in the morning by an 8 x 10 photograph clunking him
in the head that his precarious way of hanging photographs had no place above
his head. He
clapped his hands and the device his friend Danny had rigged sent electricity
running into his computer. Mark
clipped the wireless microphone to his polka-dot pajamas and started looking
around for fallen photographs while his computer booted. "Aaah!"
cried Mark as he discovered that a massive array of photographs he had woven
together using the string had fallen off the wall. "Well I suppose I should have expected
this. I'm surprised it lasted this
long with only three points to anchor it to the wall....I'm surprised it
lasted this long..." Did I have to say that? I had just gotten Benny out of my mind
for the moment. A boing! sound signaled that his computer had finished
loading. Mark pressed 'enter' to
activate the voice recognition program. "Start Schedule Keeper 2.0"
he commanded the computer. Mark looked
at the far wall saw a strange reflection in the photographs. Sigh. I always forget that thing. Mark
walked over to the wall, reached up, and pulled down the screen he had
installed. The screen revealed his
computer's projected video display. "Go
to tasks." "Start
Textreader" "Begin
reading" The
computer speakers boomed with the digitized voice. Mark clenched his ears and ran towards the
speaker volume, stepping on the fallen web of pictures in the process. The walls facing such a sudden boom of
sound shook, and another picture fell off the wall. Finally, the speakers were turned
down. How did that happen?, thought Mark – his ears still
ringing. Mark checked the
computer. Everything seems in order.
It must've been a glitch. Mark went
back to turn the speakers back on but before he reached the speakers he was
startled by the picture which had fallen down in the chaos. It was a picture of Benny and Clarity
dressed up for Halloween last year as husband and wife. Clarity was the husband, and Benny the
wife. It was cute nonetheless and Mark
smiled. Double damn, thought
Mark. He looked upwards. Okay,
okay, I get the hint. I'll talk to her. Whether
or not it had actually been divine intervention, Mark couldn't ignore it for
long anyway. He looked at the time: Bzzzzzt! Mark
Blinked. Was that--? Bzzzzzt! That was the doorbell. Mark cringed at the sound. Mark detested that doorbell and had for the past few months been adamant about having it changed to something more pleasant but somehow never got around to doing so. Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt! "Okay
okay okay! I'm coming!" Mark grabbed
his glasses off the table and rushed to the apartment door, nearly running
into a chair on the way. Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzzzzzt! Upon reaching the door Mark teasingly said, "Who iiiiiiiis it?" "It's Me! Clarity!" "What!?!" "You
heard me you butterbrain! Open
up!" Mark
heard laughing outside. "Who
else is there?" "Ssshhh!!!
Oh crap, never mind! Just open up,
Mark, we're here to kidnap you." Mark
partially opened the door, "You're here to what?" "Kidnap
you!" Mark blinked at her. He looked at the others behind her: Edmund, Amanda, and Arthur were there. Mark looked again at Clarity and then closed the door without another word.
"Hey!" cried Clarity, and she pushed the door open again. Should have locked it, thought Mark. "At least let me change first!"
All
four of them took one look at him in his polka-dot pajamas and burst
laughing. "There's no way we're
letting you change now!!!" gasped Edmund between bouts of laughter. Mark grew bright red. "Well,
you're going to have to wait. At the very least you have to let me get my
keys." "Alright,
alright," said Amanda, "we will let you get your keys.” Mark walked back into his
room, and the four of them followed.
"Whoa!" said Edmund when he saw Mark's room. "You're a rich boy!" Mark blushed
and looked away. When he received
compliments like that he felt as though he appeared to be something that he
was not: someone better than everybody else.
“It’s the result of a deal
I struck with my parents. Because I got
the scholarship to the University, they pay the rent for me. That leaves me with a whole lot more money
I can spend elsewhere.“ “What kind of birthday gift
does a girl get a guy who has the money to buy anything he wants?” asked
Clarity. “Birthday? Is that what this is all about? You’ve gotta be joking! My birthday’s not for another 2 months!” “Nope, we’re not kidnapping
you because of your birthday” said Amanda, “We’re kidnapping you because it’s
mine!” Mark blinked. “Oh don’t look so shocked,”
Amanda continued as she suddenly moved closer to Mark. “If you look more puzzled I think your eyes
will go as big as these cute little polka dots.” Amanda said this as she walked her fingers
down a pattern of polka dots going down his chest, around, and up his back
until her arms were around him. She
gazed up into his eyes and licked her lips.
She drew closer and Mark was both petrified and entranced by her
advances. Her eyes narrowed and a malicious yet enticing grin grew on her
face. She drew herself even closer to
whisper into his ear. “You’d better grab your
wallet too – you’re paying!” Mark’s mouth gaped open as
Amanda gracefully twirled herself away from him in one sweeping
movement. Edmund, Clarity, and Arthur
burst out laughing and didn’t stop for what seemed like ages. In the
meantime, Mark’s cheeks were growing brighter and brighter red. “Oh hey!” cried Edmund,
“Got his keys!” “Even better,” chuckled
Clarity, “ I’ve got his wallet!” “Hey! Give those back!” “Gotta’ catch us!” laughed
Amanda, and they all ran outside and into the car. Mark, naturally, was
forced to join them. Mark wasn’t
really angry at them, although he was incredibly embarrassed at his obvious
reaction to Amanda’s pretend advances.
She seemed to take an insidious delight in embarrassing him ever since
they had met 4 years earlier. His
feelings for her were no secret. It
was also no secret that she shared not a single one of them for him – other
than friendship. Mark never pushed the
issue. What use would there have been
in that? Besides, there was always
something else that seemed to stop Mark.
He never could figure out what it was.
Maybe she’s…naw. She wouldn’t be involved… “So what are you thinking?”
asked Arthur making Mark suddenly aware of the silence in the car. It had been silent for the past five
minutes while Mark mechanically drove the car according to their
directions. “I wasn’t thinking of
anything.” Replied Mark. “Liar.” Said Clarity. “I suppose your little
crystal told you that?” said Mark only barely hiding his discomfort at her
accusation. Something about Clarity
had always bugged him too. Whatever it was bugged him far more than
Amanda. She seemed to have the eerie
ability to see right through anything and everything that Mark did. Then
again, he thought, she is a witch. “Ha ha, very funny. Go
ahead and not take my religious beliefs seriously.” “How are we supposed to
take a cyberwitch seriously? What, do
you do, stir a digital cauldron and say, ‘double double toil and trouble dot
com?’ ” asked Edmund She grumbled in a bit of
frustration, “First of all, if anything call me a Techno Pagan. ‘Cyberwitch’ makes me sound like all I do
is make love spells over e-mail. I’m
pagan (and not Wiccan mind you) in the modern
age.” “Okay, so you use a vacuum
to fly around instead of a broom.” Clarity took in a quick
harsh breath in preparation for a heated argument but Mark cut her off.
“Okay, enough already! Stop it! When
you said you were kidnapping me I didn’t know you’d also be torturing me with
bickering.” “Sorry Mark,” said Clarity
“I just wanted to make it clear that neo/techno paganism’s about updating our
methods with updated technology, and not relying on tradition like the mainstream backward religions.” “Hey!” objected Arthur, “Keep
in mind that there happens to be someone present who’s a member of one of
those backward religions.” “Sorry Arthur” “So Clarity flies to her
space-ship altar on a vacuum while Arthur sacrifices lambs while riding a
horse!” “Edmund!” Started Arthur, “I
do not—“ “I said enough already!”
shouted Mark, instantly silencing the car except for the quiet purring of the
engine. Abruptly, that near silence
was shattered by a high-pitched, shrill, and bubbling fountain of sound. Amanda was laughing. * * * Instant
Messenger RedHOTflamer32: *HUGS* RedHOTflamer32: You're back!!! RedHOTflamer32: :) Hi MarkTemple: Hi. MarkTemple: Thanks, Michael, I needed that. RedHOTflamer32: Needed what? MarkTemple: The
hug RedHOTflamer32: Oh? Why?
What’s wrong? (Pause) MarkTemple: What does an 18 year old boy do when he
can't see love between his parents? MarkTemple: What does an 18 year old boy do when he's
frightened that someday one of them may actually die because of the other? MarkTemple: What does an 18 year old boy do when he
sees that a divorce would drive the two into madness and depression? MarkTemple: Michael, what does an
18 year old boy who seems to be so gifted at helping other people, do to help
his own family? Help me Help me I don't know what to do. Why can't I ask for a miracle? Why can't I ask for this one
little reward for all the good I've done?
Why do I have to suffer when I have helped so many people? This one time-- I'm actually asking for something
for myself, for yes, my parents are a part of me in that sense. I ask for one miracle to help me: Help my
parents. Help me Help me. I don't know what to do. Take my pains, Christ. You have shown me truth. You have given
me a sight that few others have. I
have used it in the wisest fashion that I could have conceived. But now I ask for your help. I ask for you to take my pains, my anguish,
my sadness, by strife. I ask of you to take away my regrets and my hate. I ask you to take away my self-pity, and my
self-hate. I ask you to make me
whole. I ask you to show me love, for
I have always shown others, although I have somehow neglected you. I see now that I have always loved
you. I love you Christ, and I see now
that you have always been with me. I
see that you have always been around me, shining through that glow I see in
so many people. You shine with us all,
if we let you shine. I have always
seen you, and have always loved you.
Help me love myself. Help
me. Help me. What must I do? I love you. Thank you. My savior, my lord, my brother, my
father. My friend. With us all forever. I love you forever Thank you MarkTemple: Michael, What do I do? RedHOTflamer32: You leave. RPG Where am I? You’re
in an RPG. You
mean I’m in a Role playing game? Yeah, remember? Dungeons & Dragons? You used to play it all the time “back in
the old days.” That
was back in the old days when life was simpler; back in the old days when I
was normal. You were never normal. Who
are you? For the time being, I’m
your Dungeon Master. You?
But how can you be – what are those? Hmm? Oh? Those over there? Those are shadow wraiths. You never imagined that they’d be that
fierce huh? They’re
terrifying. Really? Hmm…let’s see. What do wraiths do again? You’re
the Game Master. You tell me. Why should I tell you
what you already know? And don’t call
me Game Master. I much prefer Dungeon Master. I’ll
call you whatever I want. Ooh – Feisty! What are
you getting all fangs-n-claws over? Oh wait; it’s one of your many varied
defense mechanisms. How silly of me to
forget. And
what would you know about my “defense mechanisms”? Well I know a lot,
indeed. After all, I did make you. Who
are you? Do you really expect me
to give you a straight answer after avoiding it last time? Are
you God? Ha! Do you hear that, my
brethren? He thinks I’m God! Stop
this! Yes,
please. You’re hurting him; your
hurting all of us. He’s our last chance. Last
chance for what? Shut up, Mark! As for you, I’ve listened to the two of you
long enough. This time, I don’t care about the majority vote. We need results now! Mark, you remember
what shadow wraiths do, right? They
cling to you with their dark grasp and infect you with your own horrors,
pains, hate, strife, and loathing.
They infect you with darkness until you too become so dark and dreaded
that you hunger for the light of others – and for the delicious delight of
infecting others with the darkness inside them. These wraiths you see around you are real,
and what’s worse -- they are not all even your own shadows, yet it is your brightness they wish to feed upon even now. Here are the shadows that have always been
around you, and we three have kept them from you since your birth, but now
you must face them alone. No! Please,
my brother, NO! For the sake of the world, NO! It is done. The three disappeared, leaving Mark alone in the
shapeless void -- surrounded by those shifting shadows drifting ever
closer. Dear God, I don’t know what to
do. Help me. Help me. I don’t know
what to do. “Ask and he shall deliver?” said a voice. “Who’s there?” “We’re all here.” Answered a different voice,
and out of the abyss walked a man. He was tall and wearing full plate-mail
armor. A mighty sword hung at his
belt. “Arthur?” asked Mark in his confusion. In answer he took off his helmet. Yes, it was Arthur. Arthur nodded and looked up. Three more appeared beside Mark. Two were women; one was dressed in white
traveling clothes, with a silver shield and crystal rosary beads – Maria? The other was dressed in a
midnight blue robe, clutched a chalice in one hand, and a massive crystal
ball in the other – Clarity? The
last was a man wearing black leather, and wielded a flaming staff – Michael? “I am your Knight who fights for a cause.” Said
Arthur “I am your Cleric who prays for your safety.”
Said Maria “I am your Sorceress who sees the paths.” Said
Clarity “I am your Rogue who brings death to the rules.”
Said Michael Some
people are afraid of certain types of help.
Do you think I’ve
been trying to destroy Benny’s shadow and he turns away protectively because
he thinks it’s him? When I’m in a fit
of rage, my thoughts go mush. The thoughts crash into each other. Maria
- I’m looking for catharsis. I want balance.
The Greeks believed in different moods within humans and that the goal
is to make them balanced. Thus you must balance out joy with tragedy. Michael
- Bullshit. The world is inherently
balanced -- or at least in the process of balancing, but every living thing
is trying to upset the world. Things
are supposed to change and you’re supposed to try to upset the balance. Set
things closer to good or bad. Things will naturally return to balance, but a
world of all grey is boring. When
faced with fate, make the road to that final destination as interesting as
possible. |
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