Leaving It

 

                The dust particles swirled within the sunshine pouring through his front window as Alexander absentmindedly stirred his oatmeal at his dining room table on the opposite side of the room. He woke that morning feeling remarkably rested and thrilled at the forthcoming enjoyment of his short walk to work, though not exactly encouraging, the view of so many homes that had long been abandoned, left him dreaming of buying one and remodeling it to its former glory.

                  His second alarm sounded, reminding him that he had fifteen minutes to finish his breakfast and begin his walk to work. His third alarm sounded as he stepped onto the front steps of his apartment building, accompanied by the slight chill from the early fall day. He had been walking the same route to work for the past six months, developing a routine of greeting his elderly neighbors, the few homeless people who lived on the sidewalk downtown, and avoiding the ever-growing flock of pigeons that seemed to harbor some form of animosity toward him.

                  His warehouse job, while not the most exciting work he had ever experienced, paid well enough and kept him active, fit, and comfortable enough in a safe home that met his needs. He completed his shift and made the decision to walk home on a different path, wondering about the state of those parts of the city he rarely, if ever, visited. The sun was close to going down as he weaved through multiple abandoned neighborhoods, many with once beautiful homes in a sad state of partial decay.

                  As he walked, he jotted down the addresses of those homes that he found most appealing, some in better condition than others, doing the math that would make the initial purchase possible and the subsequent and necessary remodel work that he would thoroughly enjoy accomplishing. Returning to an empty and relatively cold home, he slid two pre-made pizzas in the oven while he sipped on an IPA.

                  He found a map of the city in the front of the phone book and placed red stars on the addresses he had earlier identified as potential purchases. Days turned into weeks, and he so badly wanted to share his ideas and dreams with someone but having no one of like mind at work and not knowing his neighbors, he got into the habit writing down pretend conversations, accompanied by measurements, costs, and time needed to buy and remodel one of the once beautiful Victorian homes that continually tugged at his imagination.

                  Enjoying his new path to and from work, his dreams and plans vacillated between one home and the next and the next and the next, each house having good points and bad, and he knew that eventually he would need to make a decision. Several more months passed by, and he finally arranged a showing with a real estate agent, settling on three different homes, all of them beautifully remodeled and restored in his mind. As he and the agent walked through each home, he took pictures, took notes, and felt a particular weight of disappointment when he came to realize just how deeply each home had degenerated.

                  The exterior of all three was poor but not beyond restoration. He returned home well after dark and scoured over his notes, his photos, his drawings, and the volume of work each one would need, wondering if any of his plans would actually come to fruition. The sale prices of each of them were remarkably low with accompanying low property taxes.  Because all three neighborhoods were basically abandoned, he knew that interacting with neighbors would not be an issue, as there practically were none.

                  A full week passed by, then a full month and with the arrival of winter, he looked forward to the coming spring, working hard to convince himself that it was with the rise in temperature that he would make an offer. He struggled to ignore phone calls and voice mails from the real estate agent, knowing that the man was desperate to make a sale. This was a conversation in which he did not want to engage, with spring so far away.

                  Spring came and went, summer arrived with its blistering heat, and once again fall arrived, with Alexander walking past all three homes, cursing himself for being so indecisive and unwilling to take action. Each day as he walked his now no longer new path, he watched the three homes with which he had fallen in love continue to decline. It was with the arrival of graffiti and squatters that two of three homes completely lost their appeal, knowing that squatter’s rights would make a purchase extremely difficult and disagreeable.

                  The third home and much to his surprise, the one like he liked the most, remained untouched by spray paint or homeless people. He watched himself continually decline in health, in strength, in age, and in motivation. “This is a pathetic image of myself and the house, each becoming poorer, uglier, and further from restoration,” he thought. He knew that if he simply had someone with whom to speak about his plans, he certainly would have made a decision and purchased the home years before his present moment.

                  The seasons continued to roll by and after the fourth winter of indecision with the arrival of spring, he walked past the house one more time, to see the home had become the latest dilapidated location for a large group of homeless people and stray pets. Cursing himself once again, he made the decision to not walk this way again, knowing that his heart would only continue to be crushed and disappointed at his failure to act.

                  The real estate agent had long before stopped calling or leaving messages, so he returned to his original path to work. Two more full cycles of seasons continued past him, and he ached to know how “his” house was doing. It was a Wednesday that he decided to walk past it one last time on his way home after work. He rounded the corner to the side street that held “his” house to see nothing. “His” house, the surrounding houses and every sign of life had disappeared. The only thing that remained was a hole in the ground, leaving an emptiness in his soul at the lost opportunity.

                  His glorious visions of restoration were now without substance or possibility. As he drew painfully close to his sixtieth year, he knew that the labor of remodeling was beyond his ability, despite his desire to recreate and restore something beautiful from a previous century. Living with empty regret, a lost opportunity, and the solitude of a small apartment with no friends or family. The only thing that remained for him was to distract himself with beautiful remodeling plans that would never take place. As his years continued past, he spent more time at the library looking through home remodeling magazines, antique furniture websites, and photo collections of Victorian and Arts and Crafts homes.

                  Just past his seventy-fifth birthday, he finished his home delivered Italian dinner, turned off his television and went to bed, feeling himself growing colder and colder as the long winter night continued on. His first alarm sounded, then his second and then his third but he heard none of them. The late morning sunshine crept through his living room, but he failed to see that as well. His phone began to ring at eight, then again at nine and again at ten.

                  It was when fire department broke into his apartment to find him cold, stiff and unresponsive in his bed with his cat sleeping on top of his motionless form. Within twenty-four hours, the landlord had removed all of belongings, donating them to the local secondhand store and his neighbors watched as a young couple moved in before the end of the week. Alexander had ceased to be with his dreams of greatness disappearing as well, with seemingly no one who cared or even knew him or his passions.

Stasis Rather Than Climbing

 

The reflection looking back at him was not an appealing sight, a roll of fat hung over his belt, his three chins mocked him for even considering taking action toward their removal, and his moobs no longer resembled anything even slightly masculine. Liam had rehearsed this conversation in his head nearly every day for the last three months, determined to make changes in his life, to bring back the fit and toned body that he had enjoyed in his college days.

He slipped on his t-shirt in an attempt to hide the morbid flabbiness that he now called his reality, but his stomach roll remained visible just below the bottom edge of his shirt. Feeling somewhat covered and slightly appeased at the minor improvement in his appearance, he walked out onto his deck to look at the multiple, jagged mountain peaks that lay just behind his apartment building. His workday hadn’t started yet, with forty-five minutes before he needed to leave for his office job downtown.

He sat down alone at his kitchen counter and ate six maple bars with a large mug of coffee, to then waddle to the bathroom, brush his teeth, and begin his drive in to work, enjoying the silence of the drive before being immersed in the busyness of his shared office space. He sat down behind his computer monitor to remove a sticky note pasted to the center of the screen, an invitation to join his two friends Matteo and Gabriel to watch a series of short films about rock climbing that evening. Letting out a long breath, he leaned back in his chair, knowing full well that he had no other plans and rejecting the offer would only result in insistence from his friends.

The day crawled by as he spent the majority of his time coding and sitting through two short meetings, wondering why he had been invited to either of them. At his two o’clock break, he sent an email to Matteo, confirming his intent to join them that evening but only after getting dinner first.

Filled up to the top of his neck, or that is what it felt like, Liam sat with his two friends in a small, locally owned movie theater to spend the next three hours watching short, independently produced films about rock climbing, a subject in which he had no interest but figured he could at least spend this time with his friends rather than sitting at home alone with his overweight and typically sleeping dog, Arturo.

The series of shorts finally ended, and Liam climbed out of Matteo’s car to trudge up his short sidewalk to climb three flights of stairs, as the lift was currently out of order. Still painfully full from his massive dinner, the exercise of walking so many flights of stairs left him with the urge to vomit, sweaty and pasty as he finally reached his door. The sound of snoring from Arturo was the only thing that greeted him as he crossed his threshold. The combination of wanting to shower but also of wanting to sleep, left him in a conundrum, so he collapsed on his bed still in his clothes and promptly fell asleep.

                  He woke the next morning to the screeching of his alarm clock to a room full of the combined smell of BO and feet, forcing him to open his bedroom window, trusting that the sharp smell would soon dissipate. The morning progressed like it always did on a typical workday and he dropped himself behind his computer monitor to once again see a sticky note pasted to the center, informing him that Matteo and Gabriel had signed the three of them up for a rock-climbing excursion the following weekend.

                  The three friends spent that evening at the local sporting goods store, spending far too money on equipment that Liam knew he would most likely never use. He pulled himself from bed the following Saturday morning to find Matteo and Gabriel parked in front of his apartment. He dropped his equipment in the trunk, dropped himself into the backseat and tried to picture how the next several hours would progress, knowing full well that he would be hard pressed to heave his corpulent frame up a rock face.

                  Matteo parked the car, and they walked to the agreed upon point of ascension, to meet a young woman, stunningly beautiful and remarkably fit. They all introduced themselves and listened to a brief explanation of the steps they would need to perform to begin their progress up the mountain side. Liam offered to begin his ascent last and as he watched his friends perform their steps exactly as they had been instructed, he, instead, began to wander around the base of the mountain, chatting with other climbers and pretending to be a climber himself.

                  He knew the lingo, the equipment, and had the cheery, chatty demeanor to pass himself off as one who knew things and was more than happy to offer advice and instruction to anyone willing to listen, but his swollen, flabby frame exposed the lie, which many recognized as a blatant and willful attempt at deception. Every other weekend was the same, as he watched his friends ascend to greater and greater heights, while he wandered around, telling the same stories, giving the same advice, and receiving the same curious looks and responses from other climbers.

                  Despite his deep seeded desire to join his friends, he simply did not have the willpower or the energy to do so. His life of deception continued to eat at him, slowly withering his soul with a disappointment that he could not put into words. While he knew that everything he was saying and teaching was true, he also knew that his actions were a lie. He had no way to answer those who silently judged him for his hypocrisy, hoping that someday he would find a way to take that first step and become the climber he claimed to be.

                  As the months continued to pass by, he became more and more depressed with his ongoing deception and failure as a human being. He had been lying to his friends for the full duration of their time “rock climbing”, until one day at work he finally admitted to the failure and liar he had become, to receive encouraging words from Matteo to seek advice and help from the climbing instructor. He swallowed his pride and the following weekend, he made the effort to begin a conversation with her, explaining the horrible place now found himself.

                  She offered some direct and easy advice, suggesting that he start very small, climbing mountainsides that required no gear or extreme exertion. She directed him to three different locations to consider, and he followed her advice, eventually giving up his days of wandering and teaching around the base of the mountain. He spent the next three months following her direction, to begin to see his weight drop, his motivation build, and his endurance increase. After six more months, he began to actually climb, starting back to where he, Matteo and Gabriel had started so long ago, finding a sliver of joy and satisfaction at finally making some progress.

                  Committed to his newfound success, he vowed to wander and teach no longer, focusing on his own improvement and progress. A full year passed, and he stood in front of his bathroom mirror, marveling at the much smaller frame that now faced him, motivating him to continue, to press himself harder, and to be the climber that he had formerly claimed to be.

                  Over time, he found himself drawing the attention of women at the office, at the pub in the evenings with Matteo and Gabriel, and at the mountainside, a glorious combination of success and attention that built his confidence and hope that something good would come from his new social interaction, trusting that one day he would no longer be alone in his small apartment with his overweight dog, eating mac and cheese, tv dinners, and tubs of ice cream.

                  Looking at Arturo that evening, he vowed to himself and to Arturo that the two of them would begin taking walks every other evening. He watched his own endurance continue to improve and Arturo began to slim down as well, snoring less and becoming more active around the apartment, chasing the tennis ball that Liam would toss on occasion.

He and Arturo looked back on their lives prior to his decision to begin being what he claimed to be and became more and more driven to continue on this path toward overall excellence and honesty.

Time to Live New Things

 

The morning started like it always did with the gentle strains of solo piano from his cell phone alarm clock, waking Min-Jun from a glorious, beautiful, happy dream. Cracking open one eye, he saw that the clock read 6:01, a painful, radical shift from peace and harmony to the reality of having to rise from bed to take the train to work. He sat on the edge of his bed for a moment, relishing the joy he felt in the presence of the lovely, blond Scandinavian woman in his dream, certain that he had never actually seen her before, convinced that his mind had created a sliver of happiness to counter the general drudgery of his everyday life.

Hanging onto this bit of fabricated happiness, he ceased all motion, waiting until the images and memories had faded. His shower was tepid and short, and he could hear the coffee pot calling his name as he dried his hair and rubbed lotion into his face and neck, wondering if he should wear black or brown today. The train ride to work was typically uneventful, surrounded by strangers and avoiding eye contact until he entered the office, being forced to interact with his co-workers, with most of whom he had nothing in common.

The first four hours of work passed by quickly and he sat outside in the direct sunshine enjoying his gimbap and hot tea, watching pigeons come and go to the edge of the water fountain a short distance from his table. He returned to his stand-up desk to immerse himself, once again, into his work, trying not to be distracted by his co-worker’s chit-chit and laughter. “Happiness is an easy thing,” he thought, “as long as you set your standards incredibly low, being willing to be content with mediocrity.”

With the arrival of two o’clock, he walked to the coffee kiosk in front of the office building and ordered a white chocolate mocha, needing a small kick to refocus. Life was an unending cycle of normalcy: sleep, a train ride, work, lunch, work, a train ride home, dinner and a few hours of reading. As he thought about his daily and weekly routine on the train ride home, he wondered what life was like for all others. “Probably more of the same inanity that is on display at work.”

He sat alone at his dinner table that evening, eating his noodles and pork, finally coming to the realization that his life only consisted of him, his interests, all of which seemed like a selfish, empty, and pointless existence. With enough daylight after his evening meal, he waited a short bit and went for a walk, hoping to see something that would motivate him to make a change in his reality. He had moved no more than four blocks from his home when he saw three black SUV’s stop in front of an office building, which made him pause as he watched seven young Korean men, smartly dressed, emerge from the vehicles surrounded by bodyguards.

“Now there’s a reality most people don’t enjoy,” he thought, “while their lifestyles may be easy and comfortable, at least they’re making a great number of people happy, even if those people are teenage girls. Who do I make happy?” He lingered at the corner until the crowd dispersed and the SUV’s drove away, to then continue his walk until he watched the sun disappear behind the cityscape to his left. On his walk home, he could hear shouting from a nearby house, revealing a vulgar, dirty, foul-mouthed middle-aged man kicking a dog in the side yard.

Feeling a rage build up within him, he picked up a moderate size rock from the gutter and rifled it across the yard, making direct contact with the back of the man’s head, dropping him to his knees and then to his face. The rage then subsided to be replaced by joy at his selfless act of helping one could not help himself, which also stirred up within him an idea to take this simple act to the next level.

He returned home, pulled up his credit card account online with its spending analysis tool, which allowed him to see how he spent his money, to see his focus in life, and seeing the possibility of redirecting some of that frivolous spending into something good. After a generally routine dinner, he finished his latest novel and went to bed early, feeling rather spent after boring day and an exciting evening foray with a rock. A sudden flash woke Min-Jun from his dark and empty sleep informing him that 1:37 am had rolled upon him. The image of the angry neighbor man immediately came to mind, as well as the cowering, whimpering dog, giving him the idea to go for another walk.

Dressed in all black, he used back alleys and avoided streetlights, to return to the home of the sad dog with its angry owner. He crept over the back fence, released the dog from its oversized chain and carried it home for a much-needed bath and a good meal. “If a dog could smile, that would be it,” he thought. After the bath and the meal, he spent the next hour creating a good relationship with the sorry beast, deciding to name it “Gi”, for it bravely withstood the anger and abuse from its former owner.

Gi clearly understood what was taking place as they spent the hour together until Min-Jun turned off the lights and returned to his bedroom, to be followed by the now safe and content dog, who immediately joined him on the foot of his bed. A gentle snoring created a peaceful form of white noise as he drifted into sleep, working to devise a plan for caring for the dog while he was away each day. A bathroom run for Gi immediately after his shower, was a new addition to his typical routine. He cleared out the second bedroom, creating a safe and comfortable space for Gi, making sure he had enough food and water for the day.

Feeling happy and satisfied throughout his day, he decided to find a reputable non-profit organization that helped children who suffered from abuse, knowing that a few hundred dollars a month for donation would slightly diminish his current level of comfort and entertainment.

Three years had passed, and each month reminded him that many children across the nation were faring better, and were being taken care of, because of his realization of selfishness and a proper response to that realization. Every night when it was warm enough and light enough, he and Gi would go for a walk, deliberately avoiding Gi’s former home. The dog now emanated a happiness that gave more meaning and depth to Min-Jun’s life. While it wasn’t normal human interaction, he found that he resonated with animals in a way that he didn’t with people.

He finished his work week to receive a phone call at the end of the day from the child abuse organization, asking him to stop by the office for a brief meeting. He agreed and arrived at their office just before five p.m. to receive a box full of thank you letters, arts and crafts, and a formal letter from the president of the company. “Your generosity has changed the lives of hundreds of children, Min-Jun,” the VP told him. “We believed that you would find great joy in seeing the response from the children and from our President. We wish that there would be more people like you who truly care about others. Thank you for your support.”

Min-Jun sat on the train ride home, holding his box and looking forward to the excited response he received from Gi each evening when he returned home. He let himself in and immediately began taping the artwork to his refrigerator, feeling fulfilled and happy at the impact he now had upon so many others, rather than just himself. Feeling like splurging, he ordered take out for himself and Gi.  Three sushi rolls for himself and a sixteen-ounce steak for Gi. The two of them sat down together on the couch after their dinner arrived, to enjoy the latest episode of his favorite anime series.

“The reality of living for others now feels normal,” he thought, the idea of which pushed him to find some other way of making an impact, as his life was still reasonably comfortable, while he knew that so many others did not enjoy that luxury. “Let’s see, here,” he thought, “orphans, homeless people, the elderly, who else needs help?”

Self-Inflicted Destruction

Lord Robert sat with his four knights, suppressing the urge to explode after hearing their idiotic and feeble justifications for their failures in battle. The kingdom of Ubernacht, of which Robert was overlord was smaller than all of those around them, while sitting on the largest veins of gold in their singular mountain that stood just behind the castle. Ubernacht was one kingdom among many, of which King John of Aquitaine ruled, usually with much patience but often with high expectations.

Lord Robert’s kingdom stood at the edge of the King John’s land, partially surrounded by others faithful to King John but his western border backed up against the kingdom of Altrecht, ruled by the remarkably cunning King Luxor, a man with the incredible gift of monolog, dialog, and wordsmithing, one with whom no one wanted to interact as he had the ability to twist and contort the words of his opponents, often manipulating the words of King John to seem as if the two of them were in agreement.

Lord Robert rose from his seat, cleared his throat and called for the room to be cleared, needing several moments to document all that had just been told to him, needing silence to grumble to himself, and form a plan on how to respond to King Luxor’s latest attack against his western border. Knight Justus had described the battle between him and army against King Luxor and what seemed to be a collection of knights and lords from kingdoms further west. He argued that the top knights that worked directly with King John were at the battle, merely observing it seemed.

As the door clicked closed behind the last knight to leave the conference room, Lord Robert paced the space between his library and his throne, grumbling and confused as to King John’s possible rationale for simply allowing the enemy to oppress them without response. “This makes no sense,” he said to himself over and over, beginning to consider the possibility that Knight Justus had merely fabricated a story to cover his own laziness and lack of military prowess.

He dropped himself into his throne to be immediately interrupted by a messenger bursting through the main door, shouting about the sighting of a dragon on the western border. The young man, breathing heavily, swore with everything in him that he personally had seen the creature drop down from the sky at the edge of the western forest. “Send in another messenger,” Lord Robert shouted, “I need to send a message to King John.” The young man hurried from the room to be quickly replaced by another, carrying a small scroll, a writing utensil and an inkwell.

The new young man sat down at the table and noted everything that Lord Robert said in his message. “King John, I have just received a report that a dragon has entered our land, crossing the western border, please send help immediately, your faithful servant, Lord Robert.” 

              “Go, young man, hurry to the king’s castle, we have no time to waste,” he said, “a dragon loose among our villages is nearly impossible to stop or defeat.” The young man pocketed the inkwell and the writing utensil, blowing on the scroll as he hurried from the room, running north as fast as he dared, not wanting to exhaust himself too quickly, as he had many miles to cover before arriving at the king’s castle.

              As soon as the messenger departed from his presence, he called for another to gather all of his knights into the town square, in order to prepare for the confrontation that would probably happen sooner than he thought. Within the hour his entire military had joined him on the steps of the castle, all knowing why they were there but fearing for their safety and the safety of their loved ones scattered across the land of Ubernacht. Lord Robert began with clarifying the reason for the meeting was obvious, as a dragon had entered the land. “I will be calling on all of the men in the land of Ubernacht to join you in this fight, for without enough weapons in able hands, we will surely lose this battle. I have sent a request to King John to send more help and am still awaiting an answer.”

              Messengers were dispersed as Lord Robert and his mediocre army waited on the steps of the castle and within four hours men from across the kingdom began trickling into the town square, to be almost immediately followed by a messenger from King John, bearing a disappointing and deflating message. “King John has spoken,” the messenger said, “he will be sending no assistance to you in this matter, for you have never proven yourself faithful or able in any matter he has requested of you. You must put to use the skills and tools that he has provided over the many years to win this battle yourself.”

              The messenger then quickly departed through the northern gate through which he had just entered, leaving Lord Robert and his army in disbelief. He looked over the ridiculously small army before him, as well as the even smaller group of men from throughout the village, knowing full well that victory would not be theirs to enjoy, as a dragon was a threat that few could address. He motioned for Knight Justus to approach and entrusted him to draw up a plan with the few men that were available.

              Overcome with despair, he watched his army, and the handful of locals disappear through the western gate with a considerable cache of weapons, very little armor, and a few horses. He called for another messenger to work through the land and bring everyone from the surrounding villages and farms into the main city, knowing that women and children would be helpless in the face of invaders, if and most likely when his army failed in their confrontation of the dragon. He knew within his bones that King Luxor was the source of this invasion.

              The first day passed without report from the battle, then the second day and the third day, until finally a messenger arrived from Knight Justus that the dragon had been wounded, no longer able to fly, as Knight Justus himself had severed one of its wings. He also reported that over half of the army and nearly all of the men from the village had been killed or terribly injured.

              Lord Robert then gathered the few teenage boys that were scattered throughout the main city, arming them with bow and arrows, swords, and spears, trusting that the walls of the city would provide enough protection for when King Luxor’s army was sure to arrive. Frustrated at his now hopeless situation, he drafted another message to King John, rife with complaints, disappointment, and pleas for help to be sent. Three more days passed by, and he received no response, grumbling to himself that the mightiest king in all of the lands on this mighty continent failed to fulfill his duty of protection.

               Three more days passed, and messengers arrived from the western border than King Luxor had slaughtered the remaining few knights and would be at the castle before nightfall. Lord Robert gathered all of the women and children into the castle, barricading all of the doors and windows, gathering as much food and weapons before the arrival of the pending destruction that could not be stopped. He spoke words of encouragement to the handful of teenage boys who guarded the three entrances, who stood atop the wall, armed with the little they had. He could see the terror in their faces, knowing that he was asking far too much from those who had no experience in warfare.

              As darkness began to fall, his queen pulled him to a side room, and severely chastised him for his failure, his lack of foresight, his refusal to learn from his previous mistakes, and his stubborn response to the use of the tools and knowledge given to him from King John. He admitted to her that she was correct in her assessment of him, and that she needed to go among the women and children and encourage them as only she knew how, while he stood at the window watching the army of King Luxor overpower the young boys and break through the main gate.

              It was only a matter of thirty minutes before he watched everything that he had proudly worked for come to an end, with flames devouring it all, sickened at the thought of what Luxor’s army would do with a castle full of women and children, knowing the destruction and enslavement would be their reality in the next hour.

Peering through the small window looking out over the town square, he could hear the castle entrance being breached, the screams of the women and children, and the door of his private chamber knocked from its hinges. Overpowered by four Luxor soldiers, he watched himself be dragged from the building to be tied between four horses and slowly pulled into five pieces, a slow, agonizing dismemberment, as each limb was slowly pulled from its socket, to then be ripped from his torso. At that moment, the only thing he could think of was the inevitable enslavement that his wife, his daughters, and the women and children from the village would face. He breathed his last with a prayer for lives to be, at the least, bearable.

The Space Between Has Gone Cold

Flying Eagle sat alone at the edge of his tribe’s encampment, deep in thought, considering all that had taken place in the last several years, abruptly distracted by a violent interaction between a coyote and a rabbit, the rabbit being on the receiving end of the violence. The distance between himself and the homicide was great, stirring up questions within himself about the purpose of life and if there truly was any difference between his own life and that of the rabbit.

He was far enough away from all the others in his tribe, merely watching them with curiosity, wondering what it was about him that made him so contrary to everyone else. “They all seemed to interact and connect so easily,” he thought. One could label it a type of jealousy that he felt but like the eagle that soars in the sky cannot swim in the river like the salmon, and the rabbit that runs from place to place cannot fly among the clouds, he knew that this common and simple interaction was not something that he would ever accomplish.

From the moment he began to speak, his father, mother, and extended family knew that he was different and would most likely take over the role of shaman when their current shaman passed away. Flying Eagle then spent the next twenty years of his life with the shaman, Lumbering Buffalo, finding a connection and learning the details of reading nature, understanding the smallest hints and obscure facts that most everyone else simply did not see.

It was in his tenth year of life that he heard about the birth of a female in his tribe that seemed to possess the same attributes as he and Lumbering Buffalo, which stirred within him the desire to find her, wait for at least fifteen years, and hopefully make a connection that would secure for him a spouse of like mind and like soul. The next ten years passed by agonizingly slow as he waited for her to mature, but befriending her all along, happily finding the connection he so deeply desired.

Though it was unheard of for a shaman to take a spouse, as their role within the tribe was to be the point of spiritual connection and wisdom between his people and the spirit world. He knew and understood that his role was to become the next shaman, he also knew that he could not thrive and flourish without someone to love, to embrace, and with whom to connect.

He clearly remembered the year that Fluttering Grouse became a woman, but he also knew that she needed at least three or four years to embrace that change and learn the ways and responsibilities of a female member of the tribe. From that moment forward, he spent as much time with her as he could, dropping subtle hints, making references to future plans, and their similarity, creating a bond with her that neither he nor she had with anyone else.

As the day approached, Flying Eagle counted down the days, and on the afternoon of her eighteenth birthday, he and she slipped away into the vast open prairies, free of all distraction and others, to pose the question of marriage, eventually convincing her that they had grown so close and were so much alike that the spirit world unarguably intended for them to be together. With an excited squeal, she vigorously embraced him for a gloriously long period of time, to then take his hand and lead them together to find her parents and make the announcement a matter of public knowledge.

Within the year, Fluttering Grouse carried the beginnings of their first child. They now lived together in their own tent, at the far edge of the encampment, a typical location for the shaman, allowing for freedom from distraction and ease of visitation for those who were seeking wisdom and guidance. He watched her grow larger as the months passed by, thrilled at the prospect of seeing the fruit of their union, and knowing as well that she greatly desired to have many offspring. He wondered if one of them would become the next in line as shaman after he, which would not be surprising but was definitely unusual, as shaman typically did not marry or reproduce.

Several years passed, then several decades and he watched as his household continued to grow, becoming by far the largest home in the known history of the tribe. A dark cloud of despair began to hang over him and fill his heart, as he watched Fluttering Grouse become distracted by a variety of other details of tribal life, spending more time with others, rather than he and their children, a sad and sorry decline that he knew he needed to address but had no idea how to proceed or find a resolution.

Over the years their household grew smaller and smaller, as their children matured and started their own lives of adulthood. His pride could not be any greater as he watched his children become talented, wise, and productive adults, contributing to the success of the tribe. As he sat in his tent alone, on that one fateful day, the flap suddenly flipped open to reveal the chief and a young woman, motioning for him to join them outside. He rose from his seated position and began a long walk with them into the open prairie, to learn that the young woman had received a vision but did not understand its meaning. He carefully listened to her describe what she had seen and began asking questions to fully understand the scope and depth of it all.

When they reached a great distance away from the encampment, they stopped and he began his explanation to them both, revealing that her vision had to do with a major change in her life and the young man who would take her hand in marriage, leading them away to begin a new tribe at the edge of a forest, a new life unlike that of living on the prairie. The three of them walked back in silence and as he approached his tent, a moderate size rock struck him on the side of his head.

As he scanned over the area, he saw Fluttering Grouse standing with another man, looking very angry, waving her hands and yelling at him to go away and never return. He slipped into his tent, gathered only those belongings that he could carry to then disappear into the depths of the prairie, heading toward the forest in the deep north.

Jerked back to the moment, Flying Eagle refocused his attention on the current day and minute, still sick in heart at the ever-declining path they had taken. It was then that he realized that no one seemed to notice or care that he had departed. It was only when he returned after a full set of seasons that he realized how much he missed being around and being helpful to the others.

From his seated position of solitude, he could see that his children had all grown, had detached themselves from Fluttering Grouse, and seemed content leading their lives as productive members of the tribe. From a distance he watched Fluttering Grouse shuffle around, seemingly disconnected from everyone, her head down, her eyes constantly on the ground, and clearly had gained an obscene amount of weight, mostly like from emotional eating.

The tent that had been their home had disappeared, a fact he noticed on the day he returned, forcing him to build again, now no longer a shaman but just another part of the tribe. He wondered about his value, if he actually had any, while physically present, he was still disconnected from everyone and everything.

No matter how warm the weather, or how often he briefly interacted with the other tribe members, he always felt cold and empty, wondering what to do, if anything, about the chilling vacancy that always filled him. “Maybe I should not have returned,” he thought to himself. “Where can I be of the most value or contribute something of worth to anyone?”

With these questions still rolling around in his mind, he walked into the distance until he could only see the tips of the encampment tents, to take a seat among the ground hogs that seemed to enjoy his presence, finding no fear or danger with him. “Well, at least someone seems to like me,” he thought. “I guess I’ll simply get back to solitude within nature and settle on that as my new reality.”

No Going Back to Zero

 

Seventeen days after graduation, Lewis received notice of a job posting on a local bulletin board. He placed a quick phone call, received an invitation to a job interview and after a twenty-minute conversation, received an offer to begin the next day. The position was, thankfully, inside a warehouse and the pay was considerably better than his previous temporary position, allowing him to begin saving money, with the goal of one day building his decade long dream of his own business with a yet to be discovered partner.

The following four years revealed an ever-growing bank account, a chance encounter with a like-minded individual who seemed to share the same dream as he, and an opportunity to invest in a small warehouse on the edge of town, into which he poured his creative and restorative efforts, increasing the value to the point of generating more income. This became a cycle in Lewis’ life, finding the necessary equipment and general laborers to assist in his efforts.

As growth continued to manifest itself, Lewis could see his dreams becoming reality, growing in excellence, and quality. This entire endeavor was like a family, as he and his business partner became like a single mind, developing the business and hiring on more and more team members. The entire process was a learning curve, finding new and better solutions, picking up good advice and guidance from those who had more experience and more knowledge, allowing the business to become exponentially larger, more refined, and of increasing value.

Like the creation of something from nothing, the dream that began in his heart so many years before was now becoming reality. As the years passed, the plan made its way onto paper, initially as a rough sketch, then more like a blueprint, and finally a tangible reality with measurements and details, bringing a thrill to his heart and bigger and more beautiful plans to mind.

The years continued on, he and his partner really seemed to be in perfect agreement as to how to proceed, hiring on more and more workers, bringing in specialists which allowed them to focus on development and further enhancements. The business finally reached its zenith, bringing a stop to further growth as their personnel, their equipment, and their need for warehouse space exceeded their current situation. In what became a regular cycle, every five years they moved into larger and larger facilities, watching their success continue to exceed their wildest dreams.

Lewis poured all of his energy into making the business flourish, into making himself that much more educated and capable of running the business, wasting no money, wasting no time, and wasting no energy on things of no value. It was after the fourth move that he decided to bring an end to their movement, and their growth, deciding to focus instead on efficiency and quality.

He began to feel troubled as his partner began spending less and less time focused on the business they had built together, instead directing his energy and attention on other businesses, other people, and other pursuits. Looking back over the last several years, he realized that he should have seen it coming but as the saying goes, “hindsight is twenty-twenty”.

With every aspect and detail of his responsibilities covered, he traveled to a nationwide conference to make more connections and learn more about efficiency. Returning a week later from his trip, he found that the offices and the warehouse were now empty and lifeless, to receive a letter from a local lawyer informing him that the business had been liquidated and had ceased all operations. Along with the closure notice, he received a substantial check, which represented half of the value of the business, forcing him to begin again.

After placing seventeen phone calls and twenty-two text messages to his partner, he received nothing but a voicemail and silence. He returned to his large, comfortable, and cozy condominium to begin planning, once again, how to move forward and how to best invest his money. Within a month, a new business sprang into existence on the opposite side of town, fronted unsurprisingly by his former partner and someone else who claimed to be exceedingly wealthy.

Selling his home and most of his belongings, he moved to a different town, knowing that he could not start another business as his former partner had somehow put together a replacement rather quickly, which felt like a kick to the stomach, considering all that he had sacrificed and accomplished after so many years of planning and hard work. Distance was the key, as a new market needed to be discovered and fed, knowing that he could not overlap what now existed as a reprehensible stab in the back.

Not one to make the same mistake twice, he sketched out a plan, using the decades of acquired wisdom and experience, and vowed to never again go into business with another partner, feeling as if he had lost all trust in people in general. Recognizing his own weaknesses, he knew that everyone else had their own struggles, and taking on the problems of someone else was not something for which he had the stomach. He would certainly maintain his normal practice of aligning acquaintances, for solitude was a bitter pill to live on.

Year followed year and his business took root, gained an audience and a solid, faithful clientele, building up in relatively the same manner as his previous attempt. Thrilled at the success he was achieving; he began to receive requests from neighboring cities and even cities in neighboring states. With his business solid and stable, he traveled to the nationwide conference that year, at least five years after his previous attendance, to learn that the business established by his nemesis and former partner had gotten into the cycle of overpromising and underperforming. He began to see a pattern develop as their customers came to him for his quality product and his consistent output. Without saying the words, he knew the inescapable outcome of this new pattern that was developing. “One can only lose so many customers before everything falls apart,” he thought. Not one to wish ill on anyone, he focused on his work, his productivity, and his personal growth, nearly overwhelmed with his success, his constantly growing business, and constant need for more general laborers and salesmen.

Nine p.m. rolled by as he still sat in his office at the warehouse. He had glanced at his phone to see the time and was startled when it began to ring, a number he recognized and was at the same time surprised to see. “Nope, I don’t have the time or energy for that conversation,” he thought, letting the call go to voicemail. Switching his phone to silent mode, he slipped it in his pocket, turned down the heat, turned off the lights and went home to enjoy a glass of Merlot while watching a performance of Bizet’s “Carmen”.

He woke the next morning feeling perfectly rested and calm, to see that he had eight voicemails, feeling no need to distract himself with listening to them, certain of what he would hear, and not wanting to hear it. “There’s no going back to zero,” he said to himself. When you shatter a wineglass on a marble floor, there is no restoring it to its former glory. When you crumble a beautiful painting into a ball, there is no bringing it back to its former unblemished state. When you run a magnet along a magnetic tape recording, that which was once a beautiful piece of music is now destroyed and unintelligible.

Opening his laptop, he found thirty-three emails from his former partner, all carrying the same pleading subject line, all of which he dropped into the trash, having zero desire to interact or dialog. He vigorously rubbed his face, readied himself for another day at the office, to only realize that it was Saturday morning, tickling something in him to turn on an episode of SpongeBob, which of course he didn’t, instead opting for a thrilling and poetic serving of Vivaldi, while he drank his coffee and ate his toast.

“Some things cannot be undone or redone,” he thought. “I have a new plan in place, a new business that is robust and successful and I have no intention of trying to reheat a souffle.” The future he could see for himself was a bright one, full of potential and a seemingly endless growth arc. His decades of work were paying off, again, and he embraced all that he had learned thus far, promising himself to only continue growing, expanding his knowledge base and fields of experience, feeling the need to make himself better, bigger, stronger, and more informed. Believing that there was no end to what he could learn and apply to recreate himself as comprehensively as possible.

Without Purpose, Without Meaning

 

Lucas sat on his bed, alone in his bedroom, staring across the street at Michelle’s bedroom window, seeing her outline occasionally move behind her sheer curtains, wondering if she even knew that he existed or even cared. His view from his third-floor window gave him an advantageous perspective upon the city below, with its seemingly random activity, as well as a direct view of her bedroom. Though she was two years older than he and had graduated the previous year, he still had his hopes on winning her attention.

Each day as he saw her return to her parent’s home, after work he assumed, his frustration only continued to grow, wondering about the meaning of it all, if there actually was any meaning, for it seemed that life consisted of being born, growing up, receiving an education, finding a marriage partner, working a relatively pointless job, and then dying to only fade into obscurity, with the majority of people being forgotten within a few years.

He was frequently tempted to skip school one day and follow Michelle to her job, passionate to know as much about her as he could. Though he had plans for college after graduating from high school, he somehow knew that if he left without making contact and hopefully a good impression upon her, he would never see her again, becoming absorbed and distracted by university life and finding a job thereafter.

His momentary lapse into introspection and macrospection led him down a rabbit hole for the next week. Initially playing it safe, he stretched his comfort zone of social interaction, asking a wide variety of people about their views on personal responsibility, their long-term goals, and their aspirations for the following generations. After dipping into the most common social groups, wealthy businessmen, stay at home moms, new college graduates, and small business owners, he pushed himself even harder and possibly dangerously and began interacting with the fringes of society. His next wave of questions and answers came from homeless people, gang members, prostitutes, and a handful of politicians, all of whom, including those from his first cycle of questions, seemed to have the same basic ideas and hopes.

Taking down notes from memory after each interaction, he was surprised to find that everyone, regardless of race, economic status, social perspective, or how others viewed them, all wanted the same thing. “Everyone wants to be loved, to be happy, to have their basic needs met, and to love someone,” he thought, as he spent a late evening comparing notes and writing up a final summary of all that he had learned. Tempted to descend to the family living room and share his findings with his parents, he restrained himself, wanting to spend a good deal of time thinking about it all.

He padded his way down the stairs to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of orange juice before bed, when a thought occurred to him about faith and religion. “I didn’t take that factor into account at all,” he thought, criticizing himself for overlooking such an obvious and important detail. “I guess I’m not done yet. This will add an entirely new layer to human perspective, because religion is one thing that many people are extremely passionate about.”

Finishing his juice, he returned to his room to pull up an anonymous search engine, being in New York he trusted that he would be able to find a wide variety of neighborhoods built around either ethnic or religious commonality. His first search consisted of identifying an exhaustive list of religions, some of whom he had never before heard. He discovered twelve different neighborhoods relatively close to his home that housed twelve different religious groups, while the other six groups would need to be interacted with via email or chat.

Creating a map and a plan for the next three weeks, he knew that simply telling his parents the nature and goal of this project would likely stir up feelings of concern, to be followed by warning about the danger of interacting with strangers in unknown neighborhoods. He stood from his desk, paced his bedroom, all the while keeping his eye on Michelle’s bedroom window but only once catching a shadowy sign of movement. It was when his eyes fell upon his anthropology textbook that the simplest solution came to mind. "I'll explain it as part of my research for a school assignment,” he thought. “There’s no argument against that, for sure.”

He returned to his desk, solidified his approach to visiting the multiple neighborhoods, planning on one visit every other school day, not wanting to impose on the freedom of his weekends. He turned on his favorite streaming service and performed his daily calisthenics to the latest Metallica album. Thirty minutes later, he stripped down to his boxers, collapsed on his chair and gave himself twenty minutes to cool down before taking a shower. After a tepid shower and a shave, he slipped into his pajamas and spent the next fifteen minutes casually chatting with his parents before bed.

The next morning he stayed in bed as long as he dared, waiting for his father to leave for work, to then eat breakfast and explain his latest homework assignment to his mother, knowing that she was relatively easy to emotionally manipulate, where his father would be much more logical and rigid in his opinions, a discussion in which he did not want to engage.

After he stepped off the bus at the end of the day, he sent a brief text to his mother, reminding her that he would be a little later than normal as he needed to visit the Orthodox Jewish community on his way home. Interacting with four different men in that community before darkness fell, he feigned the illusion of spiritual interest, hinting that he had been tormented as of late with questions about God, about the future, and about the possibility of the afterlife.

This became Lucas’ pattern for the next three weeks, transitioning from one neighborhood to the next, giving the same story of spiritual interest, and taking notes from memory after each encounter. In all honesty, it was in the Baptist community, predominantly black, that he found the most joy, the most acceptance, and the most excitement. He had never experienced a group of people so excited about their faith and the beauty and joy of the afterlife as he did among them. His initial conversation was with a middle-aged man at the local barbershop, who then directed him to the local Baptist church where he would find several Grandmothers thrilled at the prospect of sharing their faith with the unusual, little white kid from an entirely different community.

After three weeks, he completed his information gathering exercise, deliberately avoiding the Jehovah’s Witnesses and the Mormons, knowing them well enough to see their lack of reason and lack of willingness to question their own faith. “Anything that new cannot be legitimate,” he thought. “I’m not going to waste my time.”

Lucas returned home from school the next day to hear the doorbell ring, followed by the sounds of a pleasant and polite conversation between his mother and what sounded like two young women. Quietly descending the stairs, he obscured himself around a corner to hear the all too familiar words of Jehovah’s Witness missionaries. He revealed himself from his hiding place, slipped into a position of authority to excuse his mother and ask leading questions of the young women. Content and unsurprised with the cold, impersonal, and analytical answers he received, he showed them the door and asked them to never return.

By the end of the week, he consolidated all of his notes in the shape of a paper, disguised as an assignment, both thrilled and somewhat confused by his findings. With the exception of the Baptist community that had been so kind and accepting, he found that the predominate view among all others was that of making life as comfortable as possible and being nice with a common thread of doing good works to earn their way into eternal bliss. The only exception was that of the Buddhists and the Hindu’s, with their concept of loss of identity to be absorbed into the ultimate reality as a drop of water disappears into the ocean.

He shared his findings with his parents and could see their positive and pleased response at the conclusions that he had drawn. That evening after darkness fell, he threw away all of his social fears and inhibitions to approach Michelle in hopes of gaining a date for the coming weekend. Receiving an open door by Michelle herself, he smiled, introduced himself and asked her to dinner. With a smile, “It’s about time you asked me out,” she replied, “you should have asked me months ago. Yes, I would love to.”

With his heart beating in his ears, they exchanged phone numbers, a brief hug, and he returned home to go to bed early and dream about the coming weekend. “After all of that research, I need to make the most of the few years that I have because who knows how long it will last,” he said to himself.

A Repertoire of Excellence Crippled by a Singular Weakness

 

Born about a year and a half after his sister, Hampton proved himself superior at every opportunity, learning quickly, excelling far beyond his peers, and displaying the remarkable gift of a strong mind and understanding in every field imaginable. In sports he was gifted, in music he excelled, in academics he exemplified a quick and agile mind that revealed no modicum of struggle or confusion. His work ethic put all others to shame, taking the initiative with multiple opportunities to earn an income, even before reaching his teenage years.

A stunningly handsome young man, which proved to be both a gift and a curse. While not one given over to vanity, he knew and understood who he was and what he had, to still struggle with normal social interaction with his peers, especially those in the female category. Like one who desired to look at the back of one’s own head, while impossible to achieve, Hampton could see his weaknesses but only slightly recognize his incredible talents, gifts, and abilities. His social inabilities were a bane to him and a struggle that he could not overcome.

Genuinely loving those who loved him, he still found a thrill in tormenting and teasing those closest to him, stirring up slivers of animosity but also feelings of endearment, as no matter what he said or did, he was loved by all. His life and interaction were a maelstrom of conflicting words and actions, sometimes angry, sometimes kind but always passionate, seeking to find a connection in a world that did not understand him, and one that he in return did not understand.

Not one to accept limitations or failure, he threw himself into art, refining his skills with hours, days, weeks, and months of practice, again proving himself unconquerable at yet another endeavor. Touching into a wide variety of musical influences, he weaved together an approach to creation that melded two seemingly incongruous genres, creating a beautiful new category of music as of yet unheard.

Everyone he knew, everyone who knew of him, and everyone with whom he interacted could see his remarkable and incredible talent, even when he refused to believe in himself as someone special and gifted. Not one to be content with his growing collection of hobbies, interests, and fields of expertise, he next threw himself into mechanics, finding yet another niche to learn, to understand, and to conquer.

Those who knew him well understood that his mind was not one to be distracted or content with maintaining its current level of understanding or activity. Like a rocket on a launching pad but somewhat chained in place, hungry for the next effort, he moved from one field to the next, adding more and more to his never satisfied passion to grow and learn, a mind racing and ever looking for the next topic to understand and conquer.

With a heart of gold and a love for everyone he met, he deeply desired to connect, to grow, to learn, on a path of never ending self improvement. Yet within that remarkable boundary of Hampton in the flesh, struggled an insecure young man who longed to connect and understand himself and others, yet being completely oblivious on how to do so. His frustration continued to build, as he ultimately learned that this field was one in which he could not excel.

Nearly all of his loved one’s could see his phenomenal character, his remarkable abilities, and his passion for  being a good person, willing to give up anything for anyone, yet there were those who were like him who could not see his struggle, and they too, like him, struggled with doing what they could to overcome their own weaknesses, eventually coming to an understanding too late to help him overcome that one thorn that pierced him through.

As the last few years ground by, those who should have been directing and guiding him, were doing so but were leading him down a path that would lead to his final destruction, the loss of a beautiful, loving soul, struggling to find his place, to find joy, to find contentment and acceptance but failing to do so because of inexplicable details that defined him. The decline was a time of agony, of confusion, of struggle, and of frustration, as many terrible choices were made, words of guidance were offered, and those who should have loved and accepted him failed to do so, trying to force a square peg into a round hole.

Like standing on the shoreline and watching a small boat drift away to eventually disappear on the horizon. The body of the boat became smaller and smaller until finally the mast disappeared altogether, leaving a horrible ache, grief, and despair where there should have been assistance, devotion, and intervention. Movement down a particular path had begun and there was no easy return or change possible, leaving all of those who loved him feeling helpless and overcome with grief, betrayed by their own foolishness and lack of foresight.

He was loved, he was helped in the way they thought was the best that they could offer, and everything possible was done to lead him to recovery but unable to see a path forward, decisions were made that could not be undone, destroying all possible opportunities for resolution and healing. Like watching a large boulder roll down a hillside, some could see the inevitable conclusion that was sure to follow, all of them irreparably damaged when the end finally arrived with a phone call.

There was no longer an opportunity to give the one last hug, words of encouragement, or offers of possible change of trajectory. An emptiness filled every soul that knew and loved him, all were overwhelmed with despair and grief, and some were filled with self-hatred and self-loathing, devastated at their own foolishness and inability to see beyond their own struggles to help Hampton through his own.

There would be no more music, no more art, and no more conversations about cars and pets and future possibilities. A gaping wound had been opened up, leaving a hollow space that could never be filled, for there would never be another Hampton, a beautiful young man with so much potential to be, to create, and to overcome, pouring out his love and compassion on everyone he met. It was an inexcusable loss, leaving the world a much worse place with his absence.

A Multiplicity

 

Francesco, Jose, and Honorio stood together, shoulder to shoulder at the floor to ceiling window that looked out upon the city that twitched and pulsed seventy floors below them. “Gentlemen,” Francesco said, “we need to take action for the millions of foolish and petty humans that fill up the city below as they continue to descend into wider and deeper insanity. At this point, I’ve lost track of how many overlords claim to be the sole ruler of the entire city.”

The three men stood in silence for a few moments, continuing their gaze out across a city engulfed in violence, chaos, hatred, and corruption until Honorio lifted the glass of Merlot from Jose' hand, swallowing about half of its contents. He returned the glass, cleared his throat and posed a question upon which all three of them were certainly ruminating. “Even though we all know the answer, do we expect any actual success from the messages you’ve been delivering to that small group of our people on the outer edge of the city?”

“We’ve been at this for a very long time,” Francesco said, “and it seems like no matter how lucid or pointed I am in delivering these messages, they continue to rebel, confuse, and muddle up the meaning. Every time I think I find a good person among them, they do well for a short time, then fall down, which inevitably becomes the pattern that the rest of them follow.”

“That seems to be their nature,” Jose said, “no matter what we communicate, they cannot seem to grasp the entirety or importance of the message. If I can make a suggestion, I would like to go live among them, communicate the message in person, and hopefully turn this seemingly inevitable car crash around. I need to be one of them if this is going to succeed.”

The three men parted ways, walking away from the window and pacing around the massive open space, each deep in thought, working to fabricate a means to bring Jose’ plan to fruition, for they all knew that continuing the delivering of messages through small minded, simplistic and misaligned messengers would only continue to fail.

“This will need to be very carefully planned, constructed, and clearly explained once you actually take your place among them. They need to know that you truly are one of them, not to mention the literal thousands and thousands of other overlords each vying for the position of ultimate leadership,” Honorio said. “Once you clearly communicate the message, you’ll need to find others who will take over for you and continue the work you’ll begin. I can step in and provide guidance over the next many generations after you return.”

Jose snapped his fingers, grabbed a notepad and quickly wrote down his ideas, sharing the plan with Honorio and Francesco, receiving two robust affirmations that would make this radical change of approach a certain success. Within the year, Jose lived among the small minded simpletons that exemplified the majority of these small creatures with so much potential yet with so little motivation or desire to achieve greatness.

Eventually developing a strong following of faithful students, he could see what they could not, recognizing the so-called overlords, their carefully crafted deception, and their aspirations to be the one true leader of all. Like a yawning black abyss, he could see these men drift further and further from reality, like playing hide and seek while wearing a blindfold, they led themselves and those they deceived in the opposite direction of life and freedom.

With every interaction, with every conversation, and with every social setting, Jose carefully documented and memorized the errors made by these false leaders, crafting stories to communicate truth and expose deception, building up and preparing his students to continue his work. After becoming a fully functional adult and accomplishing the communication of his message, he returned to Francesco and Honorio, handing over the responsibility of discreet and articulate direction to Honorio. He and Francesco watched from the massive window as Honorio’s work was a raging success, slowly crushing and overpowering the thousands of false leaders, revealing an ever-growing number of followers who faithfully carried forward the original message until it reached every corner of the city.

While it was certainly not a project that would see rapid completion, he and Francesco knew that eventually the work that Jose started and that Honorio was pressing toward completion would continue to grow and succeed. Surprised but not surprised, all three men watched as other groups tried to continue their attempts at controlling mankind, at being lords over all creation, and, disappointingly, small men with large aspirations broke away from the work that Jose started, taking the same name but manipulating, mutating, and misaligning the original message.

Like the rise and fall of nations, of military strengths, and confused men working to confuse others with their inherently contradictory messages, the twisted and confused small groups would rise, succeed for a time, and then disappear, only to be replaced by others, painfully ignorant of history and reason. Honorio kept his eyes and heart focused on those who remained faithful to the original message and plan, frequently returning to Jose and Francesco, to review the long-term goal.

The following centuries and millennia that followed seemed to the small and simple masses to be simply more of the same mistakes, confusions, and failures. From their high-level perspective, Francesco, Jose, and Honorio could see the big picture, could see the long line of history, and knowing that men such as these would continue to make the same mistakes, often ignoring and malforming the original message but also knowing that those who remained faithful would eventually become the foundation for the coming and certain success.

Delusional men in ridiculous hats rose and fell, to be replaced by other men with the same delusions, all of them hoping for ultimate power, seeking unending life through the manipulation of science and medicine. The three men continued to watch, intervening when necessary, reaching out through the faithful that remained on the fringes of society, to bring the occasional encouraging and instructive message, knowing that so many of these, like children, needed the occasional nudge in the right direction.

Like watching a pot of water on the stove, the appearance of small bubbles appeared first, communicating the idea that something great was beginning, that would eventually lead to overall life, energy, and activity, bringing the entire city into a place of success and domination. “This is a matter of patience, gentlemen,” Francesco said, “despite their shortcomings, their failures, and their foolishness, we know that the original message given by Jose, like yeast will spread through them all, and bring about life and growth.”

When the time finally arrived, Francesco, Jose, and Honorio all descended into a city of beauty, trust, safety, organization, and wonder, to live among the majority that relished their arrival and presence. While the high majority found joy and peace in their company, there were still some who revolted at their mere presence, hiding in caves and in darkness, preferring shadows and distance, for the radiance of Francesco, Jose, and Honorio was overwhelming.

The city had transformed over the millennia into a place of beauty and goodness, with the exception of those who hated everything good, right, and beautiful, bringing their own suffering upon themselves, for failing to embrace the good, preferring instead the ugly, the profane, and the perverse, making their lives a hell of their own creation.

The Story Isn't Mine

 

            The noise from the main floor slowly declined until the house descended into perfect silence, communicating to Roger that his parent’s had gone to bed, most likely setting the alarm that monitored every door and window as well as motion sensors in the living room and family room. Just to be sure, he waited for an extra thirty minutes to ensure that they were both asleep, slipping a refrigerator magnet on the window monitor in his room. Black shoes, black jeans, a black jacket and a black stocking cap rendered him virtually invisible for a discreet trip across town to meet with his best friend, Alexander.

              The two boys, both seventeen but larger than most, met at the corner opposite the one gentlemen’s club in their city. They watched as clientele came and went, waiting for a moment of higher customer volume, hoping to slip in without drawing too much attention to themselves. The deception was successful, and they found themselves surrounded by women, most not much older than them, only inches away from being completely unclothed. Roger could feel his heat thumping in his chest and sounding in his ears, thrilled at this unbelievable opportunity.

              After three hours of free entertainment, and one fairly costly lap dance, he and Alexander exited the building and made plans to repeat this evening exactly one month later. In what became a routine for the two boys, they found themselves becoming hardened and inattentive to their female classmates, making jokes to one another in a comparative manner to the women at the gentlemen’s club.

              After graduating high school, both boys attended the same university and continued their late-night forays into gentlemen’s clubs, but now with multiple choices as the new city surrounding their university was much larger than their hometown. As the years passed by, Roger found himself becoming bored with normal female interaction, as most girls his age seemed overly modest, tame, and mundane compared to what he and Alexander regularly enjoyed, no longer once a month but now, every weekend.

              After graduating from college, Roger slipped into the habit of bringing home the dancers to watch them leave within hours with far too much of his cash in their hands. His new routine became such a commonplace occurrence that he began supplementing his experience with copious amount of cannabis and alcohol, which only further drained his bank account.

              He and Alexander sat together at a local pub, staring at one another across the table, wondering how they managed to reach their fortieth year without finding a spouse, without having children or owning a home. The two men hugged, said goodbye and later that evening just before bed, Roger looked at his haggard, wrinkled, flaccid body in the mirror, wishing he could ignore what had gone so wrong with his life, but knowing full well that every choice he made brought him to this exact, empty, hollow moment.

              In a mirror like moment, he and Alexander found themselves sitting together at the back of the room in their favorite gentleman’s club, coming to the realization that they were each now the stereotypical dirty old man, leering at and groping girls young enough to be their granddaughters. “Another ten years have passed, Roger,” Alexander said, “what are we doing? What have we accomplished?"

              Roger could hear the disappointment and despair in Alexander’s voice, knowing full well that the two of them had completely wasted their lives, finding temporary pleasure and distraction in the unfortunate and desperate situations of others. “We need to get out of here and never come back,” Roger said, “we have become two pathetic, sad, empty old men with nothing to show for our years of work and time.”

              Substituting their routine of meeting once a week at the gentlemen’s club, they transitioned to visiting actual social settings with others their age, which usually consisted of walks in the park, bingo games at the community center, and the occasional visit to the old folks home, which was Roger’s idea based on the hope that they would find other lonely souls with whom to interact and hopefully connect.

              Before dipping into the world of genuine social interaction, they both fabricated stories about their past lives, knowing that revealing a multiple decades long story arc of strippers and prostitutes would not win them any favor, connection, or sympathy from potential friends. For weeks beforehand, Roger and Alexander practiced telling their respective fabricated histories to one another, knowing that telling a convincing story was vital to their future success.

              Casual, friendly connections were made and as Roger approached his seventieth birthday, he returned to a cold, empty house, to find something to eat, take a bath, and get his needed eight hours of sleep. His meal of microwaved black beans on a tortilla settled pleasantly enough on his stomach, and his warm bath brought relaxation to his tired and aching body. He extracted himself from the warm water, dried himself, slipped on his striped pajamas but only traveled partway down the hallway to his bedroom to suddenly drop to his knees with a crippling pain in the center of his chest.

              From his prostrate position, he managed to dial 911, to waken later in the hospital, looking up into the face of Alexander, gripping his hand and mumbling something that he couldn’t quite make out. Asking his friend to repeat himself, Alexander spoke a second time, this time much slower and louder, explaining that he had suffered a small heart attack, but the doctors were certain that he would recover relatively soon.

              The two men sat together, mostly in silence, reminding one another of the brief and casual friendships they had attained while visiting others their age over the past couple of years. A nurse entered the room, asking Roger if he wanted her to contact any family members or loved ones, to which Roger replied that Alexander was his only friend, and he had no family to contact. Watching Alexander shuffle from the room, Roger felt empty, lonely, afraid, and disappointed at how he had spent his last forty-five years since graduating from college.

              At some point in the midst of his emptiness and self-hatred, he slipped off to sleep, to awaken the next morning, finding Alexander sitting at his bedside, holding two disposable cups of white chocolate mocha and a smile. The two old men spent the entire day talking through old memories, the multitude of different girls they had connected with and then lost over the many years. The daylight hours passed, and Roger watched Alexander leave the room, while he ate the last of his less than desirable hospital dinner.

              One day, then two days, then finally more than a week passed, with no more contact from Alexander, leaving Roger feeling even more empty, alone, and disappointed in himself. With the next visit from his nurse, he requested a notebook and a pen, feeling the urge to write down his thoughts, detailing his vacuous, empty life and hoping to find some sort of philosophical answer to who he was and why he was.

              Sixteen pages into his personal ruminations, he closed out his thoughts with a simple phrase, “The story isn’t mine,” to which had added, “I should have created and left behind something of value to pass onto someone I loved, instead of immersing myself in the meaningless, physical contact that gave me nothing of value.”

              He closed his eyes, folded his arms across his chest, and realized that he was no longer alone in his room, having been joined by two very large, handsome, muscular young men, who helped him from his bed, insisting that they were there to take him home to enjoy the relationships that he should have cherished while alive. As the three of them stepped out of his room and into the hallway, Roger found himself strong, robust, and literally tingling with energy standing in a vast, rolling green field, surrounded by the hundreds of faces that he recognized from his sad and sorry life.

              Beautiful woman after beautiful woman approached him, hugged him, reminded him of their names, and thanked him for the brief interaction that they had enjoyed from his company. As he reached the top of a small hill, he sat on a wooden bench to be joined by Alexander, who squeezed his shoulder and shared with him that he had been waiting for him for what seemed like an eternity. The two men finally finding a sliver of joy in their new reality.