Against a Wall of Sleep

 

            Raphael woke to the sound of what seemed a dozen birds outside of his window, regretting the fact that morning had arrived hours before his preferred time. He leaned up on one elbow and looked at the calendar across the room to confirm his nagging suspicion that it was mid-week and he had three more days of school before the weekend. Ravenously hungry, he took a quick shower, hurried down the stairs, and poured himself a massive bowl of Captain Crunch with only ten minutes to eat, brush his teeth and get to the bus stop.

              The meal went down quickly, he hurriedly brushed his teeth, hugged his mother goodbye, and followed the Johnson girl to the bus stop, her skirt so short he could occasionally catch glimpses of her underwear, something about which he had never before thought. True, she was three grades older than he, but he couldn't resist the temptation to watch her hips shift from side to side, feeling himself grow warmer with each minute.

              He maintained his position behind her as they waited for the bus, taking a seat directly across from her to not miss this unusual opportunity to see her legs basically uncovered by her skirt, a view he had never before considered but something had apparently changed over night in his mind and passions. Walking behind her as they departed the bus, he parted ways as she ascended the stairs to the upper classmen hallway and he to the right to his own locker.

              The last period of the day arrived, and he quickly changed into his shorts and t-shirt for gym class, to engage in a rousing round of dodgeball. Normally quick on his feet, he tended to dominate the field but today was different as he couldn't drive the images of the Johnson girl from his mind, distracting him and tormenting him when nothing else seeming important at that moment. Like an explosion going off in his head, his vision filled with white stars, followed by the uproarious laughter of his three best friends, watching him drop to the ground.

              He struggled to his feet and sat on the sidelines to watch the rest of the game unfold without him. His vision was doubled for a few moments, and he closed his eyes with the hope that it would clear up sooner than later. After a few minutes in darkness and rest, he opened his eyes, relieved that his vision had cleared but everyone in the game seemed to have taken on a blank, expressionless, emotionless demeanor. While the game continued, there was no joy, no excitement, and no emotional responses to wins and losses.

              Like every other boy in his class, he remained in his gym clothes, gathered his things, and hurried to the bus, to find the same strange emotionless air, identical to the game earlier. He remained close to the front as the idea of mixing in with such bizarre behavior made his skin crawl. Counting each stop as he drew closer to home, he couldn't get off the bus fast enough to turn and watch his classmates, normally talkative and friendly, stare blankly into nothingness as he simply saw everything.

              A feeling of emptiness and solitude continued to build within him as walked back to his house, wondering about what had happened. Was the blow to his head the cause of his new awareness on his part and the strange, disconnected behavior from his classmates? Life suddenly seemed like the high view from an airplane, looking down upon the mindless masses who simply followed the rules and protocol, failing to question why.

              He greeted his mother as he entered the house, relieved to see that everything at home seemed perfectly normal. After enjoying a couple of homemade cookies and short talk, he went to his room and lay down on his bed to make sense of the day. The slight headache from the dodgeball had cleared up, making him think that the blow had triggered some sort of change in his mental wiring.

              After dinner, he explained to his parents that he had been struck in the head by a dodge ball and needed to lie down early, as he wasn't quite feeling right. He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if the blow to the head had rattled his brain and was making him hallucinate. He stood in the shower that evening, running the water more cool than warm, listening to nothingness and wondering if his life had taken a radical and inexplicable change, elevating him above everyone else, giving him an insight into a new reality. It was another normal evening at home until ten o'clock clicked by like a reminder to go to bed, to only wake the next morning with a feeling of dread and concern.

              He woke to his alarm, ate a leisurely breakfast, and arrived at the bus stop long before the Johnson girl, keeping his attention elsewhere. He sat near the front of the bus, experiencing the same view as the day before but the bus was eerily quiet, as if everyone had been put on mute. He made a mental note to observe other vehicles on the road, to see only more of the same.

              He turned around to look, confused by the lack of activity, the lack of sound, and the lack of any conversation. The view that filled his vision was a strange one, as everyone sat motionless, blank, and emotionless, their eyes open but practically asleep and thoughtless. As he sat down in first period, his classmates remained the same zombie-like dullards, his teacher delivering a flat, monotone lecture about the storming of Normandy Beach, which should have been thrilling and motivating, but was simply dry.

              As the school day progressed, Raphael found himself staring at the floor in order to avoid seeing or making eye contact with his mindless classmates, as their presence and gaze was only empty and depressing, something he knew he needed to avoid. This vision created an ache in him, something for which he had no answer or response, other than disdain and revulsion. There was no pill that could remove this, and he began to fear for his own sanity. His mind went back to his previous thoughts about being elevated above everyone, as if on an airplane watching a mindless herd. But he came to realize that it was more like being on a mountain top, as his awareness, his understanding, and his superiority became even more pronounced than before.

              Every detail, every moment, every observation only continued to refine, clarify, and enhance his mental activity, and he ached to think that the rest of his life would be a continual ascension above and beyond everyone. He continually reminded himself that his own family seemed to be oblivious to the changes that he had begun to realize. Interaction with his father, his mother, and even his little sister was an anchor to keep him grounded in some respect.

              "If the change is only with me," he thought, "I wonder what everyone else is seeing or not seeing, especially in regard to me? Have I embraced something that no one else can even begin to imagine?" Like a whirlwind, everything entered his mind and heart, making sense, connecting, and revealing conclusions to make sense of life. As time continued to pass, he lost all interest in even trying to interact with anyone, except his family, as it felt like discussing calculus with a farm animal.

              As weeks and months passed, the sight of friends, and fellow students became so normal that he trained himself to ignore the emptiness and create situations where he could do good and help others. This became his new normal as everyone else seemed to be sleeping and completely unaware of this reality, mindlessly walking through life as if immersed in darkness and ignorance, which, he realized, they were.

              He was torn in his overall response to the new world in which he lived. Something happened to him that one night, to wake up to a new type of awareness of the pretty Johnson girl and the dodge ball blow to the head. Without one, the other would not have happened, and he wouldn't be on the trajectory of doing good and helping. He hated the emptiness and solitude that surrounded them all, but he loved the idea of doing good and right.

              On the last day of school, he wondered how the summer would flow, would progress, and how limited his ability would be in helping others drive away the undeniable contrast between he and they. "It's like they are all walking through life with blindfolds, or sleeping on an airplane, too high to see the details of their existence, or merely distracted by those things they choose to entertain themselves, living as if nothing else mattered."

              School became easy, graduation was quick and early, leaving him relieved that the mind-numbing lack of interaction would pass as well. It was when he finally wrote it all down that he realized that his existence was one of solitude, lack of interaction with anyone capable of conversation that he would find enriching and challenging. He was alone, empty, and lacking anything that would challenge him to keep his mind active.

              He then devoted himself to finding solutions to problems that plagued the world, even if no one else could understand what he was doing.

First Memory

 

            Agabus Billingston paced the hallway between the waiting room and the delivery room, chomping on a cheap cigar and reeking of motor oil, stressed but also thrilled at the birth of his first child. He could hear his wife struggling through the contractions and felt helpless, wishing he could be with her, wanting to be the first one to see the child on his arrival. Agabus always hated his name, which was his grandmother's idea, being a deeply religious woman, so he was always known as 'Aggie' and certainly didn't follow his grandmother's religious aspirations.

              Cars and motorcycles were his passion, taking on his first job at the age of 14 at the local gas station, sweeping, organizing, and smiling at customers, he slowly worked his way upward in responsibility, eventually becoming a mechanic. While not the most intelligent person by a long shot, he could diagnose and repair anything with an engine, car, truck, boat, motorcycle, diesel, or two stroke, all of these were putty in his hands. He had visions of raising up his son to follow in his footsteps, to take over when Aggie grew too old to continue.

              Finishing his cigar, he snuffed it out, leaving the butt in the ashtray at the end of the hallway between the snack dispensers and wishing he had another, but his thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of an elderly nurse frantically motioning for him to follow her into the delivery room. He popped a piece of gum into his mouth to try to mask the smell of cheap tobacco and entered the room to see his wife smiling and exhausted, holding the small bundle that would someday grow up to become a mechanic.

              Leaning down, he kissed his wife and immediately noticed her revulsion at his smell, prompting him to apologize and retrieve the child from her hands. He sat down and partially unwrapped the bright red bundle with a massive head of hair and a squashed face. Despite the slimy and mushy look of the child, his eyes were wide, staring into Aggies soul, he felt. Rewrapping the child, he returned him to his wife to learn that she had named him Melvin, which left him somewhat ponderous, as he thought they had agreed on Jonathan, after his father.

              Agabus took a week off of work and carefully followed his wife's instructions as she recovered in bed. He washed dishes, changed diapers, warmed up food brought to them by their neighbors, and kept an eye on little Melvin who continued to stare into his soul, making him uncomfortable each time they made eye contact. On the evening of day six, he allowed his wife to ease back into her normal routine and he was itching to get back into the garage, to normalcy, he thought.

              Week after week passed, and little Melvin still retained his soul searching stare and grew larger by the day, which was a thrilling fact for Aggie, trusting that his son would grow up to be a man of substance and not weak. At twelve months, Melvin was walking and by year two, he began to speak, constantly drilling Aggie with questions about what he did each day, why he did it, and where he went. Initially, Aggie spoke simply and briefly to the boy, but Melvin seemed to grow impatient with the dumbed down answers and began expounding on his questions, demanding more and more detail from his father.

              Aggie marveled at how quickly time had passed and felt that Melvin had surpassed him in his reading ability, his thought processes, and his understanding of the chemistry and mechanics of the gasoline engine, which, to Aggies somewhat aggravation, was confusing and unnatural. The day finally came when Melvin reached school age and began attending the local elementary school, which suddenly turned into an exercise in frustration as the boy knew all the answers, asked far too many questions, and moved from one grade to the next, always surpassing his classmates and what was expected of him.

              At eleven years old, Melvin entered high school to continue his academic rigor, always seeking to expand his never-ending thirst for understanding, and befriended everyone, including those who thought him odd, which he was. Never one to utter an unkind word but always one to help out those who were weak and simple. His size was a great advantage, as he, even though younger than everyone else, never had to face any kind of physical bullying instead intervening for those who could not defend themselves.

              Much to Aggies disappointment, he showed no interest in working on engines or playing sports, preferring instead to spend time learning some new, obscure topic or with his friends at school, the kids that were neglected, abused, ignored, and taken advantage of, which Melvin always put a stop to whenever he could. One evening about half-way through his first year of high school, the family sat around the dinner table and Melvin began speaking about his memories for when he was very young, reciting the mechanical instruction his father had imbued on him at the age of two. "I remember it all," he said, "I even remember father coming into the room where I was born. I remember the look of shock and amusement on his face when he unwrapped me the first time. Even then he smelled like cheap tobacco."

              The table fell silent with only the sound of chewing and swallowing to answer Melvin's comments. He quickly stood and placed his dishes in the sink, to begin cleaning the kitchen, and packaging up food left over from dinner. "I have to admit that school really is quite boring," he said. "The academic work is not even remotely challenging, but I do find great joy in helping some of the other students who struggle with it and watching over the kids that the bullies pick on. I don't know why some people are so mean. I do my best to make sure it doesn't happen."

              The following day at school, Melvin sat with his simpler and smaller friends in the far corner of the cafeteria with his back to the rest of the students. From the corner of his eye, he saw hand reach into his friend's lunch tray in an attempt to seize a cookie, which motivated him to quickly drive his fork into the back of the thieving hand. The prompt action was immediately followed by a string of profanity, dropping the cookie, and a sudden seizure of Melvin's shoulder. He stood up, removed the boy's hand, and twisted it behind his back, forcing him to the floor.

              It was at that moment that he realized he made a definitive statement about what was expected and not allowed from anyone who tried to intervene with he and his friends.  The boy staggered off to rejoin his friends at a distant table, holding his hand and looking embarrassed. Melvin then moved to the opposite side of the table, giving him the ability to foresee anyone approaching. He could see the look of excitement and amazement in his friends' faces, reading the nearly overwhelming desire to cheer but they all refrained, thanking him instead under their breath.

              His first years of high school finished, then his second, and finally his third, eventually earning him the nickname Saint Melvin and a reputation around town as being that really good Billingston kid. During his final year of school, he took on a mentor named Ephrem to continue his protective work after he graduated, a large child in whom Melvin could see goodness, kindness, and sympathy, clearly communicating the transfer of power that would take place once he left and the expectation of respect.

              His ability to see into the souls of everyone he met continued, an ability he could not explain or articulate, but a skill that gave him the upper hand in his interactions, drawing out the good and overcoming the evil, which he saw in everyone. With his encyclopedic mind and heart full of compassion, everyone expected him to continue on to university, but Melvin had no such desire. He instead took on the responsibility of janitor at the high school, earning enough to provide for himself and help others, living at home until he saved up enough money to rent his own apartment.

              As Ephrem entered his senior year, he too earned the nickname Saint Ephrem and Melvin encouraged him to find a mentor and continue the work that he had started and Ephrem had continued. "It was too valuable," he said, "to allow to disappear. There are too many people who need help and protection. It is our responsibility to make this happen." Within a week, Melvin was thrilled to see Ephrem take a student by the name of Abo under his wing and train him for the next several months.

              The idea of knowledge, wisdom, and being good weighed heavily upon Melvin and he decided to begin his own academic work each night after work and especially during the summers when he was not so busy at school. He began reading everything of value he could find at the library, he began writing papers and eventually books, trusting that his words would motivate others to imitate what he had begun.

              Over the next decade, people by the dozens were coming to him for advice, for direction, and for help with a variety of problems, all of which he was thrilled to provide. The apartment building in which he lived soon became like a shelter, with more and more people moving in simply to be near to Melvin and help him continue his work, both at the school and through his writings, which ultimately became insanely popular as a podcast, answering questions and providing direction.

              Aggie watched from a distance, amazed at what his son had become, something that he never could have imagined possible coming from someone like himself. But he was proud of his boy and supported him however he could.

Love But Don't Like, Despise But Don't Hate

 

            The day had been blisteringly hot and Dionysi sat on his front porch enjoying the light breeze that had just made an appearance. Wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and a tank top, a steady stream of hard lemonade replaced what the extreme sweating took from him, keeping him comfortable with a low level buzz and the consistent taste of sour and sweet perfectly combined. Every fan spun inside his home, moving the air as much as possible, to create an illusion of cool, pleasant but not as good as a true breeze in the outside.

              Somewhat in the shadows, he watched as young men, old folks, and little kids roamed the neighborhood, no one aware that he curiously watched them doing, what he perceived as nothing of value or interest. He was both humored and sickened by the lack of social interaction among so many people all staring at the tiny screens in their hands, feeding their imaginations, distracting them from reality, and slowly shriveling their souls from the inanity of it all.

              With the setting sun, the temperature slowly descended enough to motivate Dionysi to leave his porch and people watch as he strolled through the streets, still unnoticed by his neighbors, all of them distracted by social media. Those who stayed inside their homes were no better off than those who wandered aimlessly across the sidewalks and streets, but instead spent their hours staring at much larger screens, each movie, each television show telling the same ridiculous story, the lack of creativity painfully evident.

              Watching all of this and regretting the immersion to which he submitted himself, he eventually returned home and found a good book to read, returning to his front porch and losing himself in a genuinely good, wholesome, and entertaining story that actually spoke truth. After nearly an hour of reading, he realized an eerie silence, motivating him to look up to realize that a large group of people stood on the sidewalk looking at him, drawn from their screens by which he assumed was confusion with his activity.

              "What are you doing?" a little boy called out from the midst of the group.

              "I'm reading a book," he answered.

              "Is there something wrong with your phone and TV," the boy asked.

              "No, a book is much better that simple images dumped into my head from a screen," he answered. The entire group looked collectively confused by his explanation and simply stared at him in silence, eventually wandering off as he no longer was of interest to them.

              Every night for the following week played out exactly the same and Dionysi fought the urge to spend his time watching the emptiness and foolishness of them all, wondering how a mature, adult mind could be so vacuous and distracted as to require nothing more than beautiful faces, simplistic storylines of either romance or action. Each night became a time of more time in the shadows of his porch, reading, occasionally watching, and listening to the traffic, arguments, and the complaints of everyone who passed by.

              When Friday night arrived, he knew that the following day would be one of relaxation and staying home, with no need to leave for work, giving him the opportunity to stay up until every house grew silent, every sidewalk grew empty, and the streets no longer carried traffic from house to store to club to house. He read until his eyes were tired and eventually snuck off his porch to make take mental notes of how long this empty distraction would continue and, as he suspected was the case, the flickering lights of screens, both large and small continued until each hollow soul retired to sleep.

              Knowing that he could do nothing to help his neighbors become better people, he tried to live by example and do better, do more, be kind and sympathetic, and offer help whenever he could. But knowing as well that the small, shriveled, empty souls of everyone he knew did not know anything of value or the potential for growth. "Like a mental diet of gas station deli and soda," he thought, "or like a sewer pipe flowing from each screen and into each mind that simply gave in and embraced the emptiness."

              It was at this point that he began to wonder at the wisdom or value of remaining in this place when nothing he said or did seemed to have any positive impact. When the moon moved beyond its zenith and the neighborhood was silent, he returned home, took a shower, and crawled into bed, thankful for the peace and coolness of his own home, free of flickering screens and argumentation.

              He woke to the sounds of heavy traffic, yelling, and too much heat, to find that ten o'clock had arrived without asking his permission. He consumed a bowl of oatmeal and sat, once again on his front porch, to watch the same empty minded people wander around staring at their screens, distracted only when choosing to verbally assault a fellow neighbor. Feeling a weight of ache, of sorrow, and of despair, he walked back inside and made a sudden decision to drag all of his belongings onto the front lawn, forming an impromptu garage sale of sorts.

              Within six hours, everything that he owned with the exception of some of clothing had been sold, leaving Dionysi with two pockets full of cash and an urge to flee from the empty foolishness of what would become his former life. He walked back into an empty house to see nothing but a suitcase of clothes and a set of car keys. He closed all of the windows, locked all of the doors, dropped his suitcase into the backseat and drove away from it all, heading toward the distant hills, presumably cooler than the ridiculous heat of the valley he had inhabited for the last forty years.

              In his rearview mirror he watched the town grow smaller and the hills ahead of him grow larger, becoming more and more isolated, physically so but not socially so, as his former life was one of solitude, having no valuable social interaction with anyone in close proximity to him. He fabricated about a dozen different metaphors for the state of that former reality, like fast food invading a body, like radiation from a nuclear blast tearing apart the DNA structure, like bacteria or a virus infecting a body, like ice upon a body part slowly numbing it into a complete lack of feeling. All of these were perfect images for what his neighbors had been doing to themselves for their entire lives, thoughtlessly imposing a slow decline into pointless existence and emptiness.

              He drove until he reached the top of the highest hill and searched through all of the side roads and hidden nooks until he found an abandoned building with a decent roof, that clearly had not been inhabited for many years, making him wonder what would cause someone to leave such a peaceful and beautiful scene. He walked through the house and found it fully furnished, clean, and dry, to then stop at the front facing window which gave him a perfect bird's eye view of the city far below.

              From his new vantage point, he could still see the busy streets, the constantly occupied sidewalks, and the aimless wandering of so many people but a view that was silent and safe, giving him the beauty of seeing those he loved but did not like, in a place he despised but did not hate. He slowly walked through the entire home and was thrilled to find that the landline telephone still had a signal, allowing him to transfer his power and water accounts from his former home to this new one. This radical departure gave him a new life of silence, peace, and solitude like nothing he never before had experienced.

              The silence at bedtime was such a different experience that he worked through the idea of silence until it too became normal, like the noise and chaos of the city below had been normal. Coming to fully enjoy his solitude, he would spend his weekends working the outside into something beautiful and organized, and his evenings either on the porch or at the upstairs window, looking down upon those he loved but didn't like in a city he despised but didn't hate.

              Though not liking the long drive into work, he found that the trade off of peace and solitude with the long drive was well worth it. He eventually began raising chickens, ducks, a goat, and a vegetable garden, keeping himself busy and productive, while still interacting with his co-workers during his work hours, without sharing the details of his recent relocation.

              With the lack of city lights, his view of the stars was immaculate and unbelievably beautiful, a vision he had heard about but had never experienced, using this time in darkness to relish such a beautiful scene, rather than being sickened by the vanity of city that once surrounded him.

He Who Runs

 

            It was not a question of abuse, it was not a question of neglect, and it was not about oppression. The issue in his mind was that of control or lack thereof. Arbitrary, random, foundationless, and tyrannical were the words that frequently came to his mind, and he found a sliver of escape, a tiny bit of control in his secret rebellion that would occasionally come to light, bringing with it unpleasant consequences.

              He would sit in his room and allow his mind to wander, wondering what freedom actually felt and looked like, of having the option to think and act for himself, moving in the direction and at the speed he wanted to go. Beings that he was only twelve years old and had never experienced the joy of decision making, his thoughts ran from one extreme to the next, not knowing what was realistic, what was fantasy, and what was possible.

              It was a deep-down revulsion that he felt, that filled his stomach and soul, that drove him to look elsewhere for fulfillment and happiness, ultimately distracting himself with whatever was contrary to the world in which he grew up. Little Davey could only look forward to a life of his own when he had no one to whom to answer, no one to whom to rely, but himself, finding the idea of self-created happiness absolutely thrilling.

              In what finally became the ultimate metaphor of his life, he started running both physically, emotionally, and mentally to get away from that which oppressed and controlled him. The ever elusive high from exercise always seemed just barely at his fingertips, teasing him to try for more, to reach further, and push harder and to be completely independent, to create his own reality.

              His lack of discretion and failure to cover his tracks resulted in the exposure of a theft motivated by the need for rebellion and a full week of manual labor for his, as his parent's labeled it, foolishness. He emptied the back porch, swept it, washed it down, puttied the holes, and spent far too many hours painting a room that, in his opinion, really did not need painting.  But paint he did, breathing in fumes that choked his throat and made him see crooked, vowing to exercise greater self-control and more thoughtful activity to achieve his goal of someday reforming his life.

              Thrilled at the arrival of his high school graduation, he deliberately chose a university far from home in order to enjoy the freedom that comes with adulthood, or so he thought. Landing at a religious university, he plowed forward with more of the same imposed regulations, pouring his energy and passion into education in order to procure that high paying job to give him the freedom he could almost taste. It was a Friday night, his homework was done, his roommate was absent, and he knew that plenty of his classmates were out partying, somehow managing to hide their indiscretion but here he sat, alone, listening to the same kind of music from which he was forbidden to enjoy as a child.

              Four years later he walked across the stage for his diploma and his last step off the campus felt like a leap from an airplane into a vast unknown reality of his own making. Having managed to save up enough money from his menial labor tasks throughout college, he found a small apartment and an entry level job as a data entry clerk, living from paycheck to paycheck, feeling bored and frustrated with the lack of progress his university had provided him, he decided to take it a step further and earn his Masters degree.

              The thought of going through the cycle of study, of classes, and of menial labor while studying was less than appealing but he kept his mind on what would be earned and enjoyed moving up to this next level. Pouring himself into his studies, the three-year course turned into two and a half years, leading to new employment that paid literally double his previous data entry position, allowing for a nicer apartment, a new computer, and an abundance of exercise equipment. The seemingly elusive exercise high was now firmly in his grasp, boosting his confidence, his motivation, and his short-term happiness, with a fat paycheck every two weeks and an unending supply of distraction to feed his never-ending thirst for personal responsibility and freedom.

              It was a glorious stretch of time until the girl showed up, catching his attention with smooth and beautiful words of an even better future, not of singular distraction but of personal interaction and comprehensive progress in all areas of his life. Like a fish chasing a glittery bauble, he bit and took the plunge, following her to the courthouse to sign the paperwork and make the two of them one, introducing a shift in his attention and perspective that he did not see coming.

              The glorious and beautiful path toward a wonderful future only lasted so long and he began to think that happiness would not be found in others but in money, in freedom, and in self-direction, to finally sever that which had been joined, to only then restart his journey of solitude into what seemed dark and uncertain but still appealing as it was truly freedom.

              It was then that he poured himself into running, into diet, and into overall and absolute self-directed reality, which brought about a new level of happiness that somehow always seemed decline the harder he pushed and the more he sought. The proverbial image of the donkey chasing a carrot dangled from a stick in front of it, Davey was feeling very much deceived and as he came to realize, self-deceived. The more time progressed, the more he realized that boundaries, rules, and structure truly did have value.

              After a twenty-two mile run, in the dark and alone, he sat down at his dining table and penciled out a definitive plan for himself over the next five years, a vision he considered wise, well thought out, and articulate. Diving full force into his new plan, he could feel the darkness and the emptiness closing in around him, as the plan was very specific, it was also without foundation and without any actual authority, leaving him feeling somewhat dishonest and hollow, knowing that he could choose any path he wanted but without some shape or form of authority motivating him, it was all just about him.

              Two a.m. rolled around and he finally crawled into bed to rise only five hours later to stare at a screen with too many numbers and too much responsibility. Distracted by the coming end of the day, he repeatedly thought about his next run, this one a bit longer than the last, just touching the marathon level. The clock reached five and he quickly changed, mapped out his path, and started running, bundled in enough layers to keep him warm as the winter cold was approaching, his path was somewhat dark, but he hugged the white line and reached his halfway mark.

              He stood in the absolute darkness, surrounded by nothing but empty fields and an empty road, feeling empty and pointless himself as he knew that his path was rather pointless and completely self-serving, having no real ultimate goal or long-term help to anyone besides himself. He knelt on the side of the road, pressed his forehead to the blacktop and wondered if there was another way, something better, wiser, and actually true. Breathing deeply, he rose again to his feet turned around in the absolute darkness and fixed his eyes on a singular point of light in the far distance, feeling like he now had something outside of himself upon which to focus.