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.

Being Made Forever

 

            Artemis was four years old when he noticed something strange about his touch upon any and every life form, if weak, feeble or damaged the creature would revive, returning to its normal, created state of life and vibrancy. If still strong and robust, the creature would become amplified, the best word that he could think of when observing the fruit of his singular touch. He wondered why there was any sickness, suffering or death within the world, as the touch of a human upon life of any kind could restore its vitality.

              From that moment onward, life became a type of challenge, seeing how many lifeforms he could touch, store, revive, and in the cases of death, bring back from inanimation. Uncertain of what his touch would do to healthy, strong, and vibrant humans, he began to wear light cotton gloves, picking up the idea from a television show he saw about jewelers and their handling of precious metals and jewels.

              His touch upon himself seemed to have no impact, which from a logical perspective made perfect sense, as he was the source (he assumed) of this power, as one cannot pour the contents of a jar into itself. When school began, he knew that wearing gloves all of the time would be considered odd and make him the source of verbal and possible physical abuse from his peers. Keeping his hands in his pockets as he traveled the hallways, he kept to himself for the most part, interacting with only a few close friends and refusing to hold hands with the far too many girls that seemed desperate for his attention.

              On the day that he turned eighteen, he made the decision to travel as widely as possible, making the offer to certain people in certain places at certain times, for unending, unchanging life, remaining young and beautiful, knowing that some would accept, and others would not. His teen years were spent observing people, watching their interests, saddened and grieved at the shallowness, hollowness, and ignorance of the majority of the population.

              Having saved every penny from his multiple jobs during the last five years, he bought a plane ticket to Hollywood, with his eye and attention on a small group of people, knowing beforehand what their response would be to his offer. He spent his first six months in the pretend world of media, making connections, becoming known, and gaining trust, to finally make his offer to the biggest upcoming actress, to then hear the words, "Absolutely, yes."

              Within a week of making his offer and staying true to his word, he began receiving huge sums of money from friends of the actress for the opportunity to enjoy what she had been given, not a situation he ever could have imagined, allowing him to provide for all of his needs and the needs of his family back in North Dakota. Artemis understood that the path that so many of the young, beautiful, successful actors had chosen would not end well but he was in no position to cast judgment upon anyone, believing that each person inherently possessed the right to make the choice for themselves.

              With so many connections and now a well-known name, he found himself mingling among the best and brightest in the entertainment industry, sipping champagne and making small talk with people he did not know but seemed to "know" him. The clock approached midnight, and he noticed a young woman across the room, staring at him, wondering why she had never approached him. He made eye contact, approached her, and started a conversation by asking about her, for he knew that everyone loved to talk about themselves. She shared her story of traveling to Hollywood after being a small-town actress in the Pacific Northwest and making only small steps forward in her career. It was a story he had heard more times than he could count, which gave him the opportunity to make his offer, which she immediately and resolutely turned down.

              "That sounds like a really bad idea," she said, "people are not meant to live forever because life has a beginning, a story, and an end, but without the end, people will only continue to grow more and more depraved, lost in their own delusions and selfishness. I look forward to an eternity free of the foolishness that surrounds us all. I look forward to growing old gracefully and honestly."

              "That is by far the best and wisest answer I've heard since I've been in Hollywood," he said, "even though I don't understand the source or purpose of my ability, I'm certain that it is valuable in that it reveals the true nature of most people." He and she exchanged a hug and went their separate ways, he wishing her the best of luck on her acting journey, thrilled at finally meeting someone with common sense and a good grasp on reality.

              He spent the next week thinking through the next steps for himself, wondering if imposing eternal youth and beauty on so many in this land of make believe was an act of love, a curse upon them, or a misuse of a power that he didn't understand. He listed his condominium for sale with a real estate agent, to have it sell with the week, allowing him to hire a moving service and ship all of his belongings back to North Dakota, to fill a beautiful and comfortable home near his friends and family.

              As the years passed, he continued to watch the career trajectories of those he touched in Hollywood, to see most of them drop off of positive public opinion, fall into substance abuse situations, and eventually be forgotten all together. While Haley Marie, the young woman he met at the midnight party became a raging success, aged beautifully, and moved from successful role to successful role. A situation that stirred feelings of joy within him, happy that she chose the path of natural life and honesty.

              After Artemis moved back to his hometown, he began a counseling service with a secret side job of healing the sick, the injured, both human and animal, nearly overcome with joy at each interaction, knowing that his new work was actually introducing value into the lives of so many good and honest people. It was with intense focus on not drawing attention to himself that he was able to help so many, knowing that gaining a reputation of being a miraculous healer would negatively impact the quality of his life.

              Spending his days in his counseling service, he would spend his evening visiting the hospitals, the assisted care facilities, and scenes of accidents, where his touch always performed and brought more people to life and stability than he could count. Though he did keep meticulous track of his work each day in a daily planner, he technically could have counted just how many he actually helped but not knowing the count gave his work a level of excitement.

              As he reached his sixtieth birthday, his friends and family continued to question him as to him why he never married, why he never dated, and what would happen to his incredible wealth and success when he finally passed away, a question that struck him as odd, but was probably not unreasonable. He created a trust fund that would leave his wealth to a handful of philanthropic organizations and close friends.

              On his seventieth birthday, he traveled back to Hollywood and reconnected with Haley Marie, congratulating her on her work and encouraging her that she made the right decision to grow old gracefully and beautifully, wishing that he and she could spend the rest of their final years together.

              On his seventy-first birthday, he received a visitor at home, the now still beautiful and graceful Haley Marie stood at his step, giving him the gift of companionship that he knew was good and right from the first time he met her. Within the week, a small ceremony was had, and Artemis now had the beautiful relationship he so deserved.

First Emptiness then Fulfillment

 

            Joe and Maria sat in the near silence of their living room, with only the sound of the grandfather clock ticking in the background, a family heirloom that had been passed down the matriarchal line for the last seven generations. Joe had turned thirty-nine that previous spring and Maria was only two years behind him, both of them saddened and desperate at their failure to have children. A constant ache in the hearts of them both, struggling for the last eighteen years, and finding no solution in western medicine, natural medicine or TCM.

              The possibility of adoption had been discussed between them, as the dreaded forty-year mark drew close, they knew that this was their last option if children were to be a part of their future. Joe pulled Maria to her feet, seated her at the dining room table, and retrieved the adoption paperwork from the desk in his office, already fully filled out but needing only their signatures. Both disappointed and excited, they signed the documents, scanned them into their computer and sent them by email to the adoption agency.

              By the end of the week, Maria received a phone call while Joe was at work, informing them that their paperwork had been received, had been processed and they would likely have news of a child by month's end. Trembling with excitement, Maria hung up the call, placed a call to Joe and shared the exciting news. Joe arrived home that evening laden with take out sushi as a small celebration of making this first step and the possibility of finding the child they had dreamed of for years.

              They enjoyed their dinner with a glass of Gewurztraminer, while watching the final episode of their favorite show on their streaming service. Eleven o'clock came and went with Joe carrying Maria to bed, having fallen asleep halfway through the episode. He took a quick shower, slipped into bed beside her to immediately receive a pair of very cold feet, to then be awakened two hours later with a phone call from the adoption agency, informing them that a child had just been born and the young mother decided that she could not keep him.

              With a combination of excitement and sickness in their stomachs, they quickly dressed and hurried to the hospital to finalize the paperwork and bring home the healthy child at the end of the following day. Thankful for the weekend, Joe and Maria returned home to rise early the next day for a trip to numerous stores, in order to be fully prepared for the arrival of little Noah. Wincing at the amount of money that they needed to spend, they were thrilled as well that their dream was finally coming true.

              In what seemed like a flash, little Noah was no longer little, and was signed up for kindergarten, fully literate and articulate, to receive a commendation from the school with the strong suggestion that he be moved into first grade immediately, as he seemed bored and distracted with the elementary and basic stimulation typically received by the average five-year-old. As he reached the halfway mark of the first grade, he received another commendation from the school with another strong recommendation to be moved into the second grade.

              This became a regular pattern for Noah as he found himself jumping grades and entering high school at the age of ten. His parents were concerned with the social interaction and the likely difficulties that would follow but his size and his academic prowess allowed him to blend in and make friends, being more of a mentor and student aid than a peer. Graduating at the age of thirteen, he received a full scholarship for the local university, to then continue his faster than usual academic progress. With a particular special interest in chemistry, he received a job offer after earning his Ph.D in organic chemistry at the age of nineteen.

              Following six months of employment, he saved as much money as possible, buying only that which was necessary, making the lives of his parents that much more comfortable, for all the love and grace they poured into him over his years of growth and development. A full year had passed, and Maria began to become concerned as she noticed that Noah appeared overworked and exhausted, staying up too late, being out with co-workers, and looking, overall, spent and distracted.

              Three months of this behavior crept by which finally led to a radical change in Noah's behavior, as he began to speak of the importance of helping those in need, giving up the comforts and distractions that most would consider a normal part of life.

              Later on a beautiful summer day he stood in the lab, struggling over a question regarding oxalic acid, penciling through the structure several times, he felt himself to be at an impasse. Looking across the lab, he saw Daryl leaning over his workspace with his stomach resting on the countertop, looking tired and sweaty. He slipped on his jacket, announced his need to take a short walk, to then depart from the building, heading into the poorest and most dangerous part of town.

              He picked up a peppermint mocha and walked the streets, looking at store fronts, looking at other pedestrians, and looking at the nature of people in general. The steady stream of customers in and out of a dispensary, an adult bookstore, and a liquor mart was only matched by the number of homeless staggering in and out of alleys, always looking for the pleasure and distraction that seemed to control nearly everyone.

              A particular young woman caught his attention as he entered and exited an alley at least five times with a different man each time, for reasons obvious based on her choice and near lack of clothing. Noah returned to his office, closed his door, and placed a call to a former university mate who worked in a lab similar to his own in a city on the other side of the state, hoping for a new perspective on his oxalic acid question.

              As they caught up on one another's lives, a curious idea popped into Noah's head, which he then mentioned to his former classmate. "Hey, Jack, I was downtown a little bit ago and couldn't help but notice that everyone has some sort of vice that dominates their lives and the suffering that naturally follows from it, especially those who sell themselves out to accommodate these passions. I'm thinking I should rent a storefront in that area and open a soup kitchen. If you're interested in doing the same, I'll front the money for you, for this problem is certainly not limited to only my city."

              The two men agreed on pursuing the endeavor and within a month Noah funded and operated a fully functional soup kitchen, helping those who struggled with vices, some repugnant and others socially acceptable. As the year progressed and he witnessed the success of feeding those in lack, he expanded his contact list to include other former classmates scattered across the entire country, starting a chain, as it were, like a free fast-food restaurant, but instead, food that was healthy and actually helped others.

              It was on his 85th birthday that Noah rejoiced at the incredible success his soup kitchen chain enjoyed, seeing over one hundred locations, feeding tens of thousands of people. When each location opened, further connections were made with religious groups, Alcoholics Anonymous, vocational training centers, and counseling services.

              Noah closed his eyes for the last time, leaving the incredible work to his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, knowing that this work would continue on, spreading, he hoped, across the world. While initially funded from his own means, over time Noah received support from other businessmen, politicians, and those in the entertainment industry, to see a radical change take over and transform peoples lives. He breathed his last knowing that he did all that he could with the means he possessed, with the brilliant mind he continually challenged, and having a love for his neighbor, when so many simply despised those who were outside of and, what they believed, beneath them.

And They Were Three

 

            The elderly man stood watching the disconnected chaos taking place far below him, saddened by the path and choices so many were making that would lead to their undeniable and unavoidable permanent state of self-inflicted suffering. "Coercion?" he thought, "No, punishment maybe? No. This needs to conclude based on their own decisions, their own freewill, and the natural results of their own actions and thoughts."

              He paced the narrow, rocky ledge upon which stood, looking upon the intricate interaction of so many thoughts, ideas, suggestions, and actions of these seemingly innumerable people, skittering about like insects. Most of them lived simply to survive, to be distracted, and to live out their lives in the most comfortable manner possible. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and speed dialed "2" to hear his son answer with a friendly 'hello'.

              "Son, I'm overlooking the city of New Amsterdam at the moment, and I probably don't have to tell you just how disappointing the view is from here," he said. "In what really should be a simple process of living and interacting among themselves, most of them somehow seem to just not understand or if they do, they don't seem to care. Please come out and visit me here, I've got something I need to discuss with you."

              The two men stood together, looking upon the city, grieved at the numerous foolish decisions, the constant rebellion, and the hostility of so many. "Here's the plan, son," he said, "I want you to go live among them, become like them in appearance but not in behavior, they need to understand what life can actually be, when not spent on distraction and pleasure. Of course, we'll stay in contact until you grow into maturity."

              His son snapped his fingers, suddenly felt incredibly small, vulnerable, and hungry, to open his eyes staring into the face of three of them. Cold, wet, slimy, and disconnected, he had never felt so alone before, to be quickly wrapped up in a blanket, vigorously rubbed, and explored by two of the female species.

              In what seemed a mere instant, compared to his previous existence with his father, he found himself living in an apartment building, surrounded by a dizzying array of these simple, dirty, and ignorant creatures, all making bizarre, ill informed, and foolish decisions, unknowingly he assumed, leading themselves down a path away from that which was good, right, and beautiful. He left for work on particular morning with plans for a Victorian type of dinner table in mind, sharing the elevator ride with an incredible obese middle-aged man.

              Over the many following months, he watched the man grow larger and larger, always taking the elevator, never the stairs and eventually finding it impossible to pick up anything that he may have dropped, his shoes perpetually untied, based he assumed on the fact that he couldn't reach his feet. Tiring of riding the elevator with Robert, whose name he eventually learned after introducing himself, he decided to take the stairs, where he met David, the exact inverse of Robert. Shockingly thin, perpetually sweaty, and always speed walking or running, he would always say hello when they met on the stairs.

              Even evening after returning home from work, he would watch David run around the block more times that he could count, becoming thinner and thinner as the weeks passed, eventually reducing himself to a strange, waddle type of run that was painful to watch. One winter afternoon, he took the day off from work and sat in the apartment lobby reading a book about self-deception, to see Robert and David exit the building, easily the strangest couple he ever had the opportunity to witness. A regular person would have found humor in the stark contrast, but he only felt pity for them both, as they both suffered from the same problem, a mistaken view of self.

              He finished his book, slipped it into his back pocket and feeling bored with his decision to stay home that day, he then chose to visit the hospital, fighting against a slight breeze, carrying a few flakes of snow for the six blocks to his destination. Shaking himself free of the light dusting of snow, he stomped his feet clean and sat down in the waiting room, watching for someone interesting with whom to interact and hopefully help, if they were open to such a thing.

              After the first hour, he saw nothing but the usual elderly with various aches and pains, young parents with small children needing their vaccines and the occasional medical attention until a young man came in holding an amazingly thick folder. As he was sitting near the front desk, he listened to the young man list off his various maladies, some physical and most, in his opinion, psychologically induced or imaginary illnesses. The man sat down near him and began to discuss his current medical condition, a disease he believed that he had picked up while traveling on the subway.

              Three hours into the conversation, he introduced himself as Julio, and shared each page of his folder, naming off more diseases, infections, and physical trauma than he could keep track off, thus necessitating the need for the folder. He and the young man exchanged phone numbers, promising to stay in touch and help one another in the event of any emergency.

              He had just stepped into his apartment building when his phone began to ring, revealing Julio's name, an event which became a normal exercise nearly every hour for the next month, outside of course of normal sleeping hours. On his way to work on the last day of the week, he sat on the bus thinking about Robert, David, and Julio, marveling at how in these three simple individuals, all of the problems of mankind in general were exhaustively exemplified.

              Over the passage of time, years bleeding into decades, he took a day off of work to attend Robert's funeral, the casket at the front of the church being possibly the largest coffin he had ever seen. While it was an open casket service, he could not motivate himself to walk to the front and gaze upon Robert's bloated corpse, horrified at looking upon the body of a man that died far too early because of his lack of self-control, his love for food, and his hatred of anything that required physical exertion.

              Two years later, he received a phone call from David's sister, inviting him to his funeral, explaining that David had frequently spoke quite highly of him and wanted him to be there. Taking another day off of work, he sat near the front of the church and forced himself to approach the open casket, gazing upon what seemed to be bones with a thin layer of skin over them. Saddened by David's similar yet inverse approach to life as Robert's, he wondered how two grown, intelligent men could fall into such convoluted self-deception and self-hatred.

              As he walked home that afternoon, he placed a call to Julio, determined to not lose another friend when the right words, the right motivation, and loving interaction could turn him around from his path of psychologically induced sickness. Pouring all of his thoughts, money, and effort into helping Julio, over the next year, he began to see a slow change in his thoughts, his speech, and his behavior. The change in Julio was a remarkable cycle to observe, seeing him become balanced and healthy in his approach to life, focusing on helping others rather than inventing diseases and self-diagnosing.

              Over the next decade, he watched Julio put his many years of medical experience and knowledge into practice, becoming a general practitioner, with a bed side manner that was remarkable, beautiful, and sympathetic, using everything he had learned from his years of study, and the influence of his friend's motivating words.

              The son returned home to his father and began to explain all that had happened, to be stopped midway through his planned out monolog, being reminded that the three relationships he had developed had been observed from the beginning, and receiving a hearty congratulations for positively impacting Julio's life, so that Julio could make a difference in the lives of so many others, a pattern that would continue for the next many generations.

              Father and son sat together for the next several millennia, seeing the beauty in what he had begun with Julio, the generation that he influenced as well, turning into a multi-branching tree that impacted the lives of tens of thousands of people.