Archive for the ‘A Collection of Short Stories’ Category
The Wounded Shall Advance Into Light…
Where to begin…
The future sounds right.
I lived with a dream my entire life. No. I was living a dream my entire life. We were together, as fate had preordained from the first moment this universe came into existence. I was the youngest boy when I met you, and it had taken me a lifetime to find you…to place you where you so inextricably belonged. But I did it. We did it. Yes, baby, we finally did it.
And the future was so bright. The world paled in the radiance of our glow. For all purposes we were the world…you had always been my world. We married. You looked amazing in your dress–your blue eyes piercing through me during your descent into matrimony at your father’s side. And there were children, blessed with the names we had chosen so long ago. A future so warm that heaven seemingly had found earth, and we were to share it with the few and fortunate.
This amorphous future, with no concern for where and when–only you and I, was all I lived for. I lived for this dream of us.
This dream was so deeply rooted in our past.
The past.
The passed.
We have passed.
Humbly. And with little fight.
The curtain has been called on that once bright future.
And I am left without a dream.
I feel alone, alone in the world I once knew led to you. I feel naked, stripped of the warmth of our possibilities, of our never ending possibilities… Alone and naked. I fear I will freeze in this cold universe, without a soul to whisper my last words.
And at my last moment should I be blessed with an ear to listen I will assuredly say…
…
Nothing. Because we live for dreams.
Of Heroes and Martyrs
I stand upon the stage. The red-crushed velvet curtain walls me in towards the crowd. The crowd. For I see no one, nothing but darkness beyond the amber light which illuminates me for the world to see. I shuffle papers…papers I’ve never read, but I hold them all the tighter. Walking up to the lone microphone, I clear my throat and begin…
“My name is Elliott James Griffin. And this is how I die.”
…
We’re driving. My god what a beautiful day. Windows-down doesn’t even begin to describe it. Crisp, warm air flows between us while the sun shines its wondrous rays upon the Earth, warming that in which temperature has no domain. You look so beautiful. Hair wisping across your face, picking pieces out of your laughing mouth. We were born for this.
We’re talking but I do not hear the words. I suppose I wasn’t meant to–I didn’t need to. My hand in yours; my hand upon yours. I glance over to catch your presence, which you so magnanimously have given me, and I am stricken with fear. In the corner of my eye I see a large truck collide with an oncoming car.
I slam on my brakes, but we speed towards chaos. The trucks cargo, hundreds of large metal pipes, begin peppering the ground. And we are headed right for them.
I do not think. I cannot think. I grab your head and force you to duck…and everything turns black.
But the world is not gone. Slowly it fades into view–very slowly indeed. We are stopped. Glass is everywhere. Your gorgeous face is cut. But you are ok…
Thank god you are ok.
But my comfort soon turns to fear, as you stare at me–shocked and horrified. You begin to tremble and pull away from my hand. I lean to grab you, to console you, and make you feel the thankfulness I feel. But I do not move. I simply cannot move. Looking down I see two pipes buried deep inside my chest. My clothes are soaked so deeply they appear purple.
Grabbing one of them with my two hands, I utter the first audible words of our journey…”This cannot be fixed.” You’re still trembling and sobbing…you crawl across your seat and place your hands upon mine, just like we were, and slowly peel them back. You hold my hand in yours and bury your face into them, and your sobbing turns to hysteria.
I take a deep breath and in the distance see the flashing lights of salvation, but nothing can save me on this day. So I turn to you…
Your name is Hero, the heroine of my life. The one who has saved me from hurt, from pain, from fearing that nothing in this world will ever understand me. Yes, I turn to you.
I ask for you to look at me and your cries reach out the further. I whisper it again, but indeed I am truly begging. For this is my last moment, and I want it to be within your eyes…
You look up and those amazing pools of blue, flooded with tears, have never looked more breathtaking. I take her hand and place it over my heart…and I tell my one and only heroine…
“Do you feel that? Do you feel this beating..? For as long as I can remember, this has existed for you. I have existed for you. I never told you how much you meant to me. Words could never express what I possess for you. Words can never express what I hold for you. I am going to die. But I am glad I could be with you, here, at the end of all things…Never forget the way this feels, never forget how much this heart held for you. It will stop soon, it will stop forever…but I will never stop loving you. In this world and the next. I was born for you. I was always born…for…you…”
And the beating stops. Not with a thud, but with a decrescendo…the evaporation of my life. The last thing I see is the wrinkles of her sweet hand–the ear piece which finally gave her the message I could never.
And everything fades to white…
No, everything faded to light…
And I was dead.
Somewhere In The Between
I wake up. Or maybe I was never asleep. I’m naked, covered only by crummy sheets and the darkness of my room. Watching the fan spin, seemingly without purpose, I am saturated in sweat. Maybe it was the X, or maybe the three hour fuck…
I look to the girl on my left…rolled in to the most innocent of human balls. She’s been here forever; she’s been in my life forever. A punk rock girl with big ideas and no motivation…the perfect match for a punk rock boy with no purpose. I slide out of bed and she sleepily looks up to me, pulling her blonde and blue hair back from her face. I hate her hair. I hate so much about her, but she’s been here for so long…
Pulling a pant of stained jeans on, I tell her to go back to bed. I think I’ve worn this pair for the last three days. Days. I have no concept of time; my entire life is a vortex of hard drugs and harder sex. I am the American Dream. I pull on a shirt and throw on my jacket. Popping the collar, I sort through the items on my dresser. Piece. Keys. Cigarettes. Assorted pills. Condoms.
I take only my cigarettes.
Hitting the tenement hallway, I light up…striking a match along its hard plaster wall. I do not know where I’m going, but anywhere but here sounds good. As far away from my dank existence and the girl who loves someone with so little to offer. I walk down the stairs–the elevators never work here. Nothing works here. I pass addicts and derelicts. People cut from the same dirty cloth as me. I blow my smoke in the still air and it hangs like the Fifth of November. I poke at its amorphous haze, punching holes through it like the moon blocking the sun. It is so stuffy…it is so hot.
My sweaty hands stain the walls as I circle endlessly into the pits of urban hell. Smears of slick biology, marking my descent into Dante’s world. A place that has forgotten the urbane, and replaced it, almost gleefully, with the filth of our humanity.
I hit the doors and look in both directions. The lampposts cry and the streets all conspire. Yes, the lampposts weep golden light onto the desolate concrete, blacked and browned by human waste. I go left, or was it right..? Direction is for the weak. Its so cold out here, but its nice being out of wet sheets and wetter women. Counting the cracks on the sidewalk entertains me; counting the homeless would be far too hard. They ask for change, but I’m looking for change of a different kind. I pause to strike another match on a sad lamppost and fan out the piece of hell I’ve created. The view is infinite…a spreading network of broken dreams, pavement and tenements…
I walk by women of the night who grab my cock as I pass. I shrug by them, although the X is still flowing through my veins and even their repulsive hands cause pleasure. They call me a faggot and the world keeps turning.
The neon signs burn my eyes. My arm and nose hurts. The wounds of addicted life. I am self-destruction, and self-aware. The sweat makes it so much colder.
I find myself in front of a large church, a cathedral in the fifth layer of Dante’s world. I am possessed and I want to go inside, but the doors are locked. I tug on the handle at first calmly, but soon I am pulling with all my strength, franticly beating on the gateway to my desires. I want so badly to get in, and I do not know why…
Noticing a small lock with a number pad, I stare at it for what may be an eternity and finally enter “2,8,4,6.” The door clicks open. Yes…2,8,4,6…the Sign of the Cross for the digital age…
I go inside and find a small sanctuary–candles and Christ. I strike a match and light another cigarette, inviting hell even here. I smoke slowly…my mind still a confused and defunct vessel. I look at the idol before me through the plumes of smoke, but see nothing…nothing but the life I will never know. I walk to the display of candles and bend down, lighting one with the cherry of my cigarette. I do not pray, for I do not remember how…
I sit for hours, staring blankly. I do not want to leave, as nothing awaits me on the outside. But there is nothing for me here either. I decide that I must do what must be done. I walk back to the door and cast one last stolen glance at the savior behind me. “See you soon,” he seemed to say…
I hit the streets again. It is still dark. Is it night…or early morning..?
Finding a pay phone, I dial my parents collect. We haven’t spoken in years…not since I used the money they sent for eyeglasses on meph. Not since I violated their trust for the last time.
My mother picks up and is so glad to hear my voice, but I interrupt her platitudes to tell her how sorry I am. How sorry I am for hurting her and Dad, for destroying the beautiful little boy they created. I tell her not to worry anymore. I tell her that I’m going to get better, that she will no longer have to wonder about the streets eating me alive ever again.
She’s sobbing and attempts to speak, but I tell her that I love her and hang up.
Hang up.
I look all around, and find a sad lamppost to the right. Or was it my left..? Taking my belt from my waist, I climb up the weeping wonder. With one hand holding me steady, the other prepares my salvation. Knotting it once, I slide my head through the smooth leather, and let go.
Hanged up.
Indeed, the lampposts cried, and the streets all conspired. Networks of broken dreams, and hanging children…lost forever.
The last thing my mind’s eye sees is my girl, blonded and blued.
I hate her hair. I hate so much about her.
A Trip Through the Xenoverse
The Year 4763 T.C. It has been nearly five millennium since mankind abandoned the blue sphere from which it was spawned. Yes, nearly five thousands years since humanity Transcended Christ and began to live amongst the heavens themselves.
“Earth.” A word as forgotten as the circumstances which drove them into the stars and away from their homeland. Legends have been passed down throughout the ages, and all refer fondly to this misplaced paradise now only referred to as Lost Jerusalem…
Humanity has spread itself across the cosmos, inhabiting worlds and galaxies that once seemed so very far away. Posterity will never have to fear extinction from the outside, for the human seed has proliferated so perfectly that no wayward comet or supernova star now threatens the entirety of Man. But he himself is still the great threat. He and his terrifying creations.
Enter Omega-1, the Deus Weapon System. While this creation is by no means God, man could not help but assign it such a fantastic moniker. The weapon to end all weapons. A biological behemoth with enough power to destroy an entire planet with relative ease. Yes, man has spread itself across the universe, but he has gained little wisdom yet.
The Omega-1 system was the greatest achievement of mankind. Comprised of three unique components, Deus was designed to never fail, never die, and never surrender. First, it is powered by the Zohar, a monolithic artifact excavated on Lost Jerusalem a few hundred years before man was forced to leave. Man has never understood this precious device, but over the centuries has learned how to use it as a limitless energy source, and what better to power the weapon to end all weapons. The next component of Deus is the biological computer known as Kadmony. This hyper-advanced system allows Omega-1 to constantly assess its surroundings and create adaptations to maximize efficacy and ensure survivability. A weapon that evolves and repairs; a weapon that can never be destroyed. Lastly, Omega-1 is comprised of the physical body and mind of Deus–the weapon itself.
It is perfect.
It is undeniable.
And it cannot be controlled.
Upon activation Deus went out of control, the power flowing from the mysterious Zohar causing its destructive output to far exceed even the expected results. The colony planet Michtam, and nearly all of its five billion human inhabitants, was completely annihilated. An error of genocidal proportions. Omega-1 is immediately disassembled and scheduled for destruction. The cost already too great…
The survivors from Michtam are loaded onto the large military cruiser which carried Deus to them–the Eldridge. The captain has specific orders to fly into the depths of unknown space and eradicate the greatest weapon ever created before returning with the survivors. He is solemn and so is his crew…their cargo is the most destructive force ever known, and the people left within its wake.
The Eldridge plunges into deep space. Every second pulling Omega-1 farther and farther away from the core planets. The captain secretly wonders if they’ll find Lost Jerusalem in this treacherous black void. All can only hope…
And then it happens.
Deus becomes self-aware. It understands what is happening. They are ferrying it out to die. And this simply cannot be.
A flight officer screams to the captain that Omega-1 is starting up. Words scroll across the screen in large red block letters: “And ye shall be as gods…” She grows more nervous as Deus begins to assimilate the ship’s controls and completely take over their systems. The captain barks orders as his crew desperately attempts to regain command of their ship. Nothing works and in a last ditch effort, the captain orders the crew to blow the physical connections across the ship, hopefully severing Deus’s access to the Eldridge’s mainframe.
But even that fails.
And Deus is angry.
“He” activates the ships hyperdrive and sets his coordinates for mankind’s new capital world: Fifth Jerusalem. Deus is going to eradicate humanity for its insolence. The captain orders everyone to evacuate the ship. He will stay behind and do that which only he can do: initiate the self-destruction of the Eldridge and save humanity from certain doom.
The alarms sound and the crew and their civilian survivors panic. Between the flashes of red light and the piercing sound of the siren, people attempt to find their way to the escape shuttles. Pandemonium. Fear. Chaos. Just as Deus would prefer…
As the shuttles launch, the Eldridge’s guns fire up and destroy each fleeing vessel. Deus is exacting his revenge gleefully, and no human will live this day. One after another, the people try to escape, but each are cut down by the very weapons that once protected them…
And there is a boy. Lost.
Separated from his family, the young child wanders through the ship…desperately seeking salvation and safety. He is all alone and scared. He runs and runs and finds no one, just red lights and loud noise. He soon finds himself in a small hangar, standing before the ancient Zohar. Its pale yellow glows, illuminating his tears and captivating his mind.
And then he hears a soft voice…
Abel looks in every direction, but finds no one. The voice speaks out again…asking him why he is here…why he is so afraid…
The small boy soon realizes that the voice is emanating from the Zohar itself, and he collapses before it frightened. The voice begs for him to not be afraid, but Abel weeps uncontrollably. And with tears running down his cheeks he screams out at the top of his voice, “Mother…!”
Meanwhile, the captain looks out of his deck and sees the endless slaughter of the fleeing passengers. He sits back in his chair calmly and fires up the self-destruct sequence. Opening a locket with his family’s portrait in it, he sighs. Holding it close to his chest, he closes his eyes…and presses the final button to complete the end-game order.
And the Eldridge explodes in a fantastic display of sacrifice and lights. The ship’s remains fall slowly to a barren planet below and rest across its landscape.
Everyone is dead.
Everyone except her. She rises from the ashes of genesis and looks out upon the horizon. She appears as human as anyone, but her mind is anything but. Her name is Mother, and she is a program. A contingency. And her objective is to recreate the body of Deus himself with the flesh of man…man which she will create. She is the ultimate failsafe…a creation of the biological computer Kadmony to spawn enough people to repair the damaged fleshly body of Deus himself so that he can rise again. After a brief moment of humanity, staring off into the horizon, she begins the centuries long process of repairing Omega-1. She gives birth to thirteen men, who will eagerly aid her in her endeavor, as much out of automatonic programming as a base, hungry desire for her beauty. Her first born was to be king of all men, forever, or until there was enough to replenish the flesh of Deus…his name is Cain..
Yes, everyone is dead.
Everyone except him. The small child Abel finds himself alone, again, on this derelict planet. The voice emanating from the Zohar having protected him from the explosion and guided him down to the surface. For Abel has been chosen. The Zohar itself is in actuality a prison, which has trapped a hyper-intelligent and powerful entity within it. We would call it “God.”This entity desires for nothing more than its freedom, but the Zohar must be destroyed for it to return to its home. Abel will be that destroyer. This small child will rise up with the unlimited power of the Zohar flowing through him and defeat Omega-1, freeing this God from its shackles.
The stage is set, and the pieces begin to move.
Cain and his 12 ministers of man, and their Queen–the Mother– are working “tirelessly” to create a kingdom of Man for the reconstruction of Deus, the false God which has created them. While Abel, a scared child all alone, has been chosen by a God from another dimension to free it from its shackles. But there is more…
After the Mother gives birth to her eager help, she herself is split. She gives birth to two females and dies. As what will happen for the rest of eternity, once the Mother dies, a random woman will awaken as the Mother…the programming within her brain activating and the person she was dying–only the goal remains. In this instance, however, it is not random. One of the children she begets is the creation of the entity within the Zohar…a companion for Abel, a companion for all time.
The Zohar, being connected through the Omega-1 system, influenced the Kadmony program and created its own biological servant, which would aid Abel and his future forms in his mission to free it.
Abel wanders the shoreline and sandy beaches and he is completely taken by the sight he beholds: his Mother. He runs to her and hugs her, but she does not hug him as a mother would. She holds him as a lover, for she loves this small boy so passionately that nothing in the world could separate them. Yes, she was created in his Mother’s image, based on Abel’s desire for her in his moment of weakness on the Eldridge, but she will be anything but. Her name is Elyham; it always will be…
The two make a home and the years go by. They fall in love. Abel does not know of his fated role as the liberator of the God within the Zohar, but soon…maybe in this lifetime, or in another…he will. Time has no meaning.
Cain and his followers quickly begin organizing an empire. They soon receive word that there were survivors from Eldridge, humans outside their mode and program. They must be destroyed, as nothing will stand in the way of the resurrection of “God.” Cain hunts Abel down and the two face each other–kings of men, but kings of a different kind. Brothers in power and purpose. The power of Deus’s minions is too much for Abel, as he has not yet discovered his power as the Chosen one, and soon he and Elyham are killed without mercy. Cain…pleasing his God…
But they will live again, endlessly until their mission is complete. They live many lives; many different lives throughout the ages. But they always find each other and fall in love, destined to be together, destined to one day discover their purpose and destroy the impostor of God, who has created a mankind to one day replenish his flesh.
A planet of people created from the womb of a computer. A contingency. Completely unaware of their slavery, of the shackles that bind them. And one day Abel…or Kim…or Lacan…or any of his many incarnations will not only free the God within the Zohar, but by doing so, he will free all of this humanity as well…
And she will be by his side, whenever that time comes…
On The Nature Of Happiness…
Last night I had a dream. I do not know if it was induced by the general malaise in which I live my everyday life or by the source of extreme comfort and care that slept beside me, but it was powerful.
I woke up and all I could see was light…an intense yet dull glow which filled the sky. Pulling myself up a beautiful ocean came into view directly in front of me. I was on a beach. The sand penetrated my skin, but for some reason felt soft and warm. I panned the entire area and found nothing…just an endless sandy shoreline and the methodical ebb and flow of the dark waters, depositing their foamy salt with every thrust upon the land.
To my back the white sands met the light which first brought me into this dream world at a horizon of nothingness. I walked along the coast, letting the water gently crash against my feet and recede just as quickly. I walked and walked forever…finding nary a person, place, or the most scant sign of life.
I sat back down and dragged my fingers through the landscape. Picking the individual grains of coarse white dirt from my finger tips, I realized that the entire place was monochromatic: a black and white world shaded only by the grays of my own humanity. And I was alone. I was completely alone.
And yet, quickly I grew calm and at peace. I was alone, in a world of sheer simplicity…lacking meaning, purpose, and anticipation. I sat upon a beach of nothingness, a void in the cosmic realm. The only man to leave his print, the only one to disturb this serene gray world.
Moments were eternities. The concept of time meant absolutely nothing to me. I was never bored or excited, but tranquil and happy. Alone. Forever. I had found heaven, or more correctly it had found me. I wondered for many eternities if I had died, and this was my purgatory. But I felt so wondrous in the pale white glow that shone above me. Its relative warmth against my face with the cool water rushing my feet…this could not be punishment or exile. This was the afterlife. I had finally died.
And I was happy.
I laughed, so loud that I’m sure the cacophony of pleasure that erupted from me shook the foundations of my small slice of the universe. I stood and stuck my arms out, bathing in the nothingness which surrounded me with a glee I could never possibly describe. Opening my eyes, I discovered a large stone that had previously not been there. I walked to it slowly, for here there was no need to run. It possessed within its timeless surface an inscription which looked as if a small child had chiseled it many years ago. Its imperfections were plenty, but its message was clear. It read: For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.
I ran my fingers over the shallow inscription and felt the power of God resonating through them. I knew without a doubt that I had died and this was my eternal resting place–a beach, white and black, grayed only by my own humanity, and completely devoid of anything else.
And I was certainly happy.
I awoke from this dream and had to rush to get to my job. The source of my discontent. My mind is rotting, whithering away at a job that is so completely incapable of fulfilling me. I sat in my cube, awaiting the dreaded ring of the next customer, and I thought of my dream. I could feel the warmth of the pale light upon me. I could feel the soft sand between my finger. I could hear only the sweet melody of the water.
And then the phone rang.
I kept finding myself thinking of that beach of nothingness. Alone. Without care or purpose, without anticipation or expectation. I wanted so desperately to be there…to feel the smooth stone of my God’s message, proclaiming loudly that I had been delivered, saved from myself and the miserable world of his whimsical creation.
I know no such beach exists, at least not here and now–in this life. But I need to make a change. I need to be happy. I need to stop rotting away. My mind cannot be contained any longer…these thoughts must be espoused, these feelings must be proliferated.
I am going to complete my certification process and return to education. Its going to take a long while, but I refuse to do nothing any longer.
Nothing…
Nothingness…
The beach of nothingness…
God…I cannot wait. One day, one eternity, we will be together and I will leave this world behind. But until then, I have to make myself happy here. And god damn it…I’m going to start now.
The Ghost of Alison Kinsey
Last night I was enjoying a round of drinks at the dirtiest dive bar in downtown Austin with good friends. We sat in our usual spot…next to the corner where I accidentally broke a glass and the pool table where I accidentally broke a cue (seriously, both accidents…). One of my friends began telling a story about his day at work. He is a fantastic storyteller, and I love listening to him tell me about his life, his ideas, and anything else he could possibly conjure.
He packed his cigarettes slowly and looked into my eyes–honestly afraid, or was he simply baffled? I do not know. As he slapped the fresh pack of menthol cigarettes on the fat of his hand he regaled us with a tale I now wish to share. Ripping the thin plastic wrapper from his cigarettes he began…
The day before he had received a call at work. How ordinary…as that is all we do…take calls. Yet, this call would begin the most interesting of discussions. After the call was routed through thousands of miles of electrical cable and circuity it came steaming into his cubicle, hot and ready. As sometimes happens, a profile automatically pulled up on his computer screen. The name read Alison Kinsey.
He lit his cigarette, feet from the smoking prohibited sign that graced our general space. He went on…after he picked up and said his standard Dell greeting he waited for a response, only to receive dead air. A ghostcall. The bane of a telephone salesmen’s existence. These happen from time to time–a personless call, a phantom on the telephonic network. They count against all of your key metrics…close rate, margin per call, average handle time, and on and on…they are truly the most annoying part of this job.
While he waited in silence, counting the seconds until he could compliantly hang up, he noticed that this profile had well over 600 notes within it. Most customer profiles do not have any notes, so this was by all means special. He began to read them. Taking another slow drag from his minty cigarette, he told me that the notes were riddled with complaints about this number–a ghostcall phenomenon, or worse yet…
A voice comes across the line.
“Hello..?!”
“Thank you choosing Dell, what may I build for you today?”
A woman is there and after some basic questioning it is revealed that her name is not Alison Kinsey. He follows through to conclusion and it becomes obvious that the call is fraud. The call ends and he logs out for a brief moment to read deeper into these notes left by other reps. Soon it becomes apparent that this number, Alison Kinsey, is a legend within Dell. Other reps wrote of how they had received three calls from her within a matter of hours; other complained of the attempted fraud. All cried out for Dell to do something, anything about this number.
One note read, “My first day in Gold Queue (our top queue) and I finally got Alison…today is a good day.” Lighting another cigarette, my friend told me that it appeared a rite of passage…a to-do at Dell…to speak to Alison Kinsey, or the pretender on the other end. Blowing minty smoke in my direction, he continued…
It is the next day, the very day he is telling me his tale, and he is sitting at his cube. A call comes flying in, hot and ready. It pulls up a profile–Alison Kinsey. He curses. Not twice? He picks up, and as usual, it is silent. He takes the opportunity to add to the collective sentience, to the history of this damned profile, and he writes, “Twice in two days. I guess I’m in.” He then glances up to investigate the number associated with the profile…the number that brings Alison Kinsey into your life.
1-800-283-3355.
The phone call is coming from within Dell.
The ghost of Christmas past. Alison Kinsey. He crushes the lit cherry of his second minty cigarette into the table–the place is in need of some color, even if it is a chalky burnt black. Leaning back in his chair, eyes huge, he nods. Yes, we heard him correctly. The number was our own. Alison Kinsey was our own.
So, I began to wonder. Was Alison Kinsey the first person these fraud artists attempted to rip off? Was her name the unfortunate one to grace the customer profile associated with our own number? Or was Alison Kinsey the figment of some creative reps imagination, who one day decided to give this amazingly haunting profile a more human name?
Who is Alison Kinsey? And why does she call the same number she’s calling from?
I’m sure it is quite simple…a scam artist’s attempt to cover their own tracks by somehow having our number appear when they call, which in turn always brings up the profile of Alison Kinsey, but the dreamer in me likes to think bigger…greater…more fantastic…
The ghost of Dell. The ghost of Alison Kinsey.
Maybe one day…I’ll meet her, and write my own note. I think it will read, “Finally.”
An Introduction to Madness…
You are not dreaming. It’s familiar…isn’t it? Like the return of an old friend who you lost, but never quite understood why…
You walk upon the cracks of the same old sidewalks and city streets. Avoiding people, but colliding nonetheless. If not shoulders, swarms of pheromones, electrons, and electromagnetic energies converge as each strange face pushes through the mass. And then above the crowd, above the chaos of organized society, you see that familiar face.
It’s different. Quieter. Longer. More tired. But it is that face. But they were dead…you watched them die. No, not in your arms, but within your mind you recreated their demise a million ways–each time hoping that with their last breath they thought about you. You cannot escape that nightmare.
And just like that…the face slips back into the herd, marching forward for business…or was it pleasure? Or was it nothing more than to haunt you once again? You force yourself through people disconcerned, this time it is not the unseen that collides, but assuredly every part of your physical existence. You fight, and fight…and you soon find yourself alone. Alone with a million people. And no one is familiar.
But you saw that face… Did they smile back at you? Did they recognize you? It was them, you know it. The realization that everyone dies begins to retake its claim to your mind, to your heart. No one returns. You look up into the sky–finding God in between the towers of civilization that disrupt your view. And He tells you…no one dies…no one ever dies. They live in the ones that loved them.
And you loved her. And she is not dead. She will never die again. But I will…and when I do…will anyone ever think they saw that face again..? Or will that die with me, too…