“He thrusts his fists against the posts
and still insists he sees the ghosts”
― Robert Jordan, Knife of
Dreams
He rubbed the dog’s head over and over as she started
at the back door. He was playing with
what he called her nubbin. The little
bone that sits on the top of her head, he often liked to pet her head. She is a good dog and loved him
unconditionally. As he stared out the
back he thought about that. He never
really thought himself worthy of unconditional love. Yes through all the tail pulling, paw
pinching, and ear yanking this little thing came back to his side and followed
him around everywhere. She was a good
dog. He stopped rubbing her head and
turned to the TV tray that served as a plant stand and picked up his McDonald’s
Coke and with the other hand he picked up his Camels, they were cold from being
in the freezer. They had been hidden
there inside a box of Boca Burgers so his wives couldn’t find them.
He slide the slider open and stepped out. He turned and stopped the dog with his
foot. That was far enough for her. He used the hand with the cigarettes to close
the slider behind him. He set the Coke
down on his storage bench and pushed the BBQ out of the way with his foot. It slide easily back against the house and
out of his way.
He then flipped the Camels his hand so that he was
holding the side opposite of the lid.
Then with his index finger on the bottom he thrust right hand to left,
once, twice, three times and stopped. He
looked at the pack. Thought then then
did it again but this time harder. Then
stopped looked at the camel on the side of the package and then started again,
once, twice, three times and then stopped.
He used his left hand to pull off the plastic outside cover and he
flipped the box up pulled off the tin foil.
He then pulled out a smoke and automatically started twirling it back
and forth across his knuckles; it was an old Gunslinger trick. He had read about it several times in Kings
Novels, however, instead of using a smoke, Roland, used a bullet. The trick wasn’t really that neat many and
more people could do it with a pen. It
just looked cool with a smoke because it was fragile.
He picked up his coke and went to take a drink, but
stopped. Six plus weeks had passed
without soda of any kind. Why was he
standing out here with a Coke now? Why
was he twirling the cigarette in the other hand? With that he turned and looked passed the dog
and her sad stare, that said please, let me come be by your side. I only want
to be by your side. Let me out.
He didn’t have eyes for the dog though. No he looked passed her as if she wasn’t
there. He looked to the white bag that
sat on the table. It contained goods
that would end his six weeks of freedom.
The bag that was full of the substance he valued over any tobacco,
alcohol, drug, or any other form of indulgence.
It was his ring, which he both loved and hated, much like he loved and
hated himself. It was his poison. It was his drug of choice. It was his bane. It was food, really bad food, fast food. Not one but two Double Quarter Pounders with
cheese and two large fries.
He just stared at it while he held the coke in his
left hand and twirled the Camel in his right.
All while a soul that loved him unconditionally could do nothing but sit
there and stare at him and wonder just what the large man was doing out back of
our space. Doing nothing but staring at
that back that smelled so good to her.
The bag he knew she wouldn’t go near.
He had at least taught her that much.
The he asked himself, and not for the first time since
he had walked into his home, how did he get here? How did he get right back here? To this place, with that shit sitting in
there and the poison he held in his hand?
Why?
He dropped his head.
Why indeed? He pulls in a long
hard breath. Breathes aren’t as hard as
they were six weeks ago, or even four.
So, why is he here? With camel in
one hand, coke in another, and sack full of drugs on the coffee table?
He picked his head back up and looked at his goods one
more time. He continued to twirl the camel in his right hand. He wanted what was in that bag. He wanted it so bad. He needed it.
Just one more time he thought.
Just one more taste. It’s the
world I know he thinks. I bet if I do it
the scale will still rule in my favor next week because once doesn’t matter.
His head falls again and the weight of his heavy bangs
smack into his dark black Oakley’s and pushes them harder against his
face. He knows why he is here. Even if he is trying to hide it from himself
after all one cannot fix a problem one doesn’t admit he or she has. Can they?
No.
He flashed his hidden eyes open, shut, and then open
again, and then shut again. He took in
another deep breath. He had admitted so
much to this point. He had acknowledged
so much. Then why was he here. Why was he on the verge of using again?
It was really so very simple. He was here because he was angry. He was so full of rage and hate. He was so mad that is blinded him to the
previous six weeks of hope and joy he had built and felt. Twelve strokes of a key board got him
hear. A message from his new leader
telling him that what was his by rights, would not be his alone, and that the
best thing about new rules is that everyone started off at the same place. Read between the lines of that one if you
want. He was here because for being 38
years old he had the emotional stability of a 12 year old. He was here because like so many time in his
life he stood a cross roads with two distinct paths. How many times had he taken the wrong
path? How could a man so loved be so
angry and full of hate? He hated the
fact people would call him bitter but wasn’t he. Wasn’t just a bitter spoiled brat? Who was angry because something as simple as
a life functions as nourishing one’s body he had turned into an uncontrollable
addiction? He was mad. He was hateful. He had been spurned. He had been passed over. He had been forgotten. He was alone.
He felt taken for granite. He was
still trying to heal a heart that wouldn’t stop fucking breaking. True or not true it is how he felt and
therefore was it not true. He…
Most people don’t realize it. Most people don’t see
it. However, for a 465 pounds man he has
cat like quickness when the mood catches him right. Something in his lackadaisical nature changes
and suddenly out of nowhere he has a speed, a hidden gear, a burst of
quickness. You normally only see it when
he is drunk. Or you might see it when he
is walking in the hallways of work and there is someone he is ignoring and he
turns on the extra speed.
That is what happened when he turned from the door and
launched his Coke into the fence where it exploded all over the back yard. The turn was so abrupt that the dog jumped
back and let out a whimper. The throw
though was true. It hit exactly where he
saw it hitting in his mind’s eye. 38
years and 365 pounds later and his arm still had aim when aim wasn’t needed for
anything more than his amusement. God
forbid his arm be true when he was trying to pitch, then again, he never
figured out he was pitching for his amusement, but that is a tale for another
time.
If he could see the snarl on his face at that moment
of impact he would not recognize that it was him. His teeth were clinched tight. The lift side of his face and limp slightly
pulled up. His breath was hard and
jagged. The hate that radiated off him
was nuclear radiation. The dog whimper
again, but he didn’t hear it. He was
pre-occupied with now knowing he was not alone in his back yard.
It took a moment.
However the camel that was now resting gently in his hand started to
twirl again. Rolling over his knuckles
as he tried to process what was going on here.
He was staring at a greenish grey fence. Which had a barren grape vine on it, he hated
that fucking grape vine, just like he hated the people who told him to leave it
there and it was a nice touch to the place.
Fuck them. However, he was also
staring at a soda stain. It was his Coke
he had splattered against the fence. The
spray marks made this paint splatter wet spot effect. However, this wasn’t really what was catching
his mind’s eye. No it was the two people
standing on either side of him that caught his attention.
To his right stood a morbidly obese man that even made
this man feel small. He could smell the
man from where he was standing. The man
reeked of sweat, piss, and shit as if he was unable to clean himself
properly. That was the first thing that
hit him about this man was his foul stench.
He wasn’t really shocked though when he looked at the
man in the eyes and felt as if he was looking into a mirror. For it was mirror. It was a mirror of a not so distant future. This was a future that was on the horizon if
followed the path that had guided most of his life.
The man’s hair was long matted and brown and
wild. It was unwashed and un-kept. It was not the beautiful golden brown locks
he had now. It was longer, much
longer. It was tangled. It was the hair of a street person who had
given up. It was clear that this man had
given up.
His beard was long and as un-kept as his hair. He couldn’t help but to think caveman when he
looked at it. Was that food and snot
hanging in it? It was. It was revolting. His face had never been so bushy, but then
again, it had never been that round either, and that was saying a lot. This man had to be at least one hundred and
fifty pounds heavier than he was.
He also noticed the man’s lips were parted and he kept
sucking in rapidly. Quickly little gasps
of air as if he was trying to get breathe into his lungs. That was win he noticed the tube above the
long whiskers that hung into his mouth with the green nose piece that was
lodged into each nostril.
He followed the clear tubs that ran out of the nose
piece and the wrapped around this “man’s” head where they met in the back he
assumed. He couldn’t see around this
large man. However, he followed it in
his mind and saw where it would be running behind this behemoth.
The man wore a black tank top in which his meet hook
arms squeezed out of it. The RBK logo
was so worn on it as if it had never really been there. He knew that tank top/muscle shirt. He wore it or version of it every time he
walked; he had three of them after all.
The black shirt bore stains on it.
It looked like pizza stains, and chocolate stains, perhaps coffee
too. It was the epitome of filth and
disgust.
The worst part about it though was where it should
have met his shorts it didn’t, it arched up over and showed a pail stomach
covered with stretch marks and open sores.
He was so fat that his stomach hung out of the bottom of the shirt. It looked like an old man’s ass of loose skin
that hung and waggled.
This man’s sweat shorts barely stayed up under his
enormous stomach. They did hang just
above his knees. However what was
underneath those was truly disturbing.
The legs were red and swollen.
Open pus filled sores oozed and festered. He had on medical socks that didn’t stay
up. If this man’s heart didn’t give out
soon, then the infection hat riddled his body would take him before too
long.
That is when he
saw the clear chord tube again. It ran
to an oxygen tank that was rigged to rollers so this man could wheel it
everywhere he went. The rollers handle
was held firmly in his left hand. While
his right held of all things a fucking cheeseburger wrapper.
The cigarette stopped twirling in his hand as he
recoiled away from this man. This
disgusting man that was nothing more than the pure definition of gluttony. This man was nothing more than a walking
pestilence. He was half surprised this
man wasn’t smoking as well. Then he
thought give him time to set down that burger wrapper.
He turned to his left and looked at the other figure that
had arrived. However, this man who was
slightly taller than him and the disgusting form to his right. This
figure for that is all he could really call it just stared over the greenish
fence towards the sun. His black hair
just barely touched his long black trench coat.
His arms were stuffed into his pockets.
He saw the sun careening over the spikes of his long wild hair. The silhouette was completely silent compared
to the disgusting man’s ragged jagged breathes.
What are you doing here he thought in his mind. Why are you here he though as he stepped
towards the splatter on the fence. He
was going to pick up the cup and fragments that lie on ground. However, as he stepped forward the disgusting
man’s stench increased and he gagged.
As bile started to race up his throat he heard it for
the first time. Heemmmmmmmmth. Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo….
Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. He heard it not with
his ears but with his mind. Was it a
wheeze? A whisper? Heemmmmmmmmth. Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo….
Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. It rattled around
his mind again.
He turned his head again to the disgusting man’s
direction as he moved within reaching distance of the fence and the center most
beams where the grape vine was centered.
Where it branched out and was the vines central nervous system. Heemmmmmmmmth. Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo….
Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. He heard it
again. He thought also in his mind this
is the laugh of the dead and dying. This
is the laugh of not pleasure but pure pain.
Heemmmmmmmmth. Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo….
Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
His eyes looked to the man’s mouth and there he saw a
grin, but not a green of happiness, but one of pure hate, and loathing. One of a man who has said something cruel and
is getting ready to be even crueler. The
look he knew had crossed his own face a millions times. Heemmmmmmmmth. Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo….
Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
He saw gaps in the man’s teeth. So many of them were gone. It made the raspy, weak breathing man’s
chuckle all the worse. It added a dark
and grave tone to it.
Heemmmmmmmmth.
Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo…. Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. A wheeze that was all grasping for breath so
that he can spew cruel and harmful prose.
He looked pasted the man tubes, and above his boil
ridden nose for the first time and looked directly into the man’s cold, dead
eyes. For his eyes were dead of
everything but hate and cruelty. If that
is all a man is left with then is he not really dead?
When he saw the man’s eyes he knew one thing was for
sure, this was no man, it was a monster.
A choked garble replaced the Heemmmmmmmmth... Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo… Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…
As if the man was grasping for those cruel words and he was.
He continued to twirl the cigarette as he was face to
face with the grape vine and stared at this monster. His mind was ripping apart and split into
three distinct parts, his own, this monster’s thoughts and a third which was
still and quiet. It was there but
distant, as if it was just out of reach.
However, unlike his mind, this place was quiet, and calm. He longed for this. He wanted this so much.
Heemmmmmmmmth...
Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo… Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa… You…
cough, and gasping for breath. You, no why… Heemmmmmmmmth... Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo… Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…
the chuckles turn to coughs, the coughs turn to gasps for breath. This monster could barely talk he was so
fat. His lungs must be full of
fluid. You know, why… Heemmmmmmmmth...
Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo… Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…
Why what? Heemmmmmmmmth... Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo… Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…
He heard in answer. Then a fit of
coughing. He strained for the quiet area
of his mind, but it was still out of reach.
Why you are Heemmmmmmmmth... Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo…
Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa… Broken… Heemmmmmmmmth...
Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo… Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…
His head dropped again and once again his bangs
smacked into his face. And his right
hand stopped its twirling and he crushed the cigarette in the palm of his hand
making a fist. He felt a sharp pain in
his left hand and released because it was no clutching into a fist as
well.
Heemmmmmmmmth...
Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo… Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa… Through a spray flem and
gasps for air, he heard it again. You are broken. Heemmmmmmmmth... Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo…
Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa… Broken, broken, broken. And all the happy go lucky bullshit thoughts
will only lead you to me. Heemmmmmmmmth... Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo… Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…
then loud bellowing coughing and gasping.
I am your future. I am your path. For you are anger. You are rage.
You will fail, because you always fail.
You can’t deny what you are. Heemmmmmmmmth... Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo… Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…
then loud bellowing coughing and gasping.
You
want to know why you got passed over?
This is what the world see’s.
ME! Heemmmmmmmmth...
Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo… Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa… then loud bellowing coughing
and gasping.
He quickly released the crushed cigarette from his
hand. The fist returned quickly
though. the left fist was locked in
still as well. His mind was drifting
ever closer to the black. He felt it
going there. The calm space still to far
out of reach. The other figure silent as
the grave gave him no help or hope. His
mind raced and raced until it landed on a phrase. A phrase he had used once before to fight off
anger and depression when the black was settling in. When his heart was breaking not because he
was rejected because of what his mind told him.
This mind. This broken
thing. That held so many cards. So he turned to his master. The one who had given him KA. The one that had given him a Tower to strive
for. The one who had showed him a broken
addicted man can still be a hero, if Eddie Dean wasn’t his guiding light then
who was. The man who had terrified him
as a child. The man who elated him as a
man. The man whose wasn’t famous for his
most powerful prose "The man in black fled across the desert, and the
gunslinger followed." Rather who was
famous for showing us how truly terrifying a clown can really be. The man who gave us the Shinning. The man who gave us It. He turned to King, because he so often
turned to King. Either for wisdom, or
words, or inspiration. His mind found
words. Words he didn’t expect to
find. Somehow fitting for a man whose
mind was splitting in three and was face to face with a fence post.
Words that were meant for our protagonist in
IT. To help him overcome a stutter. Was his name not Billy to? I think it was. The words that ripped through the part of his
mind that was still his where “He thrusts his fists against the posts and still
insists he sees the ghosts”
Yes, yes, “He thrusts his fists against
the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts”.
He screamed out in rage and
frustration. “He thrusts his fists
against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts”, what happened next
made the fat man to his right take a step back and also grab the attention of
the silhouette to his left. This man who
saw not one ghost but two. He did just
as the Man King had told him. He did in
fact thrust his fist. His left
fist. His powerful fist into the
post. The post that was greenish grey
and covered in an empty vine. He thrust
hard and fast. He struck harder. He felt his left fist go through the vine and
crunch up against the post.
The startled monster regained his grip and chuckled
and gagged harder and faster. You want to know why you get spurned, passed
over and laughed at? This is what the
world see’s. ME! The laughs were harder and harder
now. Faster, louder, more
unhealthy. Heemmmmmmmmth... Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo… Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…
then loud bellowing coughing and gasping.
Gripping hard with his right hand in a first he
twisted again and struck the post again.
This time with a right. It was
hard and he felt a hot liquid rush over his knuckles. He often forgot just how strong he was. The vine fell down in two pieces now.
Somewhere far away he heard the dog whimper and
whine. That was another time though,
another place. He let his rage flow over
him.
The monster wheezing and cackling like an old grandpa
who just told his hated son he was the milk man’s son. Was at it again. He was winning. You
want to know why 12 clicks on a key board can upset you so much you fucking
baby? Because you soft in the middle,
like pop-tart. You are week.
You need to be loved is pathetic.
You need them to love you. you
need them to need you. Instead the world
sees how weak and emotional you really are.
After all this is what the world see’s.
ME! The laughs were harder
and harder now. Faster, louder, more
unhealthy. Heemmmmmmmmth... Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo… Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…
then loud bellowing coughing and gasping.
He fired back at the post this time with his
left. He struck it true and hard and he
felt the fence shake.
Somewhere far away he heard the dog’s whimper grow
louder and louder and was that a bark?
He couldn’t think about that now because that was another time though,
another place. He was his rage and anger
now. He was hate.
The monster wheezing again and choking once again
croaked. He was winning. You want to know why your leader doesn’t
respect you or what you do. You want to
know why he passes you over just like your friends do. After all he sees what the rest of the world
sees when they look at you. ME! The laughs were harder and harder
now. Faster, louder, more
unhealthy. Heemmmmmmmmth... Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo… Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…
then loud bellowing coughing and gasping.
His right cross came quickly and splinters flied and
it made contact. The fence shook and
rattled. More warm liquid gushed down
and through his hands. Then just as
quick as the right came, his left rained down thunder and war. He felt the skin over his left knuckle split
and more warm liquid poured into this hand.
Somewhere far away he knew the dog was whimpering
again. Wanting to get to him. However, he couldn’t think about that now
because that was another time and another place. He
totally consumed with the hate now.
The gasping, wheezing, choking in pure joy the monster
was at it again. He sensed his victory near.
You want to know why your friends
don’t reach out to you and love you.
Your KA-Mai after all. A
fool. They laugh at you behind you back. They plot against you. You’re a fucking joke. You want to know why? All they see is what
the rest of the world sees when they look at you. A failure.
Some who talks good but has no follow through. Guess what blogs and talk won’t save your
life, because they know what you won’t ever admit. You don’t want to be saved. You are a joke. You are ME!
The laughs rattled in his head.
They were so hard. So loud. It was like Thunder! Heemmmmmmmmth... Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo… Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…
then loud bellowing coughing and gasping.
He crossed and hit the fence post with a
right. It slanted to the left and
buckled. He hit it again with a left.
Blood ran from his hands like water from a faucet.
Somewhere far away the dog was running
around and barking. Barking and
barking. She wanted to get out
there. To help him. She wanted to love him. However, there was no love for him. There couldn’t be. There was only hate. He burned. He didn’t think he could burn any
hotter when…
The gasping, wheezing, choking calmed. He knew he had
won. Now he would play his final card. His cruelest jape. The one he knew hurt him so bad. Even more than being Ka-Mai. Because this is what he knew he truly
believes. You want to know why she
doesn’t love you. Why she isn’t with
you? Why you are destined to walk alone? Because when she looks at you and really
takes the time to look at you, you know what she sees? She sees that you are ME! Nothing more and nothing
left. The laughs rattled in his
head. They were so hard. So loud.
It was Thunder and lightning, a complete fucking storm! Heemmmmmmmmth... Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo… Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…
then loud bellowing coughing and gasping.
He never stopped his punching from the
last jape. He didn’t stop when the post
cracked and feel into the neighbor’s yard.
Or when he fell on top of it and continued to rain haymakers down onto
the fence. He face was now covered in
blood. Blood that flew from his
hands. His arms were scratched and
bleeding from coming through the broken pieces of the fence. He realized he was screaming in rage. He was screaming over and over “He thrusts
his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts”
How long had he been yelling it? How loud had he been yelling it?
His mind ripped.
He punched and hit the broken wood in front of him as he listened to the
monster cackles and moans.
The dog full out frantically barking
behind him. He never stopped. He just repeated it over and over and hit and
punched. “He thrusts his fists against
the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts”
He stopped punching finally. The monster still laughing. There and only there covered in blood and
broken by a future he couldn’t fathom but was still so close. His heavy eyes, finally, let go. They finally released the tears that had
threatened to fall for over a year. They
washed over his face and he cried and cried and after a while he stopped saying
“He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts”
and just openly wept through all the pain he had been carrying for his entire
adult life.
In the back of his mind, he heard the
dog barking ballistically. In the front
of his mind he heard the Monster cackling, wheezing, coughing, and gasping
laugh. Heemmmmmmmmth... Haaattthhh...Hoooooooo… Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…
However, suddenly it stopped. The monster wheezed a “NNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO” He stepped back
and said “this is mine. Mine. You can’t do this. This is my path. It is mine”
It was at this point through teary eyes
he looked to his left for the first time and noticed that the silhouette on
this left had turned around and he could feel his calmness wash over
everything. It was not only calming but
crushing. Not for him but for the
monster. He could tell that the
silhouette was looking at the monster.
Not saying anything just turning its head from left to right. The monster couldn’t help but fall under that
gaze. The next thing he knew the monster
was on its knees next to him. Then
getting smaller and smaller. He was
getting smaller, and smaller, until there was nothing.
He looked finally into this face and
what he saw looking back at him was truly breath taking to him. He saw dark spiky hair that framed a powder
or ghost white face. The face over all
was guitar pick shaped. Rounded at the
top and then coming down into a sharp point for a chin. There was no mouth. Not really, rather there was a red slit. It reminded him of a flatter less pronounced
Verizon V. There was no nose. However where it should have started was the
end of purple lightning bolt. That crossed through the right eye but know that
wasn’t right was it? No it was not
because there were not eyes at all.
There were almond shaped holes.
Holes that where partially covered with black spike hair that hung over
them. He knew the face. He knew it well. He was looking into the face of
convergence. The face that was appalling
to others but spoke hope to him. The
face of the Black Reaper.
The Black Reaper shook his head so that
his eyes were no longer covered by his black hair. He looked to the dog and immediately she sat
down and shut up. Then he looked back
and locked eyes with this man on his knees whose pain had finally fallen from
his eyes.
He looked through his teary eyes and
into the Black Reaper’s eye sockets. At
first he saw only blackness. Endless
deep blackness that seemed to go on forever.
Then he found himself looking into the calm part of his mind. He couldn’t help but to start crying
again. Tears rolled down his face,
because this was the world he knew and dreamed of. It was a place of peace and joy. IT was the world he knows in his dreams. Then as he cried he smiled because the first
thing he heard was so sweet and simple and honest “Let the Lord of Chaos
Rule!” For was that not the first rule
of acceptance. To let go of
everything. Let go of every filter. Every rule.
Let life be lived as it was meant to be.
He also saw that slow over time his
weight would melt away as he slowly rebuilt faith and believe into his own
existence. In the Black Reapers never
ending eyes he saw what he had long expect to be true. That there are other worlds than these and
there was. Just like the countless world’s
so where the countless possibilities. He
saw hope in those endless eyes sockets.
He saw love. He saw peace. He saw the giant wheel of KA turn over and
over again.
He saw that no life is lived without great
love and great loss. He saw that you can
only truly know pleasure if you actually knew pain first. He saw most of all that this too shall
pass. That we only end up as the monster
at the end of the book if we lose hope and that we stop dreaming.
He saw the path of the beam. He saw the road to his tower. Then he started crying again, this time
openly weeping like a baby when he saw that he was in fact on the path. That for the first time in his life he knew the
difference between knowing the path and walking it.
He saw a life worth living can be built on principles of being a dreamer
What he saw for sure was that a triathlon not matter the shortest or the longest will not train for itself, so he had to get out there and go. So he must commit to training. He saw whatever lap goal set for a pool could not be accomplished without swimming the laps. What he saw was that being healthy started with moving, and ended with eating right. He saw that motivation got you started, but it can only be habits that got you down the path of the beam. Therefore habits would have to be formed or wasn’t it really continued to be formed. He saw that he must continue to eat the healthy, natural food, and stay away from the bad gunky. Like the bag of smack in his house. He would take care of that soon enough. The trash can wasn’t good enough for that poison. He saw that he must become positive, with happy good thoughts and this would carry him down the path further. He knew that for the first time he must become a true believer, not in any god, but in himself. He saw that he would and never could give up on his dreams, no matter what posts he hit or broke. No matter how lonely his heart was or how sad he was because he felt left behind. He knew now that that there was light at the end of every dark tunnel.
He saw everything he wanted was possible if he only did one thing and one thing only. If he believed. If he stood up and was true to his heart. If was honest. If he admit his rage. His anger and his sort comings. He knew lives, much like triathletes weren’t born, and they were made through hard work, dedication, and perseverance.
The Black Reaper showed him the path he was on. Showed him you might not always get the closure you seek. The job you want. The life you think is yours by rights. However, you get what you need, so that you can find your way, to your tower.
His head fell once again and his blood matted hair smacked into his sunglasses, let tears leak all over his face. He looked at his swollen, broken, bloody hands. They were covered with broken pieces of wood and splinters, plus dried coagulated blood.
He looked at the fence that he would have to try and explain to the neighbors. He saw for the first time into their backyard. He was partially shocked he wasn’t looking into a bone yard, but rather just a normal natural backyard.
Then he looked up to see the magic in the Black Reapers eyes just one more time. However, he was gone. From his knees he looked passed where the Black Reaper had been into the sun and stretched his arms wide and let the sun rain down on his face. There completely open to the sun. He was stricken with hope and happiness, and finally tears once more. Tears, and tears, and he shook to his very core as new hope washed over him as rain fell from his eyes.
He cried till he couldn’t cry anymore. When all his tears were gone. He opened his eyes and the sun had started to move. So he looked back to the neighbors backyard, however, it was gone. What stood there instead was a grape vine. Barren and wiry, but still very much there in front of his greenish grey fence post, that had never moved. It was just covered with a wet patch were a coke had been flung. He would have to wash that off.
He looked at his hands, and there were no scraps. No bruises. No splinters. Nothing. They were whole and complete. Tanned to his liking, and the same hands that he had come out here with.
That is when he heard the dog whimpering and whining and he turned and opened the slider. She rushed out and jumped on him. Kissing his face over and over and over. Licking where the tears once had fallen. He hugged the puppy close to him not carrying she shed all over.
He looked again to the fence, and he wondered for a moment what had just happened. Then he heard a distinct voice in his calm head say first “Let the Lord of Chaos Rule! However more importantly never forget there are other worlds than these! Stay the path and you will walk in the roses at the feet of your Tower! So, Stand and be True!”
No comments:
Post a Comment