Johnne
06-14-2010, 01:58 PM
This is my first post, I've been writing for a while, but this one of the few completions...well kinda. Personally I could do some more fine tuning but I'd like some feedback, so I could at least see if I was on the right track....
Ghosts
Everyone runs past me. The crowds of humanity shuffle against one another like a roaring tide constructed of fear. I, however, stroll like a small stream, taking one step after another, my footprints being decimated by fear stricken crowds. They run for safety, the ghost’s arrival draws near.
I have always told myself, that I will never run from the face of death, that I will greet it openly so that I might trap it, and slash and gnaw at its secrets. Secrets, I always hated secrets, the things that I do not know torment me, and those that would keep them away from me, I would wish them dead, only I do not know what secrets the ghosts would have, but I know they would have them. The ghost come every night, at the setting of the sun, and anyone left on the street between the rows of housing, will no longer be there, perhaps they are taken away, perhaps they are killed, that is another secret I long to know.
My home is near, it's the other reason I walk slowly, unlike the fanatical crowd. Those people, I don't talk to them, they're always running, always screaming about nothing. I can't be around them long without wanting to jump from a high peak. They overreact to bumping into one another, they yell and make loud noise that they refer to as speaking, and nothing they do is diplomatic, only savagery. They're idiocy is the very reason they always have to run at dusk. A logical person wouldn't take a chance and be at his home early, and only leave when necessary, but these people, it seems as though they want to be caught, they want to be in fear, and they want to be distraught. Of course, I am not logical, there's no reason to be, there's no one here who would discuss things of logic with, higher ideals, values, and they only care for materials, and of course, their divine entities.
Those are the final elements of our society, its overlords; it's unseen, unknown, unheard, overlords. The people have traditionally passed down legends and folktales once composed of architectural philosophy, now boiled down to nonsensical preaching and blind culturally induced ignorance. I believe I would have never believed it in the first place, and currently I don't. The strange thing about this religious movement is; its missionaries and priests are allowed to pass through the town at any moment, even at night, to poison the minds of the people further. Why? Another answer I desire, but am far too much of a coward to risk my mortality for, but I am also far too enamored with the secrets, to run away from this place. What kind of creature am I? Sometimes I wonder this, or whether I wish for death above all things, or life. What could I possibly want, answers I should know, yet do not. Perhaps this life is a cruel joke, designed to keep secrets from you, to age you more quickly whilst you ripple away like a splash made in the water. I've made it home.
I live in a large, brick, and aged building. The tenants there do not know of my presence. There is an opening in the ally way, a small hole that only I can fit through, which goes down into the basement. There is of course stairs that lead up to the door to the first floor, however, once in the past (as I've heard the tenants discussing) the priest deemed the basement to be a cursed place, perhaps even where the unholy ghosts gather to conspire against the gods. In a way they're right, the basement is inhabited by something that should be cursed by the followers of their god; an intelligent person.
I crawl through the flap door and fall onto a makeshift mattress I had constructed from old, stolen blankets, pillows, and all arrangements of soft things. Dust flew up into the air, and shined in the unfiltered light flowing from the cracks and crevices of the ancient building. There was not much more in my room, besides an old journal, which lay in the middle of the floor, with blank pages designed to be written in. I would record my thoughts, but I've yet to find a pen amongst the roaring masses, even with all their stores of clothes, food, and trinkets, not one of them supplies pens, or paper, or paints, nothing for someone who would like to explore ones self.
The dust settled, and the shimmering light slowly began to give way to entrenching darkness. As gloomy as it were, sitting alone in the dark, I enjoyed it. The dark seemed to be something I liked. I likened it to a getaway, a place where I did not have to hear the constant piercing groans of the screeching masses, but I also didn't have to see myself when I looked down. I was spared the conundrum of gazing at my hands and feet, questioning them, and I, the darkness was an escape from every judgment and the only place where I could escape this world, where I could dream.
I dreamt the most wonderful things, things I could never hope to see, of paradise, a warm, silent, paradise. The first would be an island, with sand smooth as silk that whisked its away around and about my toes, as if the earth was massaging my skin with billions of tiny, white, shining beads. The sun would always shine, and the waters would always be smooth and clear, clear and gentle enough to dance in, until the shining waves transformed into a moonlit aurora of movement. The second was a field of green. A field that stretched for miles and mile, always shining in the soon, with grass like the gentle hands of beautiful women, grass that would never prove coarse, nor ever poke or leave indentions on ones flesh, and there would be one tree, one solitary tree, to lay under, to be free. And there is but one last paradise, one that when I look out onto the distant mountains at the edge of town, does not seem so impossible to reach, when I dream of it, I often awaken in tears, either of sadness or happiness, it's always difficult to tell. This paradise is on the edge of a mountain, among a thicket of soft brush and trees of fruit, which would hold me like a canopy, as I awoke, just in time to see the sun light up the morning dew of the valley, and my soul.
I feel my eyes closing; the thought of paradises lulls me into a passionate daze, and as my eyes close, my mind drips down the drain of unconsciousness, and I have but one last image in my mind; footprints.
I awaken, and as the blur of my unconsciousness lifts like thick smog, I think I can hear rustling outside. There is one ray of light, dividing the darkness above me. I feel a rush of energy, my mind signaling me to run for the outside, to get a glimpse of the exiting ghosts, but this contradicts something I've always heard about the ghosts that I've always been taught. One will never see a ghost before the ghost sees you, and if the ghosts see you, you die. Nonetheless, I am leaping up, and sprinting toward the crawlspace exit, shuffling into the morning shine.
My pupils take in the light like a flood, and I slam my head down onto the hard earth in the alley way, while my eyes viciously kick to adjust. I look up and see the street, being lit up only by small rays of sunlight, trudging through the many windows of the streets lodgings. Slowly, I begin to crawl onto the dusty road, out of the shaded ally way, and looking downward and directly in front of me, I see something dazzling; a footprint.
This isn't just a regular foot print, one undisturbed, one not disrupted by any other prints that could deface its value, pure, and new it is, and imprinted in my view, as if on display at a museum. I quickly prone towards it, flinging up small clouds of dust, and scraping my knees, but the amazement of the print numb me from all other pain and forethought. I place my face close to the print, finding ridges and markings from the shoe or boot that had made it. My eyes draw closer and closer, and I wish to touch it but I don't want to defile it, it seems like so much perfection, so much perfection that would be ruined if disturbed, but I want to sense it with more of my senses, I want to taste it, to smell it. I push my head down close to the sand, and breathe in through my nose. I think I can smell, something new, something alluring and unknown, but no, I'm coughing, wheezing, the dust is now covering my face, and the sacred history is now destroyed.
As I wipe my face, feeling the rough grains of sand tear at my skin, I hear laughing, stupid sounding laughter. Looking up with my dirty face I see one of the people standing outside of a home, laughing at me, apparently they had watched me, and think I'm a foolish man, or dumb child. One would think I should feel nothing about his, and only be disgruntled at their shallow ignorance, but this laughter angers me, I hate being considered a fool by someone of the very same title. I am angry, so I stay, and attempt to outlast its laughter, and eventually I do. They walk away, murmuring to themselves about foolish children, stilling giggling like a newborn infant, just discovering the comedy of other's misfortune, such a monumental discovery isn't it? That it is more entertaining to watch a man fall once, than to watch him rise a thousand times. I remain in my dust; I'm not going to move.
The day's sun rises like usual, and the people get up and go about, like usual. The lots of them ignore me, and keep to themselves their passing glances, not that I would even wish to have them, and of course there are those so bold as to walk close by and look at me judgingly, with conformist cynicism, angry at me for interrupting their routes. Some even raise their voice and ridicule, but I do not satisfy their thirst for conflict, for pointless and uncivilized argument, let them scoff, I will lay with comfort, among my people of sand, and my knights of rocks. Of course, I value them more than these people, and in doing nothing but letting the wind move them, still they are smarter then these people.
The day goes on, my joints begin to ache even when I change position, I want to get up, but for some reason, now, today, my will tells me, not to move, to defend my Thermopiles. I draw line in the sand and lift my head up to the hills outside the city, to see the rouge red sun, readying it self to set fire to the world behind the mountains. The darkness is coming, like the roaring hoards of the east, bringing with it death, bringing with it, the ghosts.
I begin to shake, and now I want, very much to run back to my house. The people have already paraded home, and bruised one another getting there; I am the only one who remains on the street. I am about to leap up, when something dark perks up in my heart. It is my pride, it is my curiosity, asking my questions, and telling me I have a right to the darkness, just as I have a right to the light. And who are the ghosts? Why do they come, are they going to kill me? It froze me; reason and logic begin to lose ground to curiosity and pride, and a small bit of hopelessness that highlights my feelings about death. The sun now dips its last curve of crimson fury below the horizon, the darkness is here, and I remain, in its path. For some reason I cannot believe myself, but myself is now all I have left. I look towards my alley; I'm still only a second away from it, maybe more. My eyes begin to water, and my heart feels a pressure squeezing it from side to side, I have to stand, I have to stand and run now, logic and reason have not won, no, someone else has one, someone who I hate, but now might save my life; cowardice.
Tears now roll down my face, I jump up onto my knees, and unaware that sitting all day has made my knees as weak as wheat stalks. My body buckles and I fall to the ground as a structure with no foundation, my heart rumbles and beats like a quake in the earth, plunging blood into my legs like so many arrows aflame into an army of disheveled men. As I stumble towards home, towards safety, towards heaven, my legs gain strength, and my mind fills its pools with visions of life. I am halfway there, untying the preverbal noose from round my neck.
A touch.
There is a hand on my shoulder. My nerves bust, and my lungs gust up a cough from my mouth, spewing blood onto my nervous lips. Red liquid and tears drip to the ground. I am shaking again, a thousand times more viciously, and I feel my bones turn to paper again. It feels as though my heart is being pierced by the dead branch of a tree, leaving rotted residue of dead fear in my veins. I turn now, slowly, to face my executioner. I am so sure I will die, but wait, don't I want this, will I not finally know the ghosts secrets, and be free from this place, nonetheless, I sweat ice cold drops of petrified water. My eyes meet the black marauder that has captured me.
It immediately twists my head around by the chin; all I saw was a dark blur in front of the newly born night sky behind it. A pain I felt, my mind created it. I was bracing myself for my own fatality. Nothing happens. Hot, burning lips press up against my ear, and a pulsing loud whisper thunders in.
"Don't move." it proclaimed.
I wait for more, but nothing is said, the voice only breathes heavily until small pools of condensation begin to form in my ear, and the lips shake uncontrollably, as if attempting to hold back emotion, even tears. I feel like running, I want to, but I know I can't. The lips press even harder, and whisper again.
"I'm going to shoot you up with a sedative, you're going to pass out, when you wake up, and you’ll be home." I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out, only the kind of hideous silence a truly confused and lost man could make. I feel a small prick in my neck, my eyes close like titanium doors, then silence.
Now only dark. It plagues my mind that my conscious still frolics about in its own awareness, while my body sits limp and powerless. A light I see now, and it feels as if my eyes are opening up, like a fortress welcoming the gifts of allies. The light is blinding, in my mind I raise my arms to guard my eyes, but in my heart, I do nothing but let the picture unfold. My mouth drops, and a new silence, a silence of awe, and of wonderful feeling, arise from my existence.
I am in a canopy of tall grass, each blade feels like soft linen on my skin. The blades of grass gently sway back and forth, being so lightly bounced against my body by an almost sensual wind that smells of strawberries, lime, and even citrus. I look up, and there are trees all around, swaying as well, and their branches worshiping the prosperity of this perfect world. Though I have never been here, I know this place; it is the place of my dreams, the paradise. I know what I will see when I rise, the valley, with the morning sun overlooking it, I cannot rise quickly enough. I am overcome with happiness, something so far away from me, now embracing me like the mother birds breasts to her children. It is so warm here, so nice, I rise. I can feel the tears come, with one glimpse, one look, one look at the only pure thing I live for, and then my eyes open.
I am lying on my bed, and I hear crackling. There are still tears coming out of my eyes, but they've turned from warm to icy. The depression, the desire for death has returned. But something is new here, there is a crackling in the corner. A fire. A fire is in my house, someone has lit the steel made grill in the corner of the room. I can see the flames minutely roaring, the light being block by a kneeling, bent over silhouette, that seemed to be moving his hand back and forth over- my journal.
I make an attempt to leap up and confront this person in my home, but I immediately feel disoriented and drowsed, as if under anesthesia. The silhouette turns its head, noting my awaked ness. I fall on all fours, and use what energy I can muster to lift my head, and face the intruder and caper.
The silhouette arose in front of the flames, closing my journal, and storing the pen within the shadows of his attire. This large black shadow began to tread towards me, at an oozing, unsure, liquid pace. I could see now he was wearing boots. They were large and forced his feet to trudge against them, as if they were pulling him down, as if they were purposely making an attempt to stop him, as if they demanded him to stay in one place, nonetheless he made his way to me, and came into full view. I felt the wind of the same warm breath the beat against my ear earlier now sweep up against my face. His face comes close to mine, his nose nearly pressing up against my forehead, and above his eyes wide open, gazing into me. I can hear everything on this man shaking, he seems to be trembling, disturbed by what I sense is fear. He places his hands on my shoulders; they rumbled my body with their quaking.
I struggle to say something, I'm fear-stricken as well," Who-"
"No one. Enemy of everyone boy. How long have you been living here, and why, who are you?" he spoke quickly, his voice trembling like the rest of his body, constantly salivating and licking his lips.
I breathed in, and made an attempt at composure,"Noone, too. I'm no one too. I've lived here for months, or years I don't know. I-I have nowhere else to go." I look down to relieve myself of his gaze. He quickly grabs my chin and forces my eyes to meet his again.
The man came even closer to my face, the heat surrounding him began to cause me to sweat as well, his shaking only became more rapid,” Will you tell? That I'm here? You can't tell, anyone child, will you?"
I let out again, a stream of words in an exhale," No I won’t tell anybody, I don't associate with these people I swear." I let my head fall, and let all the tenseness in my neck obstruct. I feel a rush, I speak again," Why did you grab me? Are you, a ghost?"
The shadow man scoffed and took his hands away from my shoulders. He switched his position from all fours to sitting in front of me. For a few minutes, he only stares into space, his quivering slowly fading into solemn silence. I couldn't fight my curiosity," Are you-?"
He interupted,"No, I'm not a damned ghost boy. But you would sure as hell meet one if I hadn't come along. Why hadn't you went inside you foolish child?" he spoke with a slow ominous tone. I don't want to even try to explain to him why I sat on the ground, I don't know what to say. "I'm not sure, I guess I'm, just a stupid child."
The man looked at me with piercing eyes, judging every part of me that I'd just revealed in one statement. He spoke,” No, you're not are you? You're different from the townspeople; you have something about your looks, in your eyes." I again, don't have anything to say to him. It's been so long since I've spoke to someone, I'm unsure of everything I could possibly think of saying, curiosity wins again," Why were you dressed as a ghost?"
He looked at me with the same judging eyes again. It's strange; he pauses for another few minutes, again looking away. After the pause, he speaks again," Who am I? Where did I come from, it seems you want to know. With coming events it seems there's no reason to keep it from you child." He takes a shorter pause, and exhales. He speaks again," I'm a criminal. I came to this town a long time ago, of course on the run from people who would do me harm. I only travel by night, I know if anyone saw me it would be over, and when I came here I noticed at night everyone was gone, but those, things, they would roam the street. I barely escaped the first time, I heard a screech and hiss, but at the same time a bell tolling and horns, damn those sounds. I never understood where they come from. Sometimes I would get closer to the things, and I would deafen and hear nothing, and when I stepped away the sound got so loud it made my ears bleed a few times. That first time I jumped into a hole in an alley out of sight. The next morning I gathered black cloth like there's, and I attempted to join them." his brows lowered, as if in astonishment at his own story," And incredibly it worked. Night after night I followed them. I've learned their dances. They dance in the street at night, all alone, I can still hear the noises though, I've gotten so used to them now though, their all I hear. During the day we sleep beneath the church, they remain motionless, I guess they're sleeping, I'm never sure, but there is one thing though child." he lowered his head and ran his hand through what I could see was jet black oily hair, and continued," I think they're beginning to realize I'm not one of them, every time I'm a move slower, a move off, every time I am awake while they are in slumber, I think soon they would have finished me, it's a good thing I found this place, and you I suppose."
A rush of feelings and revelations, I feel my blood flow like rapids. This man has piqued my intrigue. I can't help myself I have to ask,” What is it like outside this town?"
"Nothing, there is nothing. I know someone like you dreams, I heard you kicking around over there in your sleep, there's nothing." he proclaims somberly.
I sink. For some reason I knew my doubts were justified. My dreams are for naught. I wish no longer to see this man. I get up from my knees, and crawl into my makeshift bed, in an attempt to let my mind go off again, into silence, however the man continues.
"It's that nothing, though boy, we'll be a lot safer than here soon, because men are coming." he said with his ominous tone. "Men I seen before, they're coming here now, and soon, maybe even tomorrow."
I can tell he's appealing to me for a response but I only lye motionless.
"Child, this is no time for you to be foolish due to whatever feelings you're actin' all silent over. Right now, you stay here your a dead man, I swear it! See these men got weapons, ones you and everyone 'round here have never seen. I don't know why but they're comin' but they and them ghosts are gonna tangle, and I have a feeling we normal folks are gonna get caught up in a war we have no place in. Look child, I got somethin' to live for, I ain't dying' no time soon, and I need someone smart on the road someone like me, who knows how to run. To run from death and danger, and anything that'll stop us from free thinkin'! See I know about you, because you are just like me child, just like me! I've seen you; you're the kind of guy who looks up at the clouds arent'cha? And wonders where the sun came from and why it's there. You even want to know about these damn ghosts, but there's only death in them ghosts boy, only death. There's death in men too, death is everywhere, all around, all the time. Son were in a room with four walls and all of em' are closin' in, but goddamn it if I won't fight til' I die to find a way out, even if I know there isn't one! So come with me child, let's go and get out of here, tomorrow, at noon!"
I heard his speech. I'm running my hand over my heart, it's still sinking.
"What say you child?!" he thundered, grabbing my shoulder.
"What if I don't have anything to live for?" I whispered into the darkness, almost instinctively.
The man scoffed,"Nothin' to live for? What the hell is wrong with you child! We live to run, to run! From death! Don't you fear death!?"
I felt my very soul stir; I swallow and quickly turn my head to him. With a tear beginning to leave my eye and cascade down onto my now flaring cheek, I wrench the mans arm as tight as I could," No."
The man leaps back, onto his backside. My grip remains and I am flung from my bed onto the floor, my chin scraping against the stone solid surface. My tears now join the blood dripping from my face. Again I speak," If there's nothing out there but sand, damn, stupid, awful sand! Then there's nothing left for me to do but die!" I let go of his arm, and again, crawl into bed.
There is silence. Neither of us speaks for what I suppose is almost an hour, I don't know what the man is doing, and I do not want to turn around, or move at all. My chin is gradually scabbing, and there is a puddle of blood in front of my eyes. I hear, very lightly the scratching of a pen, he is writing in my journal again. My curiosity refuses to subside any longer. I am going to see what he is writing. Getting up from my bed I see he's added wood to the fire in the grill, and as I approach the warmth increases. It seems as though it’s nestling me, coaxing me in with an alluring bribe of comfort. Step by step, steadily with a depressing speed I approach closer, until, at only a few feet away, he turns and sees me. He immediately slams the book closed, stands up and faces me.
I look down, and began to breathe heavily, curiosity, again swings, “I want to know what you've been writing in my journal."
He pushed out his chest, and exhaled, though still seemingly manic,” My plan, to get out of here. You don't need to see it. Wouldn't be of any use to you child"
I squinted in skepticism," You need to write down a plan to walk out of town?"
The man laughed and placed his index finger against my chest,” See? Smarts. That’s what me and you have."
I feel a touch of comfort between us, it feels good, but my self centered inquisitiveness only tells me he is lying about the plan, and prompts me to grab my journal. My hand is just about to strike, when a sudden beam of light splinters in from the outside, thieving away both of our focuses. It seems the morning has come.
We both stare into the light, forging a rainbow of spots, now swimming around in our fields of vision. The both of us stand and stare in our mysticism until we hear the rustling of feet outside. The rustling of the mongrels.
The man again runs his hand through his head and walks toward the exit crawl space. He turns to me, letting out a relief bearing sigh," It seems we've made it through another night, they obviously haven't gotten here yet child. We should leave before nightfall child, I need a few more things though." he reaches into his black coat and throws me a jingling bag. I struggle to catch it, but I avoid dropping it all together. It seems it is a bag full of coins. "There’s thirty coins in there, should be enough to get us outta here. To safety."
I feel into the bag and slowly lower my hand into it, grasping and fingering each coin. I feel I should throw them back, as though I should curse them and bury them, never to be seen again.
"I assume you're still coming with me, child. Let's go out onto the street, you get a few things you need and we meet back here in the afternoon, come a few minutes before dawn, we run, we get the hell outta here. Okay?" His expression had raised brows and his tone was hopeful and confident.
"Yes." I say. Though we differ so much, I will go with him. In all honesty, I believe we're going to die here anyway.
We both stumble through the crawl space and make our way onto the crowded, bustling street, all the people jostling against one another, loud noises, yelling, greed, thievery, vice, and barbarism. The man pulls a hood over his head, and walks into the crowd as if strolling into high tide, seemingly consumed by a viscous wave of humanity, driven by poisoned instinct.
I quaintly make my way to the market place down the street, staggering on the borderlands of the dark forest of the crowd. I pass by countless roadside stands, being all assaulted by the masses, all attempting to barter and battle for position, and for the materials. These people. All of them, covered from head to toe in dust and vile stains, are so interested in these shining trinkets. They sacrifice everything for them. They would rather cover themselves with the makeup of finery than actually wash themselves to purity. They've drifted so far from the reality of their image, their true image, what truly they are made of, that what they are made up of in the first place, has all but vanished. They're nothing now, but filthy flesh wearing shining trinkets, that will also soon become filthy, and the search for new trinkets will continue, while the quest for ones self, for meaning for one's own existence, is filibustered until forgotten.
Trinkets.
Small diamonds and golden pieces that shine in the sun, but are invisible in the dark. I find myself stopped at a trinket stand, one with the fewest townsfolk huddled around it. There are piles of exotic necklaces and bracelets, some simply in a bunched pile upon the stand, and the most reflective and outstanding hanging from wires, high atop this roadside kiosk. My selfish curiosity bares itself, inquisitive and quick, I ponder to myself where these things come from. There aren't any trinkets here; there is nothing to make them with. It makes me contemplate, is there a place beyond this one, whose people are intelligent enough to realize these trinkets mean nothing. Intelligent enough to know that the imbeciles of the world will flock to shining gifts and use them to forge a makeshift false identity. And intelligent enough to take advantage of them.
I gazed at the stand's keeper. A gruff man, covered in his own product. I'm assured he did not make these things; he only garners wealth from his fellow urchins. He knows, however, where he received the things from. I prepare my voice, a weapon I haven't used on a townsperson ever before in my life.
"Sir, where did you get these?" I attempt to make him aware of my voice, as well as for my words not to crack.
The man glances at me for but a moment, and his gaze sharply shifts away, towards the other townsfolk. My heart begins to beat faster, and I feel anger. I am over taken. I speak again, louder this time. I want the answer.
"Tell me where you got this from."
The gruff man pauses, and makes a stern face. He angrily speaks," It's too much for you, don't worry about it child."
I am breathing harder, and my blood is flowing faster. For some reason, I am assaulted by a strong feeling of hatred of this man, this foolish disgusting materialistic dog. So much lesser than me, but knows what I desire to. With no sound-minded forethough, I reach for my bag of thirty coins. I swing them through the air, and slam them onto the table, causing trinkets to launch into the air and fall to the ground, and for the entire kiosk to shake.
I let out a breath, sweating and breathing rapidly," Thirty coins for the information. Where did you get these?"
He gazed at the bag, and peered at the coins within it. "Give them here, first child." he said, his eyes never leaving the coins. I can't think. I push the coins across the table, and onto his lap. The salesman jumps from surprise, and then slowly lifts the pile of coins, many of them falling through his hands. Staring at him intently I notion for him to satisfy my request.
The keeper leans forward,” Child, these beads, come from somewhere very far away, somewhere a child doesn't have to worry about." The crowd looks at me, and the shopkeeper leans back in his chair. They burst into laughter. All of them point, guffaw, and repeat what the keeper said to me. The ridicule continues on. It seems as though my heart has stopped, and my body shakes. My head tilts toward the ground, and I walk off, beyond the crowds, towards home.
Tears make a fain attempt of come, but I dam them up. It is not the fact that I have lost the thirty coins, they were just pieces of silver, they meant nothing, it was those damned people, all of them, laughing at me, because according to what they saw, to what they perceive, I am an incredible idiot, a fool, a simple minded oaf, as well as a pariah. They don't know what kind of creature I am, how different we are. How insect like their thoughts are compared to mine. They should know, but there's no way to tell them, they live their lives through wretched tunnels of vain ignorance, running towards nothingness, and a short meaningless life. I've reached my home, and my new comrade isn't here, so I decide to sit in the dirt, in the alley, close to the crawlspace entrance.
As I sit, the early morning sun trudges its way up a ladder of clouds, all shuffling away from the horizon. The afternoon comes gently, and there is a calm, a kind of calm that spills its way in directly before calamity, at least that is the way I see it. The sun makes its way up and over my head, its rays delivering bursts of heat in between the criss-crossing shadows made by the city. The dust flys across the street, slashing the bustling people, and bashing itself against all manner of existence, as if at war with the world. I can feel my blood slowing down, making my motionless body become numb, and my thoughts begin to begrudgingly become slow, and primitive. My eyelids slip down, again and again, swayed to slumber by the late afternoon sun and cool breezes. It seems the farther I slip down into unconsciousness, the more my mind becomes simplistic, and it is futile to conjure any complex or feasable ideals. I feel one last swift massaging gust, and I fall; deep into an unwanted hybernation. A split second of time, so miniscule in nature that millions of them pass by everytime someone loses a skin cell, goes by. It feels now, somehow with all my senses locked away, like I am lying down. Sand and salt I can feel, smoothly carressing me, and gently shifting amongst the hairs of the body. The smell of the ocean, the sweet scent of the oceanside wind, I can smell it, I can feel it, all I need to do is open my eyes.
A stomp.
My eyes do open, and I see the man, with bags full of goods, standing before me, glaring at me with a look of accusation. I signal for my body to lift itself, but like so many times before my thought soar into the distance like a bird, yet my body sinks into the muck like a stone. A few seconds of recovery and my bloodflow is normalized. I stand before the man, still waning in my post slumber.
"You have nothing child, what did you do with the thirty coins?" he commanded, walking towards the crawlspace. Before I can speak he signales me to come with him through the space and into my home. I quickly slip through the compact pathway and enter in behind him.
"Well the good aren't in here, did you get anything? We were supposed to get the things we needed." he decreed.
With shame and memorial anger I speak," I was fooled. I lost them."
He dropped his thing,"What? I don't think, child, that you understand the gravity of this venture. You need starting supplies, you need things to survive, we're leaving and we're never coming back, and scavenging is not going to last out there child, I know it. you'll be dead in an instant, child!" I notice his anger flaring. Like before he is shaking again, sweating with the kind of anger I know, the kind that happens when you have something so loud to say, and you want everyone to understand, but for the life of you, you can't make them, and it seems impossible for them to even try. To understand. I think quickly to say something but bursts out again.
"But no, right? You want to die don't you? Because you can't live out your little damned dreams that you've grown infatuated with, huh? You can't even appreciate the treasure you got child, the treasure of life child, you can't not want it, its what makes you matter, at all!"
"Matter?" I stand up to him, raising my voice. "You think what you do matters, what I do matters, that this place matters at all? Lifes a treasure? What treasure is there here? And you don't know a damn thing about my dreams, you don't know what I want, what I actually need!" I feel light, saying these things I've always wanted to say to someone, its enlightening, and terrifying. However the man rebuttles.
"Foolsih! Foolish child! You don't need a treasure, living is the treaure! One that we have to hang onto, no matter what world we live in! No one, nobody, not you, or ghosts or men or anyone else will pry it from me, I'll run damn it, I'll run so far away, so far away. I swear to God it's never gonna catch me boy. Never!"
"You're running to nothing! You're foolish, you're an imbicile, and you have nothing to live for! You're life is a sham, everyone you've ever known or will know hates you, everyone I know hates me, I've given up and you make gold mines out of dung heeps! There's nothing, nothing but your blind persistance! Life is meaningless, and it has nothing to do with living, only death. You say there's nothing out there, and there's nothing here, so what is there? Where's the life, where's the reason to live! Where?" I'm now screaming. The both of us shake more and have expressions of terror and primortial, histerical excitement. The man takes me by the shoulds, his hands digging into my skin, piercing through my shirt, whitening the skin from pressure. He throws me to the ground, and presses his face up against mine.
"Don't you ever tell me there's no reason to live! Don't you ever child!" He snarles out, and tears slowly began to drag themselvs from his eyes. They fall onto mine, soon to be joined by my own. " I'll run damn it! I'll run where noone can go! I don't want to die! I'm not ready child, we'll never be ready."
"You don't understand!" we say at the same time. We both pause, and star into one anothers eyes for a short amount of time. I feel his grasp fade, and quickly shuffle away from his grip. Both of us stand again, facing one another. Both of us stand, shaking, blood rushing, and tears, unable to be held back any longer. It's an eternity passing by, the two of us staring at one another, having a sort of mental warefare, surpassing all senses of feeling, transcending the room, transcending consciousness. Our shaking continues, it's becoming violent, and my heart only thumps faster. I feel it in my stomach, in my legs and feet, in my arms and hands, and in my neck and face. I can only think of him, as a saviour from my insanity, but at the same time a demon of opposite paths, whom I am now detesting more than ever. I cringe in pain from non-action, it seems he does the same. I am afraid, I am infatuated, I am, feeling things I've never before. We can no longer stand it. The both of us commence in a clash, I slam into my foe and comrades body, and we begin to grapple with one another. I push against him with everything I have, and he does the same. My legs are wobbling, so much movement, so much thought, I've never done so much for anything in my life before. I've never been able to push so hard, with so much emotion, with so much of myself. Our heads butt against one another, all I can think to do is bring my doctrine, once again against him. We both begin to scream against one another, louder and louder. All sense of self awarness and caution has vanished, we now only see and now each other, trapped in competition, with no way of telling who is right. We argue against one another, while bashing ourselves against each other all over the room. As we move on the screaming becomes more violent, as well as primal. Eventually we drop to our knees, in the median of the room. We're beginning to loose energy, and the will to move on.
"Life is meaningless, your journey is foolsih!" I shriek.
"No child! Death is meaningless!" He poured out.
"I want to die!"
"I want to live!"
"There's no point!"
"It is the point!"
"You should want to die!"
"You should want to live!"
Our voices collide, and in the raw noise, something happens.
"I want to live!"
"I want to die!"
We both stop. I'm not sure now, which of us said what.
Our bodies fall back through the air in exhaust, our eyes still chissling one another. I can no longer think much of anything, as only silence rests between us, silence and ideas. My glance finally leaves his, and travels to my right, placing my notebook directly into my line of sight. I gaze at it, it's no longer strong willed curiosity, it is necessity. Mania infultrates me, I feel a jolt of activation. I leap up, running like a wild animal to the notebook. In an instant I am there, and it is in my hands, but behind me the man charges, and lunges forward to cease my action. I force myself with all my might to throw my body to the right, swaying quickly past his pursuit. Without thought I leap to and partially within the crawlspace. I can feel the touch of the night cooled dirt outside of the entrance, but my leg is snatched down from behind. With everything I have I pull forward. His grip is lost, his hands slipping away both slick from perspiration. I dash out from the alley and into the street, the man following close behind. Both of us breath heavily and cough into the wind. He catches up to me, our legs tangle, and we both collapse onto the road atop one another. Everything ceases. We realise where we are. I raise my head to face what is before me. My marauder does the same, in the oppisite direction. My heart sinks, deep into my body, and there is terror.
We both rise and stand, back to back, facing the primary antagonists of our existences. The sum of a whole of fear filled nights and countless spells of intense anxiety, as well as an unknown front of mystery, standing before both of us. The gates of hell, and the doorway to heaven.
I face men. They stand in the dark, curiosly motionless, clad in strange armor, with weapons I've never seen. He faces the ghosts. As black as the night themselves, clad only in dark robes and white masks. I look up at the stars, and then down, to a stream of moonlight, highlighting my journal. I slowly bend down, carefully and steadily placing my fingers on it. I wait for a few seconds, in expection to probably the last thing I'll ever learn. Mythodically I open the journal to the first page, and view a plethora of writing. I read the first line.
"I've met the boy. He gives me hope to-" and I cease reading, closing the book, and returning to my standing position. That's all, that's it, I do believe now I truly understand. Through the eyes of this man that I have grown to know, there is nothing in the world, but through mine, there is everything I've ever wanted, and everything I've ever wanted is clear. Freedom. Free from forethough, free from non-acting speculation, I believe I am going to die now, caught up in a war of alien beings, but I do believe if only for an instance, I have experienced freedom. I let out a sigh, and for the first time in so long, I smile.
I hear his voice," I never thought you could ever hear a smile child."
I respond, warmed by my newfound happiness," I never thought you could taste a footprint." I could tell he was now smiling too.
"You know child. Maybe there is a reason, one we've both been missing, one we've been running from. Heh, I guess we were waiting for one another weren't we?" he looks up to the sky," At an intersection we were meant to meet at." He pauses. There is silence between us. Only the wind is heard, and the twinkling of the stars make the sky dance.
He lets out a breath. "I think I'm ready. I think it's time. Thank you child, you've given me all the hope I ever needed. Goodbye." He walks towards the ghosts slowly, and I hear groans coming from their direction, groans and flute like fluttering. He stops, and smirks,"You know how in dreams, it feels so real, yet all your senses are gone child?" I turn to him, and glance into his eyes. He gives me a smile, and vanishes into the crowd of dark spectars. As he leaves my sight, suddenly a burst of luminosity rages in from the east, turning the men into silhouetts and pouring into my pupils. The sun is rising. I gaze at the crowd of unknowns before me, waiting for anything to happen.
One of them approaches me, his steps are heavy, and he clangs as he makes his way closer. He places himself in front of me, blocking the sunlight and casting a shadow wholly over me.
"Is your residence here, child?" he says, his voice deep, his tone heavy.
I look down at my feet, and feel my heart jump.
"No." I say, with wide eyes, my lips shaking. The soldier steps aside, and his men give me a path through them. It is a road to el dorado it seems. I hastily make my way past them, my heart fluttering. I can feel the early morning wind floating by me, giving me a natural nourishment I've never felt before. My minds drops from intense euphoria as I reach the edge of town. Before, sits a gigantic plain of sand, overseen by distant mountains. I can smell it again, I can smell the sweet air of my dreams. I take several steps onto the undiscovered ground. Suddenly I look down. I breathe in and out in amazed emotion. I look up to the sun over the mountains.
"I can see them. The footprints."
Ghosts
Everyone runs past me. The crowds of humanity shuffle against one another like a roaring tide constructed of fear. I, however, stroll like a small stream, taking one step after another, my footprints being decimated by fear stricken crowds. They run for safety, the ghost’s arrival draws near.
I have always told myself, that I will never run from the face of death, that I will greet it openly so that I might trap it, and slash and gnaw at its secrets. Secrets, I always hated secrets, the things that I do not know torment me, and those that would keep them away from me, I would wish them dead, only I do not know what secrets the ghosts would have, but I know they would have them. The ghost come every night, at the setting of the sun, and anyone left on the street between the rows of housing, will no longer be there, perhaps they are taken away, perhaps they are killed, that is another secret I long to know.
My home is near, it's the other reason I walk slowly, unlike the fanatical crowd. Those people, I don't talk to them, they're always running, always screaming about nothing. I can't be around them long without wanting to jump from a high peak. They overreact to bumping into one another, they yell and make loud noise that they refer to as speaking, and nothing they do is diplomatic, only savagery. They're idiocy is the very reason they always have to run at dusk. A logical person wouldn't take a chance and be at his home early, and only leave when necessary, but these people, it seems as though they want to be caught, they want to be in fear, and they want to be distraught. Of course, I am not logical, there's no reason to be, there's no one here who would discuss things of logic with, higher ideals, values, and they only care for materials, and of course, their divine entities.
Those are the final elements of our society, its overlords; it's unseen, unknown, unheard, overlords. The people have traditionally passed down legends and folktales once composed of architectural philosophy, now boiled down to nonsensical preaching and blind culturally induced ignorance. I believe I would have never believed it in the first place, and currently I don't. The strange thing about this religious movement is; its missionaries and priests are allowed to pass through the town at any moment, even at night, to poison the minds of the people further. Why? Another answer I desire, but am far too much of a coward to risk my mortality for, but I am also far too enamored with the secrets, to run away from this place. What kind of creature am I? Sometimes I wonder this, or whether I wish for death above all things, or life. What could I possibly want, answers I should know, yet do not. Perhaps this life is a cruel joke, designed to keep secrets from you, to age you more quickly whilst you ripple away like a splash made in the water. I've made it home.
I live in a large, brick, and aged building. The tenants there do not know of my presence. There is an opening in the ally way, a small hole that only I can fit through, which goes down into the basement. There is of course stairs that lead up to the door to the first floor, however, once in the past (as I've heard the tenants discussing) the priest deemed the basement to be a cursed place, perhaps even where the unholy ghosts gather to conspire against the gods. In a way they're right, the basement is inhabited by something that should be cursed by the followers of their god; an intelligent person.
I crawl through the flap door and fall onto a makeshift mattress I had constructed from old, stolen blankets, pillows, and all arrangements of soft things. Dust flew up into the air, and shined in the unfiltered light flowing from the cracks and crevices of the ancient building. There was not much more in my room, besides an old journal, which lay in the middle of the floor, with blank pages designed to be written in. I would record my thoughts, but I've yet to find a pen amongst the roaring masses, even with all their stores of clothes, food, and trinkets, not one of them supplies pens, or paper, or paints, nothing for someone who would like to explore ones self.
The dust settled, and the shimmering light slowly began to give way to entrenching darkness. As gloomy as it were, sitting alone in the dark, I enjoyed it. The dark seemed to be something I liked. I likened it to a getaway, a place where I did not have to hear the constant piercing groans of the screeching masses, but I also didn't have to see myself when I looked down. I was spared the conundrum of gazing at my hands and feet, questioning them, and I, the darkness was an escape from every judgment and the only place where I could escape this world, where I could dream.
I dreamt the most wonderful things, things I could never hope to see, of paradise, a warm, silent, paradise. The first would be an island, with sand smooth as silk that whisked its away around and about my toes, as if the earth was massaging my skin with billions of tiny, white, shining beads. The sun would always shine, and the waters would always be smooth and clear, clear and gentle enough to dance in, until the shining waves transformed into a moonlit aurora of movement. The second was a field of green. A field that stretched for miles and mile, always shining in the soon, with grass like the gentle hands of beautiful women, grass that would never prove coarse, nor ever poke or leave indentions on ones flesh, and there would be one tree, one solitary tree, to lay under, to be free. And there is but one last paradise, one that when I look out onto the distant mountains at the edge of town, does not seem so impossible to reach, when I dream of it, I often awaken in tears, either of sadness or happiness, it's always difficult to tell. This paradise is on the edge of a mountain, among a thicket of soft brush and trees of fruit, which would hold me like a canopy, as I awoke, just in time to see the sun light up the morning dew of the valley, and my soul.
I feel my eyes closing; the thought of paradises lulls me into a passionate daze, and as my eyes close, my mind drips down the drain of unconsciousness, and I have but one last image in my mind; footprints.
I awaken, and as the blur of my unconsciousness lifts like thick smog, I think I can hear rustling outside. There is one ray of light, dividing the darkness above me. I feel a rush of energy, my mind signaling me to run for the outside, to get a glimpse of the exiting ghosts, but this contradicts something I've always heard about the ghosts that I've always been taught. One will never see a ghost before the ghost sees you, and if the ghosts see you, you die. Nonetheless, I am leaping up, and sprinting toward the crawlspace exit, shuffling into the morning shine.
My pupils take in the light like a flood, and I slam my head down onto the hard earth in the alley way, while my eyes viciously kick to adjust. I look up and see the street, being lit up only by small rays of sunlight, trudging through the many windows of the streets lodgings. Slowly, I begin to crawl onto the dusty road, out of the shaded ally way, and looking downward and directly in front of me, I see something dazzling; a footprint.
This isn't just a regular foot print, one undisturbed, one not disrupted by any other prints that could deface its value, pure, and new it is, and imprinted in my view, as if on display at a museum. I quickly prone towards it, flinging up small clouds of dust, and scraping my knees, but the amazement of the print numb me from all other pain and forethought. I place my face close to the print, finding ridges and markings from the shoe or boot that had made it. My eyes draw closer and closer, and I wish to touch it but I don't want to defile it, it seems like so much perfection, so much perfection that would be ruined if disturbed, but I want to sense it with more of my senses, I want to taste it, to smell it. I push my head down close to the sand, and breathe in through my nose. I think I can smell, something new, something alluring and unknown, but no, I'm coughing, wheezing, the dust is now covering my face, and the sacred history is now destroyed.
As I wipe my face, feeling the rough grains of sand tear at my skin, I hear laughing, stupid sounding laughter. Looking up with my dirty face I see one of the people standing outside of a home, laughing at me, apparently they had watched me, and think I'm a foolish man, or dumb child. One would think I should feel nothing about his, and only be disgruntled at their shallow ignorance, but this laughter angers me, I hate being considered a fool by someone of the very same title. I am angry, so I stay, and attempt to outlast its laughter, and eventually I do. They walk away, murmuring to themselves about foolish children, stilling giggling like a newborn infant, just discovering the comedy of other's misfortune, such a monumental discovery isn't it? That it is more entertaining to watch a man fall once, than to watch him rise a thousand times. I remain in my dust; I'm not going to move.
The day's sun rises like usual, and the people get up and go about, like usual. The lots of them ignore me, and keep to themselves their passing glances, not that I would even wish to have them, and of course there are those so bold as to walk close by and look at me judgingly, with conformist cynicism, angry at me for interrupting their routes. Some even raise their voice and ridicule, but I do not satisfy their thirst for conflict, for pointless and uncivilized argument, let them scoff, I will lay with comfort, among my people of sand, and my knights of rocks. Of course, I value them more than these people, and in doing nothing but letting the wind move them, still they are smarter then these people.
The day goes on, my joints begin to ache even when I change position, I want to get up, but for some reason, now, today, my will tells me, not to move, to defend my Thermopiles. I draw line in the sand and lift my head up to the hills outside the city, to see the rouge red sun, readying it self to set fire to the world behind the mountains. The darkness is coming, like the roaring hoards of the east, bringing with it death, bringing with it, the ghosts.
I begin to shake, and now I want, very much to run back to my house. The people have already paraded home, and bruised one another getting there; I am the only one who remains on the street. I am about to leap up, when something dark perks up in my heart. It is my pride, it is my curiosity, asking my questions, and telling me I have a right to the darkness, just as I have a right to the light. And who are the ghosts? Why do they come, are they going to kill me? It froze me; reason and logic begin to lose ground to curiosity and pride, and a small bit of hopelessness that highlights my feelings about death. The sun now dips its last curve of crimson fury below the horizon, the darkness is here, and I remain, in its path. For some reason I cannot believe myself, but myself is now all I have left. I look towards my alley; I'm still only a second away from it, maybe more. My eyes begin to water, and my heart feels a pressure squeezing it from side to side, I have to stand, I have to stand and run now, logic and reason have not won, no, someone else has one, someone who I hate, but now might save my life; cowardice.
Tears now roll down my face, I jump up onto my knees, and unaware that sitting all day has made my knees as weak as wheat stalks. My body buckles and I fall to the ground as a structure with no foundation, my heart rumbles and beats like a quake in the earth, plunging blood into my legs like so many arrows aflame into an army of disheveled men. As I stumble towards home, towards safety, towards heaven, my legs gain strength, and my mind fills its pools with visions of life. I am halfway there, untying the preverbal noose from round my neck.
A touch.
There is a hand on my shoulder. My nerves bust, and my lungs gust up a cough from my mouth, spewing blood onto my nervous lips. Red liquid and tears drip to the ground. I am shaking again, a thousand times more viciously, and I feel my bones turn to paper again. It feels as though my heart is being pierced by the dead branch of a tree, leaving rotted residue of dead fear in my veins. I turn now, slowly, to face my executioner. I am so sure I will die, but wait, don't I want this, will I not finally know the ghosts secrets, and be free from this place, nonetheless, I sweat ice cold drops of petrified water. My eyes meet the black marauder that has captured me.
It immediately twists my head around by the chin; all I saw was a dark blur in front of the newly born night sky behind it. A pain I felt, my mind created it. I was bracing myself for my own fatality. Nothing happens. Hot, burning lips press up against my ear, and a pulsing loud whisper thunders in.
"Don't move." it proclaimed.
I wait for more, but nothing is said, the voice only breathes heavily until small pools of condensation begin to form in my ear, and the lips shake uncontrollably, as if attempting to hold back emotion, even tears. I feel like running, I want to, but I know I can't. The lips press even harder, and whisper again.
"I'm going to shoot you up with a sedative, you're going to pass out, when you wake up, and you’ll be home." I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out, only the kind of hideous silence a truly confused and lost man could make. I feel a small prick in my neck, my eyes close like titanium doors, then silence.
Now only dark. It plagues my mind that my conscious still frolics about in its own awareness, while my body sits limp and powerless. A light I see now, and it feels as if my eyes are opening up, like a fortress welcoming the gifts of allies. The light is blinding, in my mind I raise my arms to guard my eyes, but in my heart, I do nothing but let the picture unfold. My mouth drops, and a new silence, a silence of awe, and of wonderful feeling, arise from my existence.
I am in a canopy of tall grass, each blade feels like soft linen on my skin. The blades of grass gently sway back and forth, being so lightly bounced against my body by an almost sensual wind that smells of strawberries, lime, and even citrus. I look up, and there are trees all around, swaying as well, and their branches worshiping the prosperity of this perfect world. Though I have never been here, I know this place; it is the place of my dreams, the paradise. I know what I will see when I rise, the valley, with the morning sun overlooking it, I cannot rise quickly enough. I am overcome with happiness, something so far away from me, now embracing me like the mother birds breasts to her children. It is so warm here, so nice, I rise. I can feel the tears come, with one glimpse, one look, one look at the only pure thing I live for, and then my eyes open.
I am lying on my bed, and I hear crackling. There are still tears coming out of my eyes, but they've turned from warm to icy. The depression, the desire for death has returned. But something is new here, there is a crackling in the corner. A fire. A fire is in my house, someone has lit the steel made grill in the corner of the room. I can see the flames minutely roaring, the light being block by a kneeling, bent over silhouette, that seemed to be moving his hand back and forth over- my journal.
I make an attempt to leap up and confront this person in my home, but I immediately feel disoriented and drowsed, as if under anesthesia. The silhouette turns its head, noting my awaked ness. I fall on all fours, and use what energy I can muster to lift my head, and face the intruder and caper.
The silhouette arose in front of the flames, closing my journal, and storing the pen within the shadows of his attire. This large black shadow began to tread towards me, at an oozing, unsure, liquid pace. I could see now he was wearing boots. They were large and forced his feet to trudge against them, as if they were pulling him down, as if they were purposely making an attempt to stop him, as if they demanded him to stay in one place, nonetheless he made his way to me, and came into full view. I felt the wind of the same warm breath the beat against my ear earlier now sweep up against my face. His face comes close to mine, his nose nearly pressing up against my forehead, and above his eyes wide open, gazing into me. I can hear everything on this man shaking, he seems to be trembling, disturbed by what I sense is fear. He places his hands on my shoulders; they rumbled my body with their quaking.
I struggle to say something, I'm fear-stricken as well," Who-"
"No one. Enemy of everyone boy. How long have you been living here, and why, who are you?" he spoke quickly, his voice trembling like the rest of his body, constantly salivating and licking his lips.
I breathed in, and made an attempt at composure,"Noone, too. I'm no one too. I've lived here for months, or years I don't know. I-I have nowhere else to go." I look down to relieve myself of his gaze. He quickly grabs my chin and forces my eyes to meet his again.
The man came even closer to my face, the heat surrounding him began to cause me to sweat as well, his shaking only became more rapid,” Will you tell? That I'm here? You can't tell, anyone child, will you?"
I let out again, a stream of words in an exhale," No I won’t tell anybody, I don't associate with these people I swear." I let my head fall, and let all the tenseness in my neck obstruct. I feel a rush, I speak again," Why did you grab me? Are you, a ghost?"
The shadow man scoffed and took his hands away from my shoulders. He switched his position from all fours to sitting in front of me. For a few minutes, he only stares into space, his quivering slowly fading into solemn silence. I couldn't fight my curiosity," Are you-?"
He interupted,"No, I'm not a damned ghost boy. But you would sure as hell meet one if I hadn't come along. Why hadn't you went inside you foolish child?" he spoke with a slow ominous tone. I don't want to even try to explain to him why I sat on the ground, I don't know what to say. "I'm not sure, I guess I'm, just a stupid child."
The man looked at me with piercing eyes, judging every part of me that I'd just revealed in one statement. He spoke,” No, you're not are you? You're different from the townspeople; you have something about your looks, in your eyes." I again, don't have anything to say to him. It's been so long since I've spoke to someone, I'm unsure of everything I could possibly think of saying, curiosity wins again," Why were you dressed as a ghost?"
He looked at me with the same judging eyes again. It's strange; he pauses for another few minutes, again looking away. After the pause, he speaks again," Who am I? Where did I come from, it seems you want to know. With coming events it seems there's no reason to keep it from you child." He takes a shorter pause, and exhales. He speaks again," I'm a criminal. I came to this town a long time ago, of course on the run from people who would do me harm. I only travel by night, I know if anyone saw me it would be over, and when I came here I noticed at night everyone was gone, but those, things, they would roam the street. I barely escaped the first time, I heard a screech and hiss, but at the same time a bell tolling and horns, damn those sounds. I never understood where they come from. Sometimes I would get closer to the things, and I would deafen and hear nothing, and when I stepped away the sound got so loud it made my ears bleed a few times. That first time I jumped into a hole in an alley out of sight. The next morning I gathered black cloth like there's, and I attempted to join them." his brows lowered, as if in astonishment at his own story," And incredibly it worked. Night after night I followed them. I've learned their dances. They dance in the street at night, all alone, I can still hear the noises though, I've gotten so used to them now though, their all I hear. During the day we sleep beneath the church, they remain motionless, I guess they're sleeping, I'm never sure, but there is one thing though child." he lowered his head and ran his hand through what I could see was jet black oily hair, and continued," I think they're beginning to realize I'm not one of them, every time I'm a move slower, a move off, every time I am awake while they are in slumber, I think soon they would have finished me, it's a good thing I found this place, and you I suppose."
A rush of feelings and revelations, I feel my blood flow like rapids. This man has piqued my intrigue. I can't help myself I have to ask,” What is it like outside this town?"
"Nothing, there is nothing. I know someone like you dreams, I heard you kicking around over there in your sleep, there's nothing." he proclaims somberly.
I sink. For some reason I knew my doubts were justified. My dreams are for naught. I wish no longer to see this man. I get up from my knees, and crawl into my makeshift bed, in an attempt to let my mind go off again, into silence, however the man continues.
"It's that nothing, though boy, we'll be a lot safer than here soon, because men are coming." he said with his ominous tone. "Men I seen before, they're coming here now, and soon, maybe even tomorrow."
I can tell he's appealing to me for a response but I only lye motionless.
"Child, this is no time for you to be foolish due to whatever feelings you're actin' all silent over. Right now, you stay here your a dead man, I swear it! See these men got weapons, ones you and everyone 'round here have never seen. I don't know why but they're comin' but they and them ghosts are gonna tangle, and I have a feeling we normal folks are gonna get caught up in a war we have no place in. Look child, I got somethin' to live for, I ain't dying' no time soon, and I need someone smart on the road someone like me, who knows how to run. To run from death and danger, and anything that'll stop us from free thinkin'! See I know about you, because you are just like me child, just like me! I've seen you; you're the kind of guy who looks up at the clouds arent'cha? And wonders where the sun came from and why it's there. You even want to know about these damn ghosts, but there's only death in them ghosts boy, only death. There's death in men too, death is everywhere, all around, all the time. Son were in a room with four walls and all of em' are closin' in, but goddamn it if I won't fight til' I die to find a way out, even if I know there isn't one! So come with me child, let's go and get out of here, tomorrow, at noon!"
I heard his speech. I'm running my hand over my heart, it's still sinking.
"What say you child?!" he thundered, grabbing my shoulder.
"What if I don't have anything to live for?" I whispered into the darkness, almost instinctively.
The man scoffed,"Nothin' to live for? What the hell is wrong with you child! We live to run, to run! From death! Don't you fear death!?"
I felt my very soul stir; I swallow and quickly turn my head to him. With a tear beginning to leave my eye and cascade down onto my now flaring cheek, I wrench the mans arm as tight as I could," No."
The man leaps back, onto his backside. My grip remains and I am flung from my bed onto the floor, my chin scraping against the stone solid surface. My tears now join the blood dripping from my face. Again I speak," If there's nothing out there but sand, damn, stupid, awful sand! Then there's nothing left for me to do but die!" I let go of his arm, and again, crawl into bed.
There is silence. Neither of us speaks for what I suppose is almost an hour, I don't know what the man is doing, and I do not want to turn around, or move at all. My chin is gradually scabbing, and there is a puddle of blood in front of my eyes. I hear, very lightly the scratching of a pen, he is writing in my journal again. My curiosity refuses to subside any longer. I am going to see what he is writing. Getting up from my bed I see he's added wood to the fire in the grill, and as I approach the warmth increases. It seems as though it’s nestling me, coaxing me in with an alluring bribe of comfort. Step by step, steadily with a depressing speed I approach closer, until, at only a few feet away, he turns and sees me. He immediately slams the book closed, stands up and faces me.
I look down, and began to breathe heavily, curiosity, again swings, “I want to know what you've been writing in my journal."
He pushed out his chest, and exhaled, though still seemingly manic,” My plan, to get out of here. You don't need to see it. Wouldn't be of any use to you child"
I squinted in skepticism," You need to write down a plan to walk out of town?"
The man laughed and placed his index finger against my chest,” See? Smarts. That’s what me and you have."
I feel a touch of comfort between us, it feels good, but my self centered inquisitiveness only tells me he is lying about the plan, and prompts me to grab my journal. My hand is just about to strike, when a sudden beam of light splinters in from the outside, thieving away both of our focuses. It seems the morning has come.
We both stare into the light, forging a rainbow of spots, now swimming around in our fields of vision. The both of us stand and stare in our mysticism until we hear the rustling of feet outside. The rustling of the mongrels.
The man again runs his hand through his head and walks toward the exit crawl space. He turns to me, letting out a relief bearing sigh," It seems we've made it through another night, they obviously haven't gotten here yet child. We should leave before nightfall child, I need a few more things though." he reaches into his black coat and throws me a jingling bag. I struggle to catch it, but I avoid dropping it all together. It seems it is a bag full of coins. "There’s thirty coins in there, should be enough to get us outta here. To safety."
I feel into the bag and slowly lower my hand into it, grasping and fingering each coin. I feel I should throw them back, as though I should curse them and bury them, never to be seen again.
"I assume you're still coming with me, child. Let's go out onto the street, you get a few things you need and we meet back here in the afternoon, come a few minutes before dawn, we run, we get the hell outta here. Okay?" His expression had raised brows and his tone was hopeful and confident.
"Yes." I say. Though we differ so much, I will go with him. In all honesty, I believe we're going to die here anyway.
We both stumble through the crawl space and make our way onto the crowded, bustling street, all the people jostling against one another, loud noises, yelling, greed, thievery, vice, and barbarism. The man pulls a hood over his head, and walks into the crowd as if strolling into high tide, seemingly consumed by a viscous wave of humanity, driven by poisoned instinct.
I quaintly make my way to the market place down the street, staggering on the borderlands of the dark forest of the crowd. I pass by countless roadside stands, being all assaulted by the masses, all attempting to barter and battle for position, and for the materials. These people. All of them, covered from head to toe in dust and vile stains, are so interested in these shining trinkets. They sacrifice everything for them. They would rather cover themselves with the makeup of finery than actually wash themselves to purity. They've drifted so far from the reality of their image, their true image, what truly they are made of, that what they are made up of in the first place, has all but vanished. They're nothing now, but filthy flesh wearing shining trinkets, that will also soon become filthy, and the search for new trinkets will continue, while the quest for ones self, for meaning for one's own existence, is filibustered until forgotten.
Trinkets.
Small diamonds and golden pieces that shine in the sun, but are invisible in the dark. I find myself stopped at a trinket stand, one with the fewest townsfolk huddled around it. There are piles of exotic necklaces and bracelets, some simply in a bunched pile upon the stand, and the most reflective and outstanding hanging from wires, high atop this roadside kiosk. My selfish curiosity bares itself, inquisitive and quick, I ponder to myself where these things come from. There aren't any trinkets here; there is nothing to make them with. It makes me contemplate, is there a place beyond this one, whose people are intelligent enough to realize these trinkets mean nothing. Intelligent enough to know that the imbeciles of the world will flock to shining gifts and use them to forge a makeshift false identity. And intelligent enough to take advantage of them.
I gazed at the stand's keeper. A gruff man, covered in his own product. I'm assured he did not make these things; he only garners wealth from his fellow urchins. He knows, however, where he received the things from. I prepare my voice, a weapon I haven't used on a townsperson ever before in my life.
"Sir, where did you get these?" I attempt to make him aware of my voice, as well as for my words not to crack.
The man glances at me for but a moment, and his gaze sharply shifts away, towards the other townsfolk. My heart begins to beat faster, and I feel anger. I am over taken. I speak again, louder this time. I want the answer.
"Tell me where you got this from."
The gruff man pauses, and makes a stern face. He angrily speaks," It's too much for you, don't worry about it child."
I am breathing harder, and my blood is flowing faster. For some reason, I am assaulted by a strong feeling of hatred of this man, this foolish disgusting materialistic dog. So much lesser than me, but knows what I desire to. With no sound-minded forethough, I reach for my bag of thirty coins. I swing them through the air, and slam them onto the table, causing trinkets to launch into the air and fall to the ground, and for the entire kiosk to shake.
I let out a breath, sweating and breathing rapidly," Thirty coins for the information. Where did you get these?"
He gazed at the bag, and peered at the coins within it. "Give them here, first child." he said, his eyes never leaving the coins. I can't think. I push the coins across the table, and onto his lap. The salesman jumps from surprise, and then slowly lifts the pile of coins, many of them falling through his hands. Staring at him intently I notion for him to satisfy my request.
The keeper leans forward,” Child, these beads, come from somewhere very far away, somewhere a child doesn't have to worry about." The crowd looks at me, and the shopkeeper leans back in his chair. They burst into laughter. All of them point, guffaw, and repeat what the keeper said to me. The ridicule continues on. It seems as though my heart has stopped, and my body shakes. My head tilts toward the ground, and I walk off, beyond the crowds, towards home.
Tears make a fain attempt of come, but I dam them up. It is not the fact that I have lost the thirty coins, they were just pieces of silver, they meant nothing, it was those damned people, all of them, laughing at me, because according to what they saw, to what they perceive, I am an incredible idiot, a fool, a simple minded oaf, as well as a pariah. They don't know what kind of creature I am, how different we are. How insect like their thoughts are compared to mine. They should know, but there's no way to tell them, they live their lives through wretched tunnels of vain ignorance, running towards nothingness, and a short meaningless life. I've reached my home, and my new comrade isn't here, so I decide to sit in the dirt, in the alley, close to the crawlspace entrance.
As I sit, the early morning sun trudges its way up a ladder of clouds, all shuffling away from the horizon. The afternoon comes gently, and there is a calm, a kind of calm that spills its way in directly before calamity, at least that is the way I see it. The sun makes its way up and over my head, its rays delivering bursts of heat in between the criss-crossing shadows made by the city. The dust flys across the street, slashing the bustling people, and bashing itself against all manner of existence, as if at war with the world. I can feel my blood slowing down, making my motionless body become numb, and my thoughts begin to begrudgingly become slow, and primitive. My eyelids slip down, again and again, swayed to slumber by the late afternoon sun and cool breezes. It seems the farther I slip down into unconsciousness, the more my mind becomes simplistic, and it is futile to conjure any complex or feasable ideals. I feel one last swift massaging gust, and I fall; deep into an unwanted hybernation. A split second of time, so miniscule in nature that millions of them pass by everytime someone loses a skin cell, goes by. It feels now, somehow with all my senses locked away, like I am lying down. Sand and salt I can feel, smoothly carressing me, and gently shifting amongst the hairs of the body. The smell of the ocean, the sweet scent of the oceanside wind, I can smell it, I can feel it, all I need to do is open my eyes.
A stomp.
My eyes do open, and I see the man, with bags full of goods, standing before me, glaring at me with a look of accusation. I signal for my body to lift itself, but like so many times before my thought soar into the distance like a bird, yet my body sinks into the muck like a stone. A few seconds of recovery and my bloodflow is normalized. I stand before the man, still waning in my post slumber.
"You have nothing child, what did you do with the thirty coins?" he commanded, walking towards the crawlspace. Before I can speak he signales me to come with him through the space and into my home. I quickly slip through the compact pathway and enter in behind him.
"Well the good aren't in here, did you get anything? We were supposed to get the things we needed." he decreed.
With shame and memorial anger I speak," I was fooled. I lost them."
He dropped his thing,"What? I don't think, child, that you understand the gravity of this venture. You need starting supplies, you need things to survive, we're leaving and we're never coming back, and scavenging is not going to last out there child, I know it. you'll be dead in an instant, child!" I notice his anger flaring. Like before he is shaking again, sweating with the kind of anger I know, the kind that happens when you have something so loud to say, and you want everyone to understand, but for the life of you, you can't make them, and it seems impossible for them to even try. To understand. I think quickly to say something but bursts out again.
"But no, right? You want to die don't you? Because you can't live out your little damned dreams that you've grown infatuated with, huh? You can't even appreciate the treasure you got child, the treasure of life child, you can't not want it, its what makes you matter, at all!"
"Matter?" I stand up to him, raising my voice. "You think what you do matters, what I do matters, that this place matters at all? Lifes a treasure? What treasure is there here? And you don't know a damn thing about my dreams, you don't know what I want, what I actually need!" I feel light, saying these things I've always wanted to say to someone, its enlightening, and terrifying. However the man rebuttles.
"Foolsih! Foolish child! You don't need a treasure, living is the treaure! One that we have to hang onto, no matter what world we live in! No one, nobody, not you, or ghosts or men or anyone else will pry it from me, I'll run damn it, I'll run so far away, so far away. I swear to God it's never gonna catch me boy. Never!"
"You're running to nothing! You're foolish, you're an imbicile, and you have nothing to live for! You're life is a sham, everyone you've ever known or will know hates you, everyone I know hates me, I've given up and you make gold mines out of dung heeps! There's nothing, nothing but your blind persistance! Life is meaningless, and it has nothing to do with living, only death. You say there's nothing out there, and there's nothing here, so what is there? Where's the life, where's the reason to live! Where?" I'm now screaming. The both of us shake more and have expressions of terror and primortial, histerical excitement. The man takes me by the shoulds, his hands digging into my skin, piercing through my shirt, whitening the skin from pressure. He throws me to the ground, and presses his face up against mine.
"Don't you ever tell me there's no reason to live! Don't you ever child!" He snarles out, and tears slowly began to drag themselvs from his eyes. They fall onto mine, soon to be joined by my own. " I'll run damn it! I'll run where noone can go! I don't want to die! I'm not ready child, we'll never be ready."
"You don't understand!" we say at the same time. We both pause, and star into one anothers eyes for a short amount of time. I feel his grasp fade, and quickly shuffle away from his grip. Both of us stand again, facing one another. Both of us stand, shaking, blood rushing, and tears, unable to be held back any longer. It's an eternity passing by, the two of us staring at one another, having a sort of mental warefare, surpassing all senses of feeling, transcending the room, transcending consciousness. Our shaking continues, it's becoming violent, and my heart only thumps faster. I feel it in my stomach, in my legs and feet, in my arms and hands, and in my neck and face. I can only think of him, as a saviour from my insanity, but at the same time a demon of opposite paths, whom I am now detesting more than ever. I cringe in pain from non-action, it seems he does the same. I am afraid, I am infatuated, I am, feeling things I've never before. We can no longer stand it. The both of us commence in a clash, I slam into my foe and comrades body, and we begin to grapple with one another. I push against him with everything I have, and he does the same. My legs are wobbling, so much movement, so much thought, I've never done so much for anything in my life before. I've never been able to push so hard, with so much emotion, with so much of myself. Our heads butt against one another, all I can think to do is bring my doctrine, once again against him. We both begin to scream against one another, louder and louder. All sense of self awarness and caution has vanished, we now only see and now each other, trapped in competition, with no way of telling who is right. We argue against one another, while bashing ourselves against each other all over the room. As we move on the screaming becomes more violent, as well as primal. Eventually we drop to our knees, in the median of the room. We're beginning to loose energy, and the will to move on.
"Life is meaningless, your journey is foolsih!" I shriek.
"No child! Death is meaningless!" He poured out.
"I want to die!"
"I want to live!"
"There's no point!"
"It is the point!"
"You should want to die!"
"You should want to live!"
Our voices collide, and in the raw noise, something happens.
"I want to live!"
"I want to die!"
We both stop. I'm not sure now, which of us said what.
Our bodies fall back through the air in exhaust, our eyes still chissling one another. I can no longer think much of anything, as only silence rests between us, silence and ideas. My glance finally leaves his, and travels to my right, placing my notebook directly into my line of sight. I gaze at it, it's no longer strong willed curiosity, it is necessity. Mania infultrates me, I feel a jolt of activation. I leap up, running like a wild animal to the notebook. In an instant I am there, and it is in my hands, but behind me the man charges, and lunges forward to cease my action. I force myself with all my might to throw my body to the right, swaying quickly past his pursuit. Without thought I leap to and partially within the crawlspace. I can feel the touch of the night cooled dirt outside of the entrance, but my leg is snatched down from behind. With everything I have I pull forward. His grip is lost, his hands slipping away both slick from perspiration. I dash out from the alley and into the street, the man following close behind. Both of us breath heavily and cough into the wind. He catches up to me, our legs tangle, and we both collapse onto the road atop one another. Everything ceases. We realise where we are. I raise my head to face what is before me. My marauder does the same, in the oppisite direction. My heart sinks, deep into my body, and there is terror.
We both rise and stand, back to back, facing the primary antagonists of our existences. The sum of a whole of fear filled nights and countless spells of intense anxiety, as well as an unknown front of mystery, standing before both of us. The gates of hell, and the doorway to heaven.
I face men. They stand in the dark, curiosly motionless, clad in strange armor, with weapons I've never seen. He faces the ghosts. As black as the night themselves, clad only in dark robes and white masks. I look up at the stars, and then down, to a stream of moonlight, highlighting my journal. I slowly bend down, carefully and steadily placing my fingers on it. I wait for a few seconds, in expection to probably the last thing I'll ever learn. Mythodically I open the journal to the first page, and view a plethora of writing. I read the first line.
"I've met the boy. He gives me hope to-" and I cease reading, closing the book, and returning to my standing position. That's all, that's it, I do believe now I truly understand. Through the eyes of this man that I have grown to know, there is nothing in the world, but through mine, there is everything I've ever wanted, and everything I've ever wanted is clear. Freedom. Free from forethough, free from non-acting speculation, I believe I am going to die now, caught up in a war of alien beings, but I do believe if only for an instance, I have experienced freedom. I let out a sigh, and for the first time in so long, I smile.
I hear his voice," I never thought you could ever hear a smile child."
I respond, warmed by my newfound happiness," I never thought you could taste a footprint." I could tell he was now smiling too.
"You know child. Maybe there is a reason, one we've both been missing, one we've been running from. Heh, I guess we were waiting for one another weren't we?" he looks up to the sky," At an intersection we were meant to meet at." He pauses. There is silence between us. Only the wind is heard, and the twinkling of the stars make the sky dance.
He lets out a breath. "I think I'm ready. I think it's time. Thank you child, you've given me all the hope I ever needed. Goodbye." He walks towards the ghosts slowly, and I hear groans coming from their direction, groans and flute like fluttering. He stops, and smirks,"You know how in dreams, it feels so real, yet all your senses are gone child?" I turn to him, and glance into his eyes. He gives me a smile, and vanishes into the crowd of dark spectars. As he leaves my sight, suddenly a burst of luminosity rages in from the east, turning the men into silhouetts and pouring into my pupils. The sun is rising. I gaze at the crowd of unknowns before me, waiting for anything to happen.
One of them approaches me, his steps are heavy, and he clangs as he makes his way closer. He places himself in front of me, blocking the sunlight and casting a shadow wholly over me.
"Is your residence here, child?" he says, his voice deep, his tone heavy.
I look down at my feet, and feel my heart jump.
"No." I say, with wide eyes, my lips shaking. The soldier steps aside, and his men give me a path through them. It is a road to el dorado it seems. I hastily make my way past them, my heart fluttering. I can feel the early morning wind floating by me, giving me a natural nourishment I've never felt before. My minds drops from intense euphoria as I reach the edge of town. Before, sits a gigantic plain of sand, overseen by distant mountains. I can smell it again, I can smell the sweet air of my dreams. I take several steps onto the undiscovered ground. Suddenly I look down. I breathe in and out in amazed emotion. I look up to the sun over the mountains.
"I can see them. The footprints."