“He sees her, walking through the busy streets below. With her midnight-colored hair streaming down her back, she is the picture of perfect beauty. Her face is illuminated by the contrast of her pale skin and dark eyes. She moves with graceful, flowing movements, as if her entire journey was predestined for her, and she is just going through the motions. He gazes out his window as she moves through the crowds, unaware of her loyal watcher. He has watched her, every day, for weeks now, moving in the same manner, in the same direction, at the same pace, at the same time. She appears from around the corner of 5th street, walks down the street below his apartment window, and disappears around the corner of 6th street. At his window, he watches her pass by, dreaming, wishing he could walk next to her as she disappears into oblivion. She is never accompanied by another, and there is never any interaction between her and the shadows surrounding her. His eyes never leave her, as he fears he will miss a second of her presence. As she appears from the edge of his world, all else fades and blackens in comparison to her beauty. “What fools these men be,” he thinks to himself, “to pass by such beauty and not by stricken by awe.” For no matter what happens in the street, no man, woman, or child turn to face her. She moves through the crowd as if she was nothing more than a warm summer’s breeze. The only one to acknowledge her existence is the lone watcher from above.
Her admirer sits above, in his sanctuary, unwilling to face the outside world while it still teems with life. He travels only at night, fearing the light of the sun and the crowds of the day, and only finding comfort in the sunless night, and even then never leaving the safety of his street. For him, the world is too dangerous of a place for someone with his illness. Long ago, some time after he first moved into his apartment, which is too long ago for him to remember exactly when, he developed a philosophy that no beauty could ever come from a world so cold. Yet, many weeks ago, this dark-haired goddess appeared from beyond his world, and captured his attention like nothing else ever has before. For those few brief minutes that his human eyes look upon her, he drinks in every bit of detail. When those minutes have passed, he leaves his window and takes to his bed, where he satisfies his ravenous appetite through fictitious encounters with his unrequited love. When he travels out of his home at night, he follows her trail, getting lost in his lust to be by her side. There are some nights, when his imagination cannot fully satisfy him, and his mind is intoxicated by her picture, where he sees her walking down her path. It is at these moments, when he feels he is right next to her, when he feels his heart stop, and it is as if death itself is standing with him, watching the beauty pass by.
Today it is raining, yet the watcher sits at his open window, waiting for his minutes of passion. The clock strikes noon, and the woman appears, walking through the crowd as they run past to escape the storm. She continues on her trail, despite the weather, wearing no raincoat and carrying no umbrella. As she walks by the closest point to the window, the watcher sees her as clearly as ever. He sees her face, dry and soft, and her hair, glistening as if she were standing in the gleaming sun. Not a drop of rain has dared touch her, for fear of unthinkable torture by the hands of God for defiling such a personification of beauty. He stares, as he always does, but for the first time not due to her beauty, but to the inhumanness of her existence. A creature of such beauty could not possible have been given life in a world as dark and corrupt as this one. For the first time he notices details of more than just her beauty. Her notices that the dress she wears is never different, and always black in color. Her hair, her makeup, and her movements are always the same, repeated over and over, never changing. She is constant, just as she is in his mind, just as she was the first time he saw her. He stares, not because he believes in her beauty, but because he doubts in her existence. And for the first time, before she disappears from his view, she turns and smiles at him.
One smile is all that was needed to dislodge any disbelief in his perfect love. She has acknowledged his existence, in that one simple act, and erased the doubt from his mind. For the next twenty-four hours, her smile never leaves his mind, and he never leaves his window. The sun welcomes the next day. The watcher turns his head to the proper view, and waits. The clock strikes noon, yet she does not appear. He slowly rises from his seat, and calmly walks out the door down to the street below. For the first time in years, he steps out into the sunlight, into the crowded street below his window. He slowly moves towards her path as the people move past him. No one pays any attention to him, no one interacts with him. He turns to wait for her appearance, only to find himself standing face to face with his dream lover. She is smiling the same smile he saw yesterday for the first time, and is wearing the same dress that he first saw her in, painted the color of night. Her beauty is untainted, unchanged, since he first noticed her traveling under his window many weeks ago, as if she stepped out of his memory and into his reality. “You are waiting for me,” she says to him. Her voice echoes around him, like a sound in a cave. Her voice paralyzes his body, yet he feels his muscles relax and go numb. “I have always been waiting for you,” he replies to the shadow. “Then come with me,” she whispers, “and never wait again.” With these words, she walks past him. He turns and follows, walking aside of his love, as they disappear around the corner. No longer is she the unrequited dream. No more would he have to sit at his window, cursed only to gaze upon her beauty. He was hers now and forever.”
Monday, February 22, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Hero
“I guess we should begin with a little history lesson, just too clear things up. My father was a hero. And I’m not just saying that because I’m his son, and I look up to him. I mean he was a real hero. He saved lives. He defeated the bad guys, and he saved the day more times than he could count. But it wasn’t all just fame and fortune. In fact, no one in the general public even knows what he did for them. No one knows what he sacrificed. No one knows how many times he stopped people from dying. He always says its better this way. There’s no publicity and cameras. He can go about his life like a normal person now. Even if he still has his powers. He says he got everything out of life he could want so far. He has a family, the government pays for everything, and he has the satisfaction of knowing he helped change the world. If only I could have been more like him. If only I could have just been content with controlling my powers, and not so impatient. I only wanted to be like him. I only wanted to be a hero.”
“I have powers, but they are different than my father. We aren’t really sure what went wrong, since my sister’s powers seem more in line with his, but instead of fire, I use energy. You wouldn’t think it’s too big of a deal, since what’s the difference between a fireball and an energy blast, right? Well that would be the case, but I don’t create the energy, I absorb it. I take the energy from around me, pull it all in, and then I can use it. And there are so many technicalities. Too little energy, I can’t do anything. Too much energy and my cells will either burst or burn. We haven’t figured out which yet, and I’m ok with that. Either way, it takes time and concentration to absorb the energy. It’s as if nature knew giving me too much power right off the bat would be disastrous, so instead I have to earn it. Not like that changes anything about how I acted. In fact, none of this really matters, so I’ll just cut to the important part.”
“It was ten when my powers first manifested. I was 16 when it happened. That’s six years of training with them. You would think in six years I would have learned something from my father’s stories instead of just enjoying them and daydreaming about saving the world. But I didn’t and I made a terrible mistake. I thought I had a good handle on my powers. I thought I could do something other than just train with them. I thought I could be a hero, just like my father. But I was wrong. It happened in a city, and you can forget about asking which one, cuz there is no way I’m giving details. It was in a city, and I was jumping from rooftop to rooftop, just like in the comics I read. Looking back I am so embarrassed by how I acted, but I can’t change the past. It was on one particular rooftop, looking over a certain alley, that I heard the scream.”
“I will never forget the place. I will never forget the cold night air on my face, and the sounds of the city. The way my heart froze at that woman’s scream. I should have just left. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but everything would have been better off if I had just left that woman to her fate. I should have just walked away. But of course, that’s not what my father would have done. And that’s not how the superheroes from the comics and movies would have acted. They would have plunged headfirst into the alley, instinctively knew what was what, beat the bad guys, and saved that woman. That’s what would have happened in a movie. God I just wish this would have been a movie. That’s how I acted though, just like those fictional heroes. I brought a mask, cuz that’s what all the made up heroes wore. Not my father. He didn’t wear a mask, cuz he had nothing to hide. But on went my mask, and that’s where my life ended.”
“Headfirst into the fray I went. I can remember the scene perfectly. He had her up against the wall, about to help himself to her. The only light was coming from a streetlamp outside the alley. It was so dark; I couldn’t make out a face, or any details for that matter. If I could have, I might have seen the knife he had at her throat. I don’t know if that would have mattered to me at the moment. All I was concerned with was punishing him for hurting her. I’m not sure if I even said anything. I couldn’t make up my mind on a catch-phrase. Hell, I didn’t even have a costume. It was just my street clothes and a plain black face mask. Like the ones kids wear at Halloween. Yet there I was, jumping to the rescue of a woman I didn’t know, about to beat up a criminal, just like the comics. Too bad in the comics, the good guy always wins.”
“So without thinking, I ran straight into the assailant. ‘Without thinking’ could pretty much sum up the entire night, even though I spent months planning this. It’s amazing how much planning and decision making you can do, without putting a single thought into the whole thing. Anyway, I tackled the man, which knocked him off her and into a dumpster. He got back up and I, once again without thinking, used my powers and blasted him with energy. This was a horrible mistake, one of many, since he flew out of the alley into the city street. Even in this busy city, a man flying out of an alley attracts some attention. But I wasn’t concerned with him anymore. I had defeated the bad guy and saved the day. Turning around I said something like, “You’re safe now, ma’am” or something stupid like that. That’s when I saw what I really did. That’s when I saw she was dead.”
“Remember that knife I mentioned earlier? The one I didn’t take notice to? The one that was held to her throat? So close to her throat, in fact, that when I ran into the man, his hand slipped. Instead of the knife falling to the ground, as would have happened in every freaking movie and comic in the world, the knife slipped into her throat. It was such a clean cut; you wouldn’t even have known it was by accident. But this wasn’t by accident. This was a mistake made by me, because I was too impatient to just wait until I was ready for something like this. So there I was, standing over the body of this woman, who was dead because of me. True, she was about to be raped, and he could have very well killed her anyway, but it wasn’t his fault. He had the knife to her throat, but I moved his hand.”
“I freaked. I didn’t know what to do. I started to cry, and it was at this point that the crowd, drawn from the man flying form the alley because of me began to come into the alley. The cops arrived at this point, and I just ran. Such a hero-like maneuver. I ran like a scared little boy because that’s what I was. I had just caused a murder to take place. No. I just committed a murder. And instead of standing there and explaining myself, I ran away. A couple blocks away, I jumped into a dumpster. I’m not sure how long I was there, but it was the first of many nights were I cried myself to sleep. I cried cuz I killed that woman. I cried cuz I failed at being a hero. I can never be like my father now. Not after what happened that night. I knew right then and there I can never be a real hero.”
“When I woke up, I went back to the alley. Who knows why, but I needed to see what happened. I guess it was to make sure I didn’t dream it up. Maybe it was to punish me more. I don’t know why, but when I got there the place was taped off. The police told me that a woman was killed last night by a burglar while he was trying to rape her. So that was the story. No one even knew I was there. You would think that would have helped. But it didn’t, and it still doesn’t. You don’t know how much I just wanted to grab that cop and shout “I did it! I killed her!” But I just walked away. Just like I did the night before. I left and came home; something that woman will never get to do anymore. I never even got her name. I couldn’t find it on the internet. I searched for hours, but I couldn’t find it. As if it didn’t happen. But it did, and her blood will forever be on my hands. The next day I burned all my comics. I have never watched another superhero movie since without feeling ashamed. And I started training even harder with my abilities. Night and day, and I’m still training. I will never use them again until I have complete control. I will never allow myself to be foolish enough to think I can save a person’s life without there being consequences. I will never play hero again.”
“I have powers, but they are different than my father. We aren’t really sure what went wrong, since my sister’s powers seem more in line with his, but instead of fire, I use energy. You wouldn’t think it’s too big of a deal, since what’s the difference between a fireball and an energy blast, right? Well that would be the case, but I don’t create the energy, I absorb it. I take the energy from around me, pull it all in, and then I can use it. And there are so many technicalities. Too little energy, I can’t do anything. Too much energy and my cells will either burst or burn. We haven’t figured out which yet, and I’m ok with that. Either way, it takes time and concentration to absorb the energy. It’s as if nature knew giving me too much power right off the bat would be disastrous, so instead I have to earn it. Not like that changes anything about how I acted. In fact, none of this really matters, so I’ll just cut to the important part.”
“It was ten when my powers first manifested. I was 16 when it happened. That’s six years of training with them. You would think in six years I would have learned something from my father’s stories instead of just enjoying them and daydreaming about saving the world. But I didn’t and I made a terrible mistake. I thought I had a good handle on my powers. I thought I could do something other than just train with them. I thought I could be a hero, just like my father. But I was wrong. It happened in a city, and you can forget about asking which one, cuz there is no way I’m giving details. It was in a city, and I was jumping from rooftop to rooftop, just like in the comics I read. Looking back I am so embarrassed by how I acted, but I can’t change the past. It was on one particular rooftop, looking over a certain alley, that I heard the scream.”
“I will never forget the place. I will never forget the cold night air on my face, and the sounds of the city. The way my heart froze at that woman’s scream. I should have just left. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but everything would have been better off if I had just left that woman to her fate. I should have just walked away. But of course, that’s not what my father would have done. And that’s not how the superheroes from the comics and movies would have acted. They would have plunged headfirst into the alley, instinctively knew what was what, beat the bad guys, and saved that woman. That’s what would have happened in a movie. God I just wish this would have been a movie. That’s how I acted though, just like those fictional heroes. I brought a mask, cuz that’s what all the made up heroes wore. Not my father. He didn’t wear a mask, cuz he had nothing to hide. But on went my mask, and that’s where my life ended.”
“Headfirst into the fray I went. I can remember the scene perfectly. He had her up against the wall, about to help himself to her. The only light was coming from a streetlamp outside the alley. It was so dark; I couldn’t make out a face, or any details for that matter. If I could have, I might have seen the knife he had at her throat. I don’t know if that would have mattered to me at the moment. All I was concerned with was punishing him for hurting her. I’m not sure if I even said anything. I couldn’t make up my mind on a catch-phrase. Hell, I didn’t even have a costume. It was just my street clothes and a plain black face mask. Like the ones kids wear at Halloween. Yet there I was, jumping to the rescue of a woman I didn’t know, about to beat up a criminal, just like the comics. Too bad in the comics, the good guy always wins.”
“So without thinking, I ran straight into the assailant. ‘Without thinking’ could pretty much sum up the entire night, even though I spent months planning this. It’s amazing how much planning and decision making you can do, without putting a single thought into the whole thing. Anyway, I tackled the man, which knocked him off her and into a dumpster. He got back up and I, once again without thinking, used my powers and blasted him with energy. This was a horrible mistake, one of many, since he flew out of the alley into the city street. Even in this busy city, a man flying out of an alley attracts some attention. But I wasn’t concerned with him anymore. I had defeated the bad guy and saved the day. Turning around I said something like, “You’re safe now, ma’am” or something stupid like that. That’s when I saw what I really did. That’s when I saw she was dead.”
“Remember that knife I mentioned earlier? The one I didn’t take notice to? The one that was held to her throat? So close to her throat, in fact, that when I ran into the man, his hand slipped. Instead of the knife falling to the ground, as would have happened in every freaking movie and comic in the world, the knife slipped into her throat. It was such a clean cut; you wouldn’t even have known it was by accident. But this wasn’t by accident. This was a mistake made by me, because I was too impatient to just wait until I was ready for something like this. So there I was, standing over the body of this woman, who was dead because of me. True, she was about to be raped, and he could have very well killed her anyway, but it wasn’t his fault. He had the knife to her throat, but I moved his hand.”
“I freaked. I didn’t know what to do. I started to cry, and it was at this point that the crowd, drawn from the man flying form the alley because of me began to come into the alley. The cops arrived at this point, and I just ran. Such a hero-like maneuver. I ran like a scared little boy because that’s what I was. I had just caused a murder to take place. No. I just committed a murder. And instead of standing there and explaining myself, I ran away. A couple blocks away, I jumped into a dumpster. I’m not sure how long I was there, but it was the first of many nights were I cried myself to sleep. I cried cuz I killed that woman. I cried cuz I failed at being a hero. I can never be like my father now. Not after what happened that night. I knew right then and there I can never be a real hero.”
“When I woke up, I went back to the alley. Who knows why, but I needed to see what happened. I guess it was to make sure I didn’t dream it up. Maybe it was to punish me more. I don’t know why, but when I got there the place was taped off. The police told me that a woman was killed last night by a burglar while he was trying to rape her. So that was the story. No one even knew I was there. You would think that would have helped. But it didn’t, and it still doesn’t. You don’t know how much I just wanted to grab that cop and shout “I did it! I killed her!” But I just walked away. Just like I did the night before. I left and came home; something that woman will never get to do anymore. I never even got her name. I couldn’t find it on the internet. I searched for hours, but I couldn’t find it. As if it didn’t happen. But it did, and her blood will forever be on my hands. The next day I burned all my comics. I have never watched another superhero movie since without feeling ashamed. And I started training even harder with my abilities. Night and day, and I’m still training. I will never use them again until I have complete control. I will never allow myself to be foolish enough to think I can save a person’s life without there being consequences. I will never play hero again.”
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
The End
“The End is nigh” A homeless man held up a sign with this statement on it. He had a disgusting appearance, his face black with dirt and grease. He had a long, brown beard, which was littered with little fragments of garbage and crumbs. His hair was long and greasy, and in some parts matted down from the grim he slept in. His clothes were tattered and torn, just as dirty as his body was, and his toes popped out of his shoes. The flies that covered his clothes were his only companions, besides the intangible forms that lay heavily on his heart. He lived by a dumpster outside of a gritty little pizza shop in the shadow of the great city. At night he slept, and during the day he slumped against the dumpster holding his sign.
Very few people saw his sign and those that did just passed him by, shaking their heads or mocking him under their breath. He had very little recognition of the meaning of his message, other than the obvious end it signified. He could not even remember the reason he communicated his message, but he had an uncomfortable feeling that he did because that is what he wished for most of all. He cursed the people who walked before him, and denounced his god for causing him this misery.
How this man fell to this level is uncertain, even to his own mind. Perhaps it was his own greed, or maybe the corruption of the company he worked for. Regardless of the reason, this man, who was regarded as successful by his peers, fell into this spiral of despair and poverty, which continues today, even after seven long years. He had lost everything he had, but it was not his house, or his TV, or his money that he longed for most. What this grotesque creature wanted most was what he had taken for granted long ago. He wanted love. He wanted happiness. He wanted to feel the warm water of a shower over his aching body. He wanted a bed to sleep in. He wanted more than just scraps to eat. But even as he thought of this, his thoughts quickly turned from innocent grief to hungry greed. Even at this level, the modern human still contains greed and corruption in his heart. If a man this low in life can not be relieved of the darkness of the human soul, than what hope have we?
Today is just like every other day. The same people pass him, and the same customers enter the pizza shop. The same routines are followed, day in and day out. Which such freedom in their lives, he thought, why do they conform to the monotonous schedule that they do? He, who had nothing, had no choice but repeat his hell every day. He had resolved long ago that, if by some miracle, he would find a way out of this hole; he would lead a life renewed. But promises made with no hope attached to them are as hollow as the empty dumpster which he leaned on.
However, something was different about today. Instead of sitting against the cold metal box, he walked out of his familiar, and stood at the sidewalk’s edge. He held his sign high, still not sure of its meaning. As he looked around at his new surroundings, he made notice to things he could not have ever noticed from the dumpster’s shade. He noticed the clear blue sky. He saw the clouds float on down, undisturbed by the smoke he was so accustomed to seeing. He felt the sun beat down on his dirty skin, and felt it’s warm for the first time in a long time. He looked around, unsure of what he saw. He had only seen a small view of this world for such a long time, but now he saw with his eyes what he had only heard with his ears. The vivid colors of the signs and cars assaulted his eyes, and he heard the laughter of the people. But this laughter was not the same he had heard from his tormenters. This laughter was of joy and happiness. He saw the women smiling, he saw the children giggling. The buzzing of the flies, which had been left with the dumpster and grim, was now replaced with the fluttering of the wings of birds. A myriad of new smells flew to his nose, and delighted the wretched man.
All these new sights and sounds, these new feelings and smells, they reminded him of his past memories. The memories of happiness, of his time with his long lost friends and lovers, overwhelmed his senses. The ecstasy of his pleasant memories brought tears to his eyes. He looked at his sign, his beloved possession that had given him the comfort he needed during the cold nights and rainy days, and for the first time saw clearly the gospel he was preaching. He lowered his sign, and it slowly slipped from his grasp, falling to the ground. No longer was he going the play the doomsday prophet. No longer would he curse his fellow man. He looked towards the heavens, and praised his lord, giving thanks for the joyous memories he still possesses, and the chance for a new life. Hope filled his darkened and empty heart, and he no longer wished for his last day. The end was never here, nor was it ever coming. This was only a test, and a chance to see the world in a new light. The homeless man saw this clearly now, for he saw the world not with just his mind, but with his heart as well. The man stepped out of his familiar darkness, into uncertainty, and found what his heart desired most.
Isn’t about time we did the same?
Very few people saw his sign and those that did just passed him by, shaking their heads or mocking him under their breath. He had very little recognition of the meaning of his message, other than the obvious end it signified. He could not even remember the reason he communicated his message, but he had an uncomfortable feeling that he did because that is what he wished for most of all. He cursed the people who walked before him, and denounced his god for causing him this misery.
How this man fell to this level is uncertain, even to his own mind. Perhaps it was his own greed, or maybe the corruption of the company he worked for. Regardless of the reason, this man, who was regarded as successful by his peers, fell into this spiral of despair and poverty, which continues today, even after seven long years. He had lost everything he had, but it was not his house, or his TV, or his money that he longed for most. What this grotesque creature wanted most was what he had taken for granted long ago. He wanted love. He wanted happiness. He wanted to feel the warm water of a shower over his aching body. He wanted a bed to sleep in. He wanted more than just scraps to eat. But even as he thought of this, his thoughts quickly turned from innocent grief to hungry greed. Even at this level, the modern human still contains greed and corruption in his heart. If a man this low in life can not be relieved of the darkness of the human soul, than what hope have we?
Today is just like every other day. The same people pass him, and the same customers enter the pizza shop. The same routines are followed, day in and day out. Which such freedom in their lives, he thought, why do they conform to the monotonous schedule that they do? He, who had nothing, had no choice but repeat his hell every day. He had resolved long ago that, if by some miracle, he would find a way out of this hole; he would lead a life renewed. But promises made with no hope attached to them are as hollow as the empty dumpster which he leaned on.
However, something was different about today. Instead of sitting against the cold metal box, he walked out of his familiar, and stood at the sidewalk’s edge. He held his sign high, still not sure of its meaning. As he looked around at his new surroundings, he made notice to things he could not have ever noticed from the dumpster’s shade. He noticed the clear blue sky. He saw the clouds float on down, undisturbed by the smoke he was so accustomed to seeing. He felt the sun beat down on his dirty skin, and felt it’s warm for the first time in a long time. He looked around, unsure of what he saw. He had only seen a small view of this world for such a long time, but now he saw with his eyes what he had only heard with his ears. The vivid colors of the signs and cars assaulted his eyes, and he heard the laughter of the people. But this laughter was not the same he had heard from his tormenters. This laughter was of joy and happiness. He saw the women smiling, he saw the children giggling. The buzzing of the flies, which had been left with the dumpster and grim, was now replaced with the fluttering of the wings of birds. A myriad of new smells flew to his nose, and delighted the wretched man.
All these new sights and sounds, these new feelings and smells, they reminded him of his past memories. The memories of happiness, of his time with his long lost friends and lovers, overwhelmed his senses. The ecstasy of his pleasant memories brought tears to his eyes. He looked at his sign, his beloved possession that had given him the comfort he needed during the cold nights and rainy days, and for the first time saw clearly the gospel he was preaching. He lowered his sign, and it slowly slipped from his grasp, falling to the ground. No longer was he going the play the doomsday prophet. No longer would he curse his fellow man. He looked towards the heavens, and praised his lord, giving thanks for the joyous memories he still possesses, and the chance for a new life. Hope filled his darkened and empty heart, and he no longer wished for his last day. The end was never here, nor was it ever coming. This was only a test, and a chance to see the world in a new light. The homeless man saw this clearly now, for he saw the world not with just his mind, but with his heart as well. The man stepped out of his familiar darkness, into uncertainty, and found what his heart desired most.
Isn’t about time we did the same?
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