Just Write

To get better at something you should just do it and so I have to just write, about nothing about anything.  I have to write about something.  I just write whatever comes to mind.  I write about a writer who has nothing to write about.  Is all of this alright?  Is it alright to use write so often in so many sentences.  It all goes around in circles.  There was finally a sentence without the words write or right in them!   So little to say, but I have to keep saying it.  The only way we get better is to just write whatever.

Distractions, semi-distractions.  Maybe I might want to do other things, but this is okay.  Sometimes all you see is your own soul.  Pause.

Party of Five

And so we set out on our journey. There were five of us: a student of the blackest majicks, young but full of an almost frightening confidence; a healer from ancient and far off lands, solemn and reflective in a way that made him seem beyond wise; an archer, new to the quest but not to the hunt; a rogue of a woman, silent and beautiful and not to be trusted too greatly; and me, a warrior, seasoned in battle, cautious, and grateful to those who would join their lives to my own.

The journey, we knew, would be long and hard, so we came well prepared. I brought multiple axes with me, in case one should break. The healer had potions and ointments that would last for months. We had a pack mule with us at the start to carry the water and food, and the archer assured us he could easily hunt more if need be. Spirits were high and we were optimistic as we set on our way.

At first, the trek was easier than we would have expected. The roads were easy to navigate, and we only encountered a couple of petty bandits, easily disposed. There was even a strange beauty is some of the things we saw: a stream through woods, mountains rising in the distance, a small collective of flowers I had never seen before. And though we were nearly complete strangers when we set out, I grew to learn some small things about those who journeyed with me.

The dark sorcerer liked puppies, the healer had a wife and baby back home, the archer aspired to be like his father, and even the rogue let drop that she had been in a relationship or two before, though she could have been lying.

Knowing what I came to know about all of them made our first real challenge all the more meaningful.  Some might call it weakness, revealing these small things about ourselves to one another.  But I think it made us stronger, and more united as a group.  We might not always agree on things, but knowing those details made my companions real to me, and proud to fight beside them.  Our victory was made sweeter because we accomplished it together, and destroying the first true monster to step in our way was just something that had to be done, the smile the rogue gave me and the yelp of excitement from the archer were what made it real.

It seems strange that five people coming from such different backgrounds and lands would get along so well, but as time passed on and we shared meals and stories, I felt like these adventurers were a part of me.  If I had thought our quest would end in the death of any one of them, I would have turned back immediately.  But they were strong and brave, and less foolish than I, except that they all trusted me.

I was, after all, the one who had gathered this party together.  The great evil living in the mountains had to be stopped, for one thing, and for another, there was great treasure and honor to be had in dispatching him.  I think each of them displayed a primary concern over the treasure and honor, but each had some reason to care about the evil itself as well, though perhaps not as much as I did.  I would have gladly given up my share of the treasure and sunk quietly into forgetfulness if that had made it any easier to destroy the evil that had destroyed my life.

As we journeyed onwards, things did begin to get darker.  The first misstep was when the sorcerer twisted his foot in a small crevice as we were venturing up a mountain.  This was easily healed by the cleric, but it concerned me nonetheless.  It seemed a bad omen for a member of the party to be injured apart from battle.

The next mishap occurred when the archer went out hunting one evening and the rogue ventured out to gather some berries, having somewhat of a cute craving for some fresh fruit.  The archer came back carrying her with tears in his eyes.  She looked only mildly annoyed with the arrow sticking out of her foot, but I was plenty angry for the both of us.  The archer nearly turned back right there, but she herself reassured him that all was forgiven and the cleric displayed once again his ease in healing.  It made me wonder what we would ever go without him, but I tried to put such thoughts out of my head.  The rogue herself had some limited knowledge of mundane healing, after all, and the sorcerer assured me he could study some more non-conventional healing spells if need be, and so we put this incident behind us as well and ventured onwards.

Things were not quite the same after that, however.  The others seemed more hesitant around me.  I don't really know why I should be the one to blame, but the archer seemed much more frightened of me than of the rogue.  Eventually, I realized something had to be done so in the evening around the campfire, I apologized.  A strong, intimidating man such as myself never cries, but I still truly felt the meaning and truth of my words as I said I was sorry for my overreactions and my fears and that we had to all work together, including myself.

The same smile the rogue had given me before reappeared and the archer looked like a great burden had been lifted off his shoulders.  The cleric and the sorcerer remained mostly silent, but they seemed more at ease as well, and the next day we seemed to venture onwards with a new confidence.  The next thing to go wrong after that was that our mule ran off, but I kept my cool, assured the party it was no one's fault, and pointed out we were nearly to our destination anyway.  The sorcerer even stated that if need be, he could teleport us most of the way back to town after our battle was won.  I wondered why he had not mentioned this before, but chose to simply be grateful for this new bit of information.

The night before our encounter, my dreams were haunted, as I'm sure were those of all the other party members as well.  This close to the powerful false king and he surely knew we were somewhere nearby and sent visions to haunt us.  We were strong, though, and although the archer seemed nearly ready to bolt in the morning, the rogue and cleric reassured him that all would be well.  Their words reassured me as well until the sorcerer gave me a look.  He, being a somewhat more noble practitioner of the dark arts himself, seemed to know there was great danger ahead, to recognize it more strongly than the others, but despite seeing this in his look, I chose to press onward.  We had gone too far now to turn back, and I still felt with all my heart that we could triumph.

The next night, the sorcerer cast a spell that guarded us against the dreams, and we awoke the next morning more refreshed than we had ever been before.  We met our enemy not long after dawn.

It started with quite a bit of luck, in fact.  We had not entirely planned to fight the battle that day, but the rogue sneaked ahead and reported back that the man himself was out alone, taking a bath apparently.  I suppose even the blackest of evil prefers not to be covered with the blackest of dirt.  I imagine he could have majicked himself clean, but perhaps he did not waste any of his power on such frivolous things, or perhaps he simply enjoyed the feel of a hot spring.

At any rate, we managed to get the jump on him.  The rogue sneaked up from behind and the archer prepared his arrow and the sorcerer his spell just so that all could fire at the same time as I charged in just at that moment as well.

We caught him so by surprise and he screamed with such rage as the first two attacks and the sorcerer's holding spell landed nearly simultaneously, followed closely by my axe lodging itself into his neck.  For a split second, I thought he was done for right there.  I know how much power can come from armor and clothing, and this creature was completely naked.  Perhaps we had weakened him so much right there that we could simply finish him before he had a chance to do much of anything.

How wrong I was.

The details of the battle remain fuzzy.  I do know that the cleric worked so valiantly, trying to keep the others alive.  The evil king was no fool, and he realized this, making it his purpose to find and destroy the cleric, which he did in less than a minute.  I could tell he was quite weak by that point, but with our primary healer down, his attacks against us were more meaningful and we simply could not destroy him quickly enough.  The rogue was the next to fall, being at close range, and then the archer.  Then it was just me and the sorcerer, dark majick against dark majick and an axe.  I knew my sorcerer friend could revive the others, and I knew he understood what we were up against better than any of them had, and so even then, I believed deep in my heart that we could succeed.

The majick fired back and forth, the sorcerer firing and then doing his best to heal himself while I drove my axe in again and again.  I thought we had nearly won, when the evil king laughed and I realized he had simply been toying with us up to this point.  With his cackle, he called up beasts from the ground which rushed the other majician and left him lying on the ground without any life in him.  It was that final and crushing act that made me scream.  I didn't care anymore.  All my friends were dead and I had no way to revive them.  And they were my friends.  They had not been before, but I had let them become friends, and then led them to the slaughter.

I shouted at the top of my lungs and with the all the tears I had never cried steaming down my face, I rushed at the evil king who had, for a second time, destroyed everything dear to me.  The minions sunk back into the ground at his will and it was just him and me.  I thought perhaps he was giving me pity and allowing me a fair fight, but he didn't even want to fight.  He wanted to let me live. 

As I rushed to him.  He grabbed my arm and squeezed with a strength I did not think possible for a majician to replicate.  I had to drop my weapon, and as I swung my other fist around to punch him, he grabbed that arm as well.  "Why have you come here, son?" he demanded in a snarl.  "I told you never to cross me again."

"You must answer for your crimes!" I shouted.

"What crimes?" he demanded.  "Leaving your mother to come live in peace?  The woman was a whore."

"She was not a whore!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.  "You know nothing of the people you have destroyed."

"Destroyed?!"  His laugh was insultingly merry with that.  I did not think it possible for such an evil man to have such a normal sounding laugh, but the fact that he made it so normal sounding made him even more evil.  "I haven't destroyed anyone!"

"What about my friends?" I demanded.

His brow wrinkled in mock confusion.  "What friends?" he asked.

I looked around to point out the four friends he had murdered and saw their bodies were gone.  I had not seen him cast any spell, nor felt any additional presence, but he had done something with them.  He had destroyed them beyond repair, made them so they had never existed.

"What did you do to them?!" I shouted at the top of my lungs, kicking my feet but finding him just outside my reach.

"Garrett," he said, speaking my name so softly that I hated him more than I ever had before.  "They never existed."

I live trapped in a cage now, unable to escape.  This evil creature keeps me alive for some unknown reason and continually tries to convince me that I made my friends up, that my party of five was always just a party of one.  He mocks carrying for me, even claims to be my father.  I know it's all lies and majical mind tricks.  I am strong, and so I resist them most days.  Every night I dream of all I have lost.  First of my mother and younger brother, destroyed in mind, body, and soul by this most wicked of men, and then by the companions who became some of my dearest friends, wiped off the face of the earth as if they were never there to begin with.

On the best days, I still hold out hope that they somehow survived.  They were not dead, but near death, and while my back was turned away from them, they sneaked out, one by one and are regaining their strength to come and rescue me.  But even if this were true, why would they care enough to rescue me?  They were my friends, but was I enough of a friend to them.

They shared all their secrets and thoughts and fears with me, or at least enough of them to get me to love them, but I shared so little.  I was the determined distant leader that no one could ever truly love.  They were united together, but they were separate from me.  And yet, still, sometimes I see the rogue's smile and hear the clerics reassuring words.  I feel the archer's excitement and the sorcerer's quiet knowledge.  If anyone would ever come for me, it would be them, and now that they really know what they're up against, they will come more prepared, not with a party of five, but with a party of fifty or even five hundred.  I know this evil sorcerer king could not stand against that.  If I had been less of a fool, I would have brought an army to begin with.

But now all I can do is sit and wait and hope.  That sliver of hope, tiny though it might be, is all that is left to me.  I am told day after day that I am the lunatic, that my "father" only wants what's best for me, but I know it's all lies, and one day, he will get what he deserves and my friends and I will be free.

Love

What is love? Is it a burning, passionate desire to always have more of a person? Or is it an excited contentment over simply laying next to one another? Is it never getting angry? Or is it forgiving even when you are raging mad? Is it drawing happiness from the other person? Or is it sharing your happiness with them? Is it presents and loud exclamations? Or is it smiles and whispers? Is it smooth sailing? Or is it a bumpy ride that can always be endured? Is it refusing to question anything? Or is it not being afraid to ask? Is it never having to apologize? Or is it knowing you both will always apologize? Is it poetry? Or is it non-fiction? Can perfect love ever be really found? How can we know, unless we first know what it is?

Circles

We all run around circles. Why doesn't anyone run around in a square? Do we think that by being rigid we will get anywhere different? A square still just starts back from where it started, same as a circle. You might think it has a defined start point, or one of four, but who ever said a square had to start at a vertex? A square has just as many infinitely possible starting points as a circle does.

Circles or squares, they're all ultimately the same: unified shapes, ink marks that don't really go anywhere. How do we get somewhere? Should we be rays, starting at one point and going straight on forever? Maybe we should, but we aren't. No one is really a circle or square either. There is no definite word to describe what we are, other than irregular. We are irregular and ill-defined shapes. We know where we start, or at least where our parents tell us we start, but none of us really knows where we end. Do we end at all?

And yet, in spite of this, we keep circling back around, returning to a point we previously saw. We aren't perfect circles, but the pen sure crosses back on itself a lot. If you drew your life, what would it look like? If you drew your emotions, your level of success, your satisfaction or joy, your wealth? How many times have you crossed back on yourself? Are you always getting stronger and better or do you relapse from time to time? I know you aren't always happy, but you aren't always sad either. What kind of shape are you?

Each one of us is our own unique shape, but yet we are all somehow the same. I don't think there is anyone who has never crossed back, but I also don't think there is anyone who has followed a perfect and predictable path. Learn from the shapes around you, take the parts of their journey that are good and noble and true and avoid the ones that aren't. Follow their examples or run from them, the choice is yours. There will be curves and bends, perhaps some rigid spots and others that are loopy, but there's no need to worry, you aren't really a circle. No one is.

Beautiful

She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. I just wish I had told her before it was too late.

I remember the way she used to look. I remember her brilliant mind. I never appreciated her and just how much she had to offer. I took her for granted. Worse, I was harsh on her, always demanding more, telling her that her good wasn't good enough and that she could never measure up. I think I just wanted so much for her to succeed that I pushed her to believe she never could.

She was a smart girl, maybe not the smartest ever, but plenty smart, and not just smart, but clever. She seemed to have an uncanny ability to see through how people acted to how they really felt. She called people out many times on things only to have them react in shock to how spot on she was. Of course, they could have just been being nice, but they certainly seemed genuine. She had a gift for people, but it was also her curse. She cared about people deeply, but also about what they thought of her, or about what she thought they thought of her.

I think her opinion of others' opinions of herself was a lot more negative than it actually was. Even though people complimented her, she often thought they were lying. She assumed she was right because she was so keen on telling when they hid things about herself, but so inept at thinking they were hiding things about her. And if she ever called them on it and they denied, she just felt even worse since either her intuition had been wrong, which was bad, or they really did dislike her, which was worse.

And even if people had thought poorly of her, why should she care? She was smart and pretty and generous. She gave of herself and all she wanted was to be loved in return, but she never felt loved enough because she never felt successful enough. She never felt she deserved to be loved, and so she never thought she was loved. If only I had told her, reminded her that she was loved. But I never did. I did the most damage of all. I demanded the most and expected the least and hurt her more than any.

And now it's too late. Now her clothing is tattered and torn, her hair is dirty, and she can barely even stand to look at people, yet alone help them. She can't help them. Everything good in her life is gone. The people who showed even a little bit of faith in her are gone. They left her to the streets and the drugs, the only things that seem to help now. I know it's wrong; I know it's all so wrong, but I just can't help it, I can't get back what I once was.

I know I was beautiful once. I know it, I remember it. I tell myself every day that I was beautiful. Why didn't I tell myself I was beautiful when it was true? Why didn't I have more confidence? Why did I tear myself down, drag myself into the ground until I got where I am now and I just can't get up again? I was to be her. I want to be that girl I once was, but I can't. I am lost. I will never be beautiful again.

Stranger

He was a stranger, an outsider from the start. He could pretend to be one of us, but he never really was.

He was born under suspicious circumstances to a whore of a woman who cheated on her fiance and somehow still convinced him to not only marry her, but raise her illegitimate child as his own. The husband never asked questions, at least not that I could tell. He was a good man, much too good for her.

But this story isn't really about them, it's about the boy.

He wasn't born in town exactly, but his mother and fake father were from here, so that was enough for him to claim to be one of us, or at least for those who admired him to claim he was one of us. But that's getting ahead of things a bit. You see, it all started quite early on. From a very young age, you could tell he was criminally ingenious. He could converse with scholars before he was even a teenager and make them think he really knew what he was talking about. It was a sham, it had to be, but he must have been smart if he managed to trick even the most learned of the scholars.

That was just one part of it though. He also had this perverse sense of who had value and who didn't. Even though his mother and her husband were generally well-liked and respected in town, despite of her whorish indiscretion, he chose to hang out with the wrong crowd. Okay, so I have to admit, his mother was not literally a whore, but some of the women he hung out with were. He hung out with the dregs of society, but he didn't act like them. I don't understand what they all loved about him. He didn't seem to really approve of what they were doing, but still they flocked to him, like somehow their lives could be okay if they could just be his friend. It was a bunch of bull is what it was.

And not only did he hang out with the rejects, but he rejected the truly noble and upright citizens. People like my family, who were always putting on fundraisers and starting scholarship funds and generally making this crappy world a better place, those are the people he called out and accused of being wrong. What right did he have anyway? He was out there hanging out with druggies and whores and thieves, the ones who were always busy ruining our plans and dragging the world down into the dumpster, and he defended them and condemned us. He said we were doing the things we do for all the wrong reasons. He said we just wanted to be seen, noticed, praised by others. Well, so what? Isn't that what we all want? A little recognition? He said we were wrong to cast aside his "friends" as lost causes. Well I don't know who he thought he was, but those people didn't want to change. They couldn't change. It was just in their blood to be what they were. Why did he think he could change them, and why did he think he needed to change us?

I hated him. I hated him with all his perverse niceness and misplaced blame. Who was he and what was he doing for the world? Well, actually, here's where we get into the part that drives me the most crazy. See, you might wonder why anyone bothered to listen to this lunatic at all, and I think this next bit has a large amount to do with it. You see, he didn't just talk at people, he did stuff, magic-level stuff that was clearly impossible. I honestly still can't figure out how he did most of it, but I know it wasn't real. It couldn't have been real. And yet, people gobbled it up. They watched in amazement as he produced things out of "thin air" and made them think their diseases were gone. People said he had "authority" but what I think is that he had some really slick slight of hand. I can't figure out how he did his stuff yet. I'd think he just had lots of accomplices, but there were just so many of them, many of whom were known well beforehand, that I think there must have been something more up his sleeve.

And yet, in spite of the outrageous impossibility of all he was doing and saying, people still believed in him. They still thought this sham of a man was for real. I think he gave them some sick sense of hope that they couldn't get anywhere else. They depended on him instead of on themselves. Those of us who strove for order and righteousness were going to be plain kicked out of town if he didn't stop, either by his "followers" or by the government.

Oh, that's the other thing I forgot to mention. People weren't all that happy in general with the state of our government at the time. And although this man wasn't openly hostile towards the regime (in fact, he even encouraged paying our dues to society), it was clearly implied that he was going to do something. That got people really fired up and excited, but it was clearly dangerous, too. You see, a delicate balance had been established in the government, one that a wise person was not all that willing to break. Sure, things could have been better, but they also could have been a lot worse, and if this charlatan kept gaining followers, they certainly were going to get a lot worse.

And that's when we finally decided something had to be done. The prestigious families all got together and had a little talk about this trouble-maker. He had to go. But if we just kicked him out, we knew he would come back and get the people more stirred up than ever. We had to take care of him for good.

Some might call it mob justice, but it was justice nonetheless. This man was truly up to no good. If we didn't get rid of him, he was going to destroy our town and perhaps our entire society. Even his own closest friends were turning on him by the end. I have to admit, I got some real satisfaction out of that.

And so he was gone, and soon to be forgotten, until the rumors started to spread. It was impossible, beyond impossible in fact, but people claimed that this man was still at work. Somehow from beyond the grave, his so called "teachings" were still spreading. Some crackpots even claimed to have seen him in town again. Some of these men were even respected once, but they've lost any shred of respect I once had for them, that's for sure.

It's madness, all of it. That those whose sins are the worst can be the most loved, that those of us who do the most good should be reprimanded, that there is more to this life than this life. None of it makes any sense and I refuse to believe a word of it, but still so many do. So many trust that this stranger knew what he was doing, even that he was more than a mere mortal. They're crazy, all of them. I know that this man was just a man, and was nothing more than a stranger.

Believe

I hear it all the time, people telling me I don't exist. I'm sick of it. I'm real; I know it. I have thoughts and emotions just like all of them. How do you think it feels that every time I show up, they freak out and tell me I'm not real, that I'm all in their head. They pace back and forth, muttering to themselves and trying to ignore me. They act like I'm not even there because they don't want me to be.

I'm just doing my job; I'm just trying to help them. They're in denial, all of them. They'd rather pretend I don't exist than to hear what I have to say, to seriously consider that they could be wrong about things or that their life needs a change. I know it's hard, I understand that. Well, maybe I don't understand as well as they do, but at least I try. They don't even put in an effort.

I know this sounds a lot like complaining. That's not what I mean to do. There are a few, a select few, who really truly believe. Those are the best. I love it when I get to go talk to them. It fills me with such joy to see their faces develop from shock to uncertainty, but then finally to the realization that yes this is real, it is really happening, and there is really a purpose to it all. They knew it already and it gives me such joy to confirm it for them. Those are the easy ones.

But the others, they drive me crazy. They think me showing up is a sign that they are insane, but it isn't. Every once in a while, one is so insistent that I almost start to doubt myself. Almost. But I know I'm real. I'm as real as they are. They just refuse to see it.

The most frustrating thing of all is that I really am there to help. Sometimes I'll say things they like and sometimes I won't, but either way they don't even want to give me the chance. They don't even know if it's bad news or not, they just shut me out right away, because they don't believe. But I believe, of course I believe, it's tied up in my whole purpose.

So if you see me one day, please don't be afraid. There is nothing to fear. Someone is watching out for you. That should comfort you, not terrify you. And if I have some rebuke for you, be thankful for that, too. It might be hard, but it will only make things better. And please, don't pretend I don't exist. That is the absolute worst reaction, and the one I get all too often. Don't try to convince yourself that what you're seeing isn't real, that you're crazy. I assure you, I am real. I'm as real as your own self. More real even.

I have my missions, and I'm only doing my job, a job I would love so much more, if you would just believe.