Losing it

Nate was going to make tonight a memorable night.  Nate and his wife, Rebecca, hadn’t had any private time for the last week with his surgeries running late into the night.  His mind wondered with anticipation, and his car weaved through traffic so that he could have all the time he could with his wife.  He was even happier when he remembered that the kids, Brandon and Alyson, were at his bother’s house for the night for a slumber party with their favorite uncle, their only uncle.

 A smile broke across his face when he pulled into the driveway and saw that Rebecca was home.  He nearly forgot to shut the car door when he ran into the house. Opening the door he yelled, “Buttercup, I’m home.”  He didn’t hear a response.  He could hear her listening to music in her room.  It was off though she didn’t like hard music.  Who was it singing?  Muse?  When did she start listening to that?  It was rough music, it kind of excited him.  “Honey?  You up there?”  Then it hit him. She was probably in the tub. “That makes things easier.” He said as he leaped up the stairs two at a time to their master bedroom. 

The room was massive; he imagined it in his head as he made his way up.  There was a huge king sized bed, and an entertainment center that was on the same wall as the door, the radio on it would be where the blaring music was coming from. There was a big bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub, that door was on the far side of the room.  It was one of his favorite spots in the house. 

With every step the music roared louder and louder.  It almost hurt his ears.  How odd.  “Honey?” he half yelled.  Then he pushed open the door.  The room was dark except for the candlelight that glowed yellow from some candles he had bought Rebecca for her birthday.   They were lit and on the headboard of the bed.  He stared at the untidy bed.  “Hmm…” he told himself, “she must’ve forgotten to make the bed this morning.” 

He looked across the bed to the far side of the room to the bathroom door; maybe she was in the Jacuzzi after all.  Once again he was excited.  But this wasn’t like anything he had ever seen before.  She never just left candles out.  He went and blew out the candles.  He didn’t want a fire.  “Wait!” he thought, “Maybe she knows I’m here and she’s gunna surprise me!”  It was more a desire than a rational thought.  More candlelight flooded into the newly darkened room through the slightly opened door of the bathroom.  It either supported his idea, or it didn’t.  This was stupid, Nate trusted his wife.  So why was he so nervous to open the door?  

He didn’t have to open it. 

The bathroom door began to open and the soft candlelight illuminated the dark room.  And he saw his wife.  Her nude back was to him. “Well not the usual approach.” He thought. She was a huge fan of lingerie.  The door opened more and Nate saw a man who leaned forward and kissed Nate’s wife hard and very passionately, then Nate’s wife led this stranger to Nate’s bed.  They didn’t even notice the new addition to the room.  

Nate didn’t breathe, he couldn’t.  As they twisted and kissed on the bed, Nate walked over to the radio, and simply switched it off.  He was too shocked to do anything else.  His heart had stopped in his chest.  Staring at the radio he listened as the two lovers on his bed realized what was happening. 

“Oh shit!” He heard a man’s voice shout.

“NATE!?!”  His wife shouted. “Wha..What are you doing here?” She stammered as Nate turned to look at the whore on his bed. 

 “What am I doing? What am I doing?  WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!?”  He screamed at her.  She looked at Nate then at the other guy there.  Nate didn’t recognize him at first, and then it sunk in.  “The banker? What the hell are you doing with our banker?  What are you some sort of tramp now, sleeping with everyone?”  He shouted at her.

“NO! Damn it! You’re not supposed to be here.”  Nate stared at her as she started to cry.  “Nate…I…I…”

“What? Is that all you can say. ‘You’re not supposed to be here. You’re not supposed to be here’.  What the hell! You’re my wife!” Nate paused and looked away from the scene before him.  He looked back at her, disgust in his eyes, “Get out of my House!”   Nate shouted.  He was madder than he had ever been in his life.  He rushed the bed, and grabbing his wife’s arm, threw her from it to the floor.

“Damn it! That’s hurts!” She cried, throwing herself backwards to break his grip on her.

“Let her go you crazy fuck!” The naked banker cried as he lunged at Nate.  Grabbing him by the shoulder and spinning him away from Rebecca, and punching Nate in the face.  Nate stammered back, touching his face, he felt the warm blood flow from his now broken nose.  “You don’t touch her!” The banker yelled.

“Who the hell are you to even talk to me? You’re smut…you. You’ve been sleeping with my wife!” Nate shouted and threw himself at the banker and tried to hit him back.

The banker sidestepped him and dropped a shoulder into Nate’s stomach, knocking the air out of him.  Nate buckled over and fell on all fours.  The banker started to kick Nate in the stomach. Once, twice then Nate couldn’t hold himself up and he crumbled to the ground.  Then the banker leaned over and punched him in his face. “Looks like you lose.” He whispered. 

Coughing up blood Nate almost passed out.  He looked up as the naked banker, with Nate’s blood on his hands, turned to Nate’s cheating wife and said. “Let’s get out of here.” He said it simply, like they were leaving a restaurant or some boring movie.  

Nate followed his gaze and realized that Rebecca wasn’t even looking at him.  She wiped a tear off her cheek, smiled lightly at the banker, and then leaning in and giving him a kiss she responded.  “I’d like that.”   Then they both quickly pulled on some clothes.

“Bye Nate.” She said as they walked out hand in hand, leaving Nate balled up in pain and unable to move. 

“Go to hell!” Nate coughed.

He was confused.  What was happening?  Why? The banker?  Nate didn’t even know his name.  He felt his ribs; he didn’t need anyone to tell him what was broken in his body.  A few ribs for sure, and his nose without a doubt, Nate needed a doctor.  He pulled himself to his knees, and stopped as a sharp pain shot up the right side of his body.  “Shit!” He cried. Then he lost it.  He fell forward breaking the fall with his hands; he rolled to his left side and just wept, and wept.  His tears mixed easily with the blood on his face.  His whole body hurt, throbbed with pain.  His heart was completely torn to shreds, he felt empty, and alone. 

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and slowly dialed. “Victor, I need your help. I’m at my house. Venga ya.” Victor was Nate’s most trusted friend, and also a doctor.  He was from Costa Rica, They had met in med school, and had always been friends since.  Nate had learned Spanish from him.  And now Nate needed his help.

“What happened?”  Victor asked shocked at the sound of Nate’s voice.

“Just come.” And then he hung up.  Then Nate made his way to the bathroom.  There were still candles lit on the Jacuzzi tub.  With the swing of one arm he hit them all into the bubbly water.  Suddenly it was all dark, he struggled to find the familiar light switch, the one he had used every day for the past 5 years.   When he flipped the switch the bright light blinded him.   Throwing his right hand to cover his eyes he brushed his nose, sharp pain shot the short distance to his brain, and for a second his whole head throbbed.  His eyes were watering even more now.  Nate didn’t know that someone could hurt so much.  He looked at himself in the mirror.  It was a sad sight. Blood covered the bottom half of his face, flowing from his nose, which was smashed to the side. 

“Oh man. This is gunna hurt.”  He said to his reflection in the mirror.  Placing his hands on both sides of his nose, he pulled and pushed it back into place.  With a loud crack he righted his nose.  Fire shot through is body and he slammed his hands down on the sink to stabilize himself.   His left hand landed on something oddly cold and wet, a used condom.  He gagged loudly as he threw it across the room.  Then he dove for the toilet and vomited from the nasty taste that had invaded his mouth.  He vomited till he dry heaved.  Then he lay beside the toilet and quietly cried till he heard Victor come into the house.

“Nate! Where are you man?” Victor shouted from the entryway on the first floor of the house.  His voice echoed off the walls of the huge house, cutting into the silence with his Central-American accent.  Nate didn’t answer, he just lay there numb from shock and some disillusion that told him that if he didn’t answer maybe it would all just go away.  “NATE!” Victory shouted even louder, the sound of his voice ringing in Nate’s ears.

“Up here.” He whispered.  Then a little louder, “UP HERE!” his throat aching as he half yelled to his friend.   Swallowing the pain and forcing himself up to a sitting position he waited as Victor raced up the stairs and into the master bathroom. 

Victor stopped when he saw Nate. With his eyes wide open he whispered, “Shit…what happened to you? Nate, are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?”  Nate half laughed to answer his question.  Nate didn’t make any eye contact with Victor, but staring forward into the floral wallpaper as if trying to decipher some hidden code within, he continued. “She’s gone…Rebecca left.”

“Nate, look at me…Damn it, you need to go to the hospital.” Victor analyzed his friend’s condition.  Nate’s face was covered in blood, nose swollen 3 times its normal size, his left eye was swollen shut, and his arms held his stomach as if his innards were going to spill onto the Italian tiles of his bathroom floor.

“Victor, that’s why I called you. You’re a better doctor than all those damn quacks at the hospital.”  As he spoke, Nate looked at Victor for the first time.  His one eye that wasn’t swollen shut showed all the pain that was walled up inside of him.  His tears flowed red once they hit his cheeks. “Victor…oh god…she’s gone. She left me for him…the banker. Ha, of all people...”  He leaned his head back against the toilet seat, which was covered in his bloody handprints. 

Happiness

Some have tried to find it in sex, others in drugs.  Tim had even seen people try to find it in violence.  He had seen the infomercials that would suggest that some new diet would make you skinny, sexy, and happy.  He used to think that he was happy.  He used to be able to sleep through the night without a care in the world.  He was going to be a father.  Yet one day had come and taken that all away from him.  Rather the culmination of thousands of days had come together, it seemed the planets had aligned just right to take a massive shit on his life.

            When Tim had gotten married at a young age he never told his wife that he was a drug addict.  He had sworn to himself that he could just stop when she was his.  Be eleven years cannot just be thrown away with two simple words.  He should never have said, “I do”.  Tim knew the minute he did that he had ruined the life of this woman he loved.  It had taken only one year for the cancer of his addiction to finally kill her.  He hadn’t been able to sleep that night…back when he didn’t have a care in the world.  Maybe that’s why he couldn’t sleep anymore.  Because it had happened at night.  It was that night when she had discovered what she must have always known.  His supplier, who was never allowed into Tim’s house, had paid Tim a midnight visit. Only this was a visit from which Tim wasn’t supposed to go on living. In many ways the dealer succeeded. Tim wished that he had been in bed when the small firebomb went off in his bedroom.  He wished he hadn’t been in the bathroom with his drugs quietly shooting up to feel the rush of nothingness.

            But Tim wasn’t in bed that night that anything that could have remotely been called happiness was blown out of his life.  She was gone, and so was Tim’s just forming son.  Tim didn’t blame his drug supplier though.  He blamed himself, and even though the drug supplier went to jail, it was Tim who was trapped in a worst kind of solitary confinement.  Thought.

            Now here he sat in his bed of a shitty apartment with a whore next to him.  Beer bottles empty on the floor next to the wrappers of protection that never protected what he really needed to protect.  It was 5:51 and he didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do with his life.  She stirred in the bed next to him and he was disgusted with himself.  “Get out” he said.  She cuddled up with the dirty old pillow falling deeper into a REM cycle.  Tim gave her a shove, “Get the Fuck out…my $50 ran out over an hour ago.”

            “Oh baby, this part is free.”  She smiled at him.  

            “Get out! I’m done with you damn-it!”

            “Fuck you!” her voice registering that she was actually being kicked out.

            “You did that already and your services are no longer needed, so get out!”  She gathered what little clothing she had and angrily made her way to the door, knocking over anything she could just to piss of this regular Joe of hers.

            “See you next week?”  She asked as she shut the door, not needing the affirmative response that was never spoken.  But she knew that it would be realized.

            “What the hell are you doing Tim?”  He asked himself as he looked into the darkness that filled his room, like the loneliness that destroyed his life.  He knew that what he was doing wouldn’t make him happy.  He would never really be happy. 

            He made his way to the shower where he washed off the stink of sex and let the hot water hit his face till he couldn’t feel the water anymore.  Then he shaved and just looked at himself in the mirror.  He didn’t remember how fucked up he looked.  Huge black circles under his eyes, sunken in cheeks, his face was expressionless.   He had no muscle tone in his body; he was boney and decrepit, more of a skeleton then a real man.   He thought of his unborn son that would have been about two years old now.  His beautiful wife that had died.  Was this all that life had to offer?   “Happiness…” he turned from the mirror and went and dressed for another day of whatever came his way.  Life had to be lived, whether or not he wanted.

           

            Tim sat on the subway watching an old lady struggle with her groceries as two young men approach her.  At first he thought the old lady was going to get robbed.  A quick thought reassured him that he would probably do nothing to help her.  But the guys didn’t do anything to her, but helped the hag sit the groceries in an open seat next to her.  She hardly said thank you to the young smiling men.  Smiling…why the hell should they be so happy?  Tim hated seeing happy people, didn’t they know that this world was cruel.  That this world eats people alive.  Traps them and forces them into holes six feet deep and burry everything that you loved.  So far under that they can never be touched again…never loved again.  Never.

            One of the boys returned Tim’s glance and quickly turned way to look out the window.  The other was talking to the old lady, but the train noises drowned out what he was saying to her.  Tim read the deep creases of his own palms.  No sense in looking at anyone.  Maybe they would die too.  You never know whom this world is going to burry next.

            “Hi, sir.” The young man who Tim had met eyes with stood there looking at him.

            “Huh?” oh Christ he was a beggar wasn’t he?

            “Hi, My name is Elder Rogler.” His hand extended in a greeting.

            Tim looked the man up and down without reaching out his hand.  “Elder?”

            The sheepish looking boy pulled his hand back, “Elder Rogler, I’m a missionary from the Church of Jesus Christ of…”

            “Christ!  You’re a religious one?”  Why people found religion worth talking about was ridiculous.  Why waste time with vain beliefs?

            “Yeah…I…I am a religious one.  What did you say your name was?”  This kid could take an insult.  Didn’t even show that it had hit.

            “I didn’t.  What do you want?”  Tim didn’t like talking to anyone, much less a religious freak on a subway.

            The kid smiled, something had to be wrong with him. “Well I…or rather my companion and I go around sharing a message about Jesus and how he has restored his gospel again upon the earth.” 

            “What?” All Tim got from that response was that the religious freak was gay.  He smiled a little to himself thinking that it was kind of ironic.

            “Er…I’m sorry I am new. I just got to Chicago yesterday; I am from upstate New York.  You from around here?”  They gay religious freak seemed to relax a little.

            “Yeah I live here in the city…wait you’ve been here one day and you already have a boy friend?”  Tim had been single for two years in this damned city.

            “What? Boy friend?  Oh no…No! Haha…”  a hesitant smile broke out on his face, “I’m not…I’m not gay, I am a missionary, my companion, that guy,” he pointed to the other clean cut guy standing and talking to the old lady still. “He isn’t my boy friend, he is my partner, and we work together.  I have a girlfriend…” he laughed again and Tim started to loosen up a little.  Something about this kid was real. 

            “Oh! Wow…I bet you get that a lot though, lets me honest.”  Tim said to cover his slip. 

            “I guess…wrong word to use… my bad.  Anyways like I said my name is Elder Rogler and I am a missionary.  I’m here sharing a message about Jesus Christ, maybe my companion and I…” he paused smiling a little to himself, “could stop by sometime and share this message with you?”  This kid had to be like 18 and he wanted to come to Tim’s house?  Tim was going to have to clean up a little.

            “Umm…” He didn’t know how to say no. What did this kid know about life?  He decided that a wrong address would be good.  “Yeah sure.  I live on Fifth Street.  The apartments are called Greenwood Apartments. I am in apartment 237.” 

            The young guy scribbled down the false direction in a small white booklet and then asked. “Ok cool! When can we pass by?”  There was a giant smile on his face.

            “How ‘bout tomorrow? Whenever in the afternoon.” Tim said with out smiling.  He was far to good at lying.

            “Oh and what was your name? I never got it.”

            “John Doe…Dotty” Tim said with a smile. Poor kid.

            There was a knock on Tim’s door late one night, at about eight o’clock.  “What the hell?” he said under his breath as he made his way through the mess to the door.  He put his beer on the dirty bookshelf and called out “Who is it?”

            “We’re the missionaries for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”  A shaky but somewhat familiar voice called out.

            Shit! How the hell had they found him here?  He started to laugh.  Then he opened the door to find the two guys from the subway in the hallway.  “How the hell did you do that?” was the only thing he could say through his amused smile.  He wasn’t even ashamed for lying to them.

            “Do wha…John? I thought you lived on Fifth Street?” the more familiar one said as the other gawked at him.

            “I lied…and my name may or may not be John.” He was still laughing.  Just his luck.

            “Really?”

            “Tim.” He said and extended his hand for a proper introduction. “Tim Ronaldson. Nice to meet you…again.”

            “Elder Rogler” he shook his hand smiling also. “This is my companion Elder Franklin…So, umm like you already know we’re here to share a message of Christ.  Is it ok if we come in?”

            “I guess…It’s a mess but I really wasn’t expecting anyone…wait how did you find me?” 

            “We live just upstairs and we didn’t want to go home just yet. We decided to bug our neighbors.”  This was the first time Tim had heard the other guy talk.

            “Oh wow…just my luck, I lied to the religious guys who live upstairs…well come in I guess.”  Tim stepped aside to let them into his small apartment.  “You guys want a beer?”

            “No we don’t drink.  But thanks!” Elder Rogler said as he passed into the messy bachelor pad, a huge smile on his face.  Tim wasn’t sure if he liked that he was so happy.

            “Oh…I should have guessed that.  Well sit down and make yourselves at home.”  He wasn’t quite sure how to be a good host; the last person that visited him was paid to be there.  Tim instantly felt a strange tinge of guilt in his stomach.  

            There was an awkward aura in the room until the slightly older looking one spoke.  “So Tim, you from around here?”

            “Yeah, born and raised!” He tried to sound more excited…excitement wasn’t really Tim’s thing these days. “How about you guys? Where are you from?”

            Elder Franklin jutted in as Elder Rogler was about to speak, “I’m from Texas, San Antonio area.”  He had a Texan attitude thought Tim.

            “I’m From New York like I told you the other day.  This is actually really funny that we found you here.  We found Fifth Street. But no apartment building…nice try though.”  He smiled mischievously.  Tim liked him immediately.

            “So how do you know?”  Tim asked Elder Rogler. 

            Elder Rogler looked at him, almost doing a double take.  “You mean believe in Christ?” his shocked face was impossible to hide.

            Tim felt small.  But he felt like he could really talk to this young kid. “Yeah…I mean does it really count as believing when that’s all you have ever been told in your life?  Plus the guy has never helped me.”

            Elder Franklin’s face turned red.  “How dare…I mean…” he started then stopped as Elder Rogler’s hand brushed his knee.

            “I know what you mean, man.” Elder Rogler said.

            “How? Hell, you wear his name on your chest.  You look like a Christian FBI agent that has come to tell me that I am going to hell.”  Tim laughed lightly.

            “You’re not going to hell, Tim.  Life’s complicated.  And I wish I could tell you the right answer.  That I could tell you that yes you should just believe because that’s what everyone else tells you to believe.  But that’s a load of…”

            “Shit?” Tim liked Elder Rogler even more now.

            “Yeah…” Elder Rogler’s eyes shifted from his companion, who stared heavily at him, to the ground. “I mean it’s perfectly normal to doubt things.”  Then with more confidence in his words he looked at Tim in the eyes.  “Tim we’ve been over here 5 times and every time you brush off what we tell you with out ever doing anything about it.”

            Tim looked down at his hands.  He felt a weight on his shoulders and he wanted to blame these mormon missionaries for it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.  “Well what am I supposed to do about it?  You expect me to be some guy who just…Christ I don’t know, believes everything you say?”

            “No…but Tim?”

            “What?”  He was starting to get upset with his overly religious friend and his pious sidekick. 

            “Why do you keep letting us in?  What do you want?”  Elder Rogler asked with a hint of patience mixed with understanding in his voice.

            Happiness.  That’s what he wanted.  But how was a thirty year old who still dealt drugs and who had lost everything worth having in his life, to say that to some kids who talked about Jesus way too much to be normal?  He studied the floor, seeing dirt that he had missed when he had cleaned before their arrival.  “I…” he felt comfortable with them, but he seemed like if he said it they would laugh at him.  Anyone would laugh at that.  “I want…” He looked at Elder Rogler, ignoring Elder Franklin impatiently looking at his watch.  “I want it to stop hurting.” 

            Elder Rogler looked at him, a half smile on his face.  Not a hurtful mocking smile, but a tender understanding one.  His voice cracked as he started to speak. “I…I cant imagine what you have been through Tim.”  His eyes moistened, “but I know that you can be happy.”  A tear spilt over his cheek.

            Tim sat there stunned and wanting to cry.  He didn’t want to show them that their Jesus talk was getting to him.  He closed his eyes.  He felt something in his chest.  Something that he hadn’t felt since the day of his wedding. Except for the day that he found out Sarah had been pregnant. 

            “That thing you’re feeling…that’s the spirit that we told you about.”  Elder Rogler said quietly.   Tim couldn’t speak.  He didn’t know how to respond. He wanted to say that Elder Rogler was full of it.  “I want you to do something for me tonight.”  Elder Rogler picked up the blue book that they had given him from the half cleaned coffee table.  “Read this scripture,” he highlighted with his pen a part of the book then put a card in it. “I want you to read it, then pray.”

            Tim didn’t pray they had to have known that by now, “Pray?”  Tim said skeptically, “Me…pray?” he smiled but didn’t push idea out of his mind.

            “Yeah…just talk to God and tell him what you won’t tell us.  Tell him what you want.  He will listen and if He does exist, he’ll let you know.  That’s a promise.” Elder Rogler got up from the couch and handed Tim the book.  “We’re late so we gotta get going but do that.  Ok?”

            “Ok.” Tim said without thinking.  He shook their hands as they left his apartment.  Then returned to the couch where he sat and stared at the blue book for what seemed an eternity.  

            His heart began to pound.  He picked it up.  They had told him to read from it so many times before, but he never had.   But something inside seemed to beg him to just try.   He thumbed the pages.  They were crisp and soft at the same time.  He let the book open to where the card was marking the page, and he saw a circle around a few paragraphs of words.

            “And it came to pass that as I was thus racked with torment, while I was harrowed up by the memory of my many sins,” Tim leaned back in his chair, thinking of all that was screwed up in his life. “…behold, I remembered also to have heard my father prophesy unto the people concerning the coming of one Jesus Christ, a son of God, to atone for the sins of the world.”  His mind thought of when he was a little kid and his mother sat at the end of her bed to tell him a story of Christmas.  His heart ached and his cheeks were wet as he continued to read.  “Now as my mind caught hold upon this thought, I cried within my heart: O Jesus, Thou Son of God, have mercy on me, who am in the gall of bitterness, and am encircled about by the everlasting chains of death. And now, behold, when I thought this, I could remember my pains no more; yea, I was harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more.  And oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold; yea, my soul was filled with joy as exceeding as was my pain!”  Could I have that joy? He thought to himself.  He yearned for that feeling.  He felt warm and filled.  The hole that nothing had been able to feel seemed to fill.  He thought about all the drugs and the whores how they had left him feeling so empty and worthless.  He never thought that he would feel this, what he felt in this instant.
            He closed his eyes against the tears and tried to picture his life.  It wasn’t going anywhere.  He felt as if his heart was filled yet that it was breaking.  His wife’s image entered his mind and he sobbed.  He missed her more than anything.  He wanted to drink to numb the image of her in his head, but something wouldn’t let him get off the couch.  He sat there with the book open in his hand. 

            His eyes fell to the page and he reread the words “O Jesus, thou Son of God, have mercy on me.” His eyes then focused on one word. Joy.  He didn’t believe in Jesus, he had stopped when his lifestyle had killed his wife.  Why hadn’t that all-powerful being saved her and his unborn child?  To Tim Jesus seemed like a child playing with Legos, building and destroying whatever he wanted.  Ripping legs off of the little plastic men just for the sheer enjoyment of seeing them with only one leg.  This Jesus couldn’t be real.  He would be the biggest joke that the universe had invented. 

            As his mind raced it kept returning to one question, what if?  What if he is real?  Tim tried to push out that question with all the logical reasons why there was no God.  But could this make him happy?  What if?

            What if? Could it be?  This is stupid! He thought to himself through the tears that told him that he was feeling something different.  Something that he hadn’t felt like before.  Then without even wanting he heard his voice in the quiet room

            “God…Jesus?  I don’t know who you are.  But if you are real.”  He stopped himself this was ridiculous, he was just talking into the night.  “I think I might want…God…” I sound retarded he thought then continued, “…I’m sorry…I need to know if you exist.  So if you could let me know, that would be…good.”  He didn’t know how to end. He had never prayed before.  So he just stood up awkwardly and looked around the room.  “Ok now what?” He said to the darkness that flowed in from the windows.  He didn’t feel anything.  Wasn’t he supposed to feel something?  He wiped his eyes and made his way to his bedroom and laid down.   The stale smell of smoke made him remember that he needed to wash his sheets and to start making his women smoke outside.  As he lay there his mind returned to the little blue book.

            At midnight he finally got out of bed and went to the book, it sat on his couch where he had left it.  He was almost upset as he picked it up and flipped it open randomly and barely looked at the page when his heart stopped and his eyes focused on one word.  Christ.  It was everywhere on the page.  He couldn’t take is eye off the pages. 

            Tim’s mind starting to put fragments of what he was seeing together and he started to read.  He read “…God in whom they should trust…whosoever believeth in Christ…” Then reading the next column directly to the right of that he read, “O then despise not, and wonder not, but hearken unto the words of the Lord...Doubt not, but be believing…come unto the Lord with all your heart, and work out your own salvation with fear and trembling before him.” For a few seconds he couldn’t feel anything describable.  It was nonsense to his mind, but it was incredible.  Then the thoughts all at once came to his mind, I do exist, Tim. I am here. I know your pain.

            Then slowly he felt warmth.  He felt right.  For some reason this seemed right to him.  Then, like he had read, the pain was gone.   He felt light, physically light.  He wanted to cry with joy, but he couldn’t move.  He didn’t dare move for fear that this feeling would leave him.  He felt something so real as if he was holding it with his hands, hearing it for the first time, tasting the most wonderful fruit and smelling the freshest air.  In that moment happiness was tangible for him.  He smiled as the tears flooded his cheeks and he hugged the blue book close to his heart, and felt it move to its beats.  This was true, this was his happiness. 

BYU Culture

These are my answers to some scholarship requirements here are BYU, I think I was hating BYU when i actually wrote it...my counselor at the scholarship office emailed me the same day i sent this in and wanted to know how i was doing...hahaha.  Mads told me to put it up here so here it is Mads!

“What is the BYU Culture?”

BYU is a culture chalk full of extremes.  We have the religious extremist who try to impose their person beliefs on everyone around them.  Granted this is a religious university so this is tolerated and expected, however there are all sorts of extremist on campus.  Liberals who find fundamental mormon living ridiculous, there is also a sense of being alone among this overcrowded campus.  One can walk around campus all day and never feel like he is welcome or seen.  There is an interesting unspoken rule here on campus.  Unless you are close friends you do not talk to each other while walking around. It is funny that you can be so close to so many people and not know any of them. It feels like BYU culture seems to mimic that of a large metropolis in which one must fend for themselves and make no mistakes or you will be thrown to the curb and left behind. Also for some reason unbeknownst to me the mustache is making a come back. I hope that this does not become a big part of BYU's ever "evolving" culture, I pray that we skip the seventies! On a more serious note the culture is fun when one finds his group of close friends that make living in Provo bearable.  So in summary the BYU culture is very diverse in the smallest way possible to still be labeled diverse.  Sure there are extremes, but since everyone is so opinionated you lose the sense of difference here.  Its like politics, take away the party names and the parties are exactly the same. 

“Are you successful or are there frustrations in this culture?”

I dont think anyone can ever have success without a great deal of frustration.  Take for instance my success in my writing class.  I love to write I even have a blog now! I mean I feel so very technologically advanced.  But to get an A on my papers I have had to work my tail off!  A poem that I got an A on took about 30 drafts to get into the final product, that was frustrating and oh so annoying.  However when i try to say whether or not I am successful within the BYU Culture I am perplexed.  I want to say that yes I do! Because here within this culture you are somehow judge as a good mormon depending on how well you fit in with those who live the perfect BYU life.  Sadly I do not fit in perfectly but I do have my place here and I love it.  BYU is a great institution that does strive to make us into the best people we can be.  For that I am grateful, even if it does lack in many things that I personally see as important.  The greatest frustration from me is that fact that BYU demands near perfection out of its alum, but then in most cases refuses to help by claiming that services designed to help students are too overwhelmed.  I would answer stop letting so many people in, it would sure open up the parking lot a lot more. Take as an example the science classes, I sit in these rooms with 300 other students and learn absolutely nothing, which is not good considering I am a science major! Oh yes, the culture of BYU is a fun one that is for sure.  But it is survivable and we try the best we can! You cant really ask any more then that. 

Perdition

I have been working on this story for quite a while now.  As seen under the Evolution tab, where you can find the earlier drafts of this. I skipped a few drafts but I think this is the final draft. Hopefully...

            Eroklin’s strong hand gripped the dying man’s throat; he wouldn’t let go until he saw the life leave his eyes. The fat man in his grasp struggled as the fear coated his face like the sheet that covers a corpse. Eroklin’s hands ached from the effort while his mind raced with the sheer joy of the kill.  The fat man gave one last bit of struggle.  Then nothing.
            “My God!” whimpered a second man, a captain, whom Eroklin had let get ahead in the darkness. Turning, Eroklin saw the dim outline of his next kill.  He was familiar with the shadow. The faint trace of a captain’s hat betrayed the man’s status.  He had stalked these two men for hours waiting to attack.  His breathing grew more erratic as the excitement of his next kill swept like fire through his body.  He rose silently to his full stature. He was imposing, huge, and strong from the years of exile on this island.  This island where he was God.  

“Stay…stay away from me you... God, what are you?” The scared man shrieked. The captain’s fear only served to increase the fire blazing within Eroklin.  
            Another kill.  Another month of food.  Eroklin’s dark face contorted into an eager smile.  He stalked through the darkness towards the captain.  He could sense his prey’s body tense.   Eroklin came within inches of the man.  He could see the strain of muscles on his prey’s white face as its eyes squeezed shut. Then Eroklin froze, suddenly tense himself.  He knew this man.  He slouched to the stature of the shorter captain, his breathing becoming quick and shallow.
            The captain’s face relaxed as he opened his blue eyes and focused on the man that stood before him. The captain’s eyes widened.  Panic rushed through Eroklin’s veins as he threw himself back away from this man whose pallor seemed to glow in the night.  
            Eroklin stared at the captain who now looked larger then he.  His darkened, hate-filled eyes met the captain’s silver blue gaze.  Then the captain took a step forward. His eyes softened as he quietly dominated the night.  “Captain Joseph?”  His head tilted slightly to the right.
            Eroklin’s thundering heart seemed to stop.  His breath left him as his mind tried to comprehend the words spoken to him.  Was he still Joseph?  Captain Joseph had died so long ago.

            “Is that you? My God! What has happened to you?  They told me you died at sea.  They… they found your ship.”  The captain’s words were strong in Eroklin’s ears. 
            He’s dead!  Eroklin thought to himself.  That weak man did die at sea.   He looked at the captain.  Joseph is dead. Dead…
            “Joseph… I knew you were still alive.”  The captain muttered, sounding proud of himself.  The captain stepped closer to the shadow of the man that struggled in the darkness.  
            Eroklin’s anger erupted  “You don’t… no!” he said as he took one long step towards this white captain, regaining his god-like control.  “I am not…” Eroklin’s face flashed red, realizing that he couldn’t explain himself, “…lost at sea!” he snarled as he started towards the captain.  Power coursed through his limbs.  
            Grabbing the captain by the throat with his left hand, he pulled a dull knife out with his right, pressing the cold steal hard against the captain’s face.  “Joseph, don’t!  Think of Elizabeth!” the captain cried out desperately.
            Eroklin was overcome with the long forgotten beauty of that woman.  Elizabeth. Her long blond hair flowing languidly in the wind as she smiled at her husband.  He dropped his right hand.  Tears wet long forgotten trails down Eroklin’s weathered face.  He couldn’t kill this man.  He couldn’t destroy this fragile connection to his Elizabeth.  He could go back!  See her again!  But how? How could he face her after what he had become?  

            His left hand limp on the captain’s throat felt the vibrations of speech.  “Joseph, give me the knife.  I… I can take care of you.”  The captain’s voice was tender in its control.
            At this last request Eroklin’s hands tensed.  He was the one in charge.  This captain had no power over him. Not here. Not on his island.  He had power here.  Not this damned captain with his feeble words, or the fading memory of Elizabeth.

            “…Joseph…Joseph was weak!” He said as the knife pierced and twisted in the captain’s chest, the dying face powerless in Eroklin’s glare. 

Irrational Fear

The mind, a black hole ^of irrational fears

^{Our actions}, _vain without the veil ^of irrational thought

Vision clears when irrationality’s spectacles _are worn

Then once seen we can never rationally forget this…

^{Irrational fears} need _{irrational answers}

For in the mind ^{no other answer} can truly _be thought

We all in irrationality ^and superstition reside

^{Until at last we} _{give in to the} ^sightless _rationality

That ^{frees us} from the weight ^of _irrational ^insanity_!