DeletedUser33530
Guest
Harry might have been mad but Buadin would have promoted you if you let the kitty burn 
DeletedUser44426
Guest
I love it, small, yet simple.
DeletedUser33530
Guest
well, YA!
DeletedUser8396
Guest
The title's bad. I came here to listen to a story about you burning kittens.
Besides the disappointment, it's very well written.
Lol, I thought the title was plain out epic
DeletedUser
Guest
Sorry pebbs ol' chap but you could've done better on the title.
DeletedUser8396
Guest
DeletedUser8396
Guest
The Vision Caster
This is a book or short story (depending on how many ideas I get). I hope you like! The spoilers will contain the chapters.
Do note, 'A Bitter End' does not mean the book is done. It has a lot more still to go
This is a book or short story (depending on how many ideas I get). I hope you like! The spoilers will contain the chapters.
It has been said that the defining aspect of a hero, whether super or not, is the morality and purposing said hero uses as a basis for his actions. Those that use their power and abilities for the benefit of mankind are the heroes, whereas those who use their ability as a negative force toward humanity are the villains.
Most of the time, this defining factor is clear cut, black and white. Most of the time. What about the outlier? What of the said hero or villain, depending on your viewpoint, that lies within the gray, no matter how small it may be? Some say they are anti-hero, but why not anti-villain? Are they simply a neutrality? A powerful force that helped both good and evil equally? Indeed they are.
What would such a person be named, however? Not the name said person was given at birth, no, the title. The blatant truth is, we have failed to give these forces a proper title. We have assumed that somewhere along the line, no person could possibly be equally evil and equally good. We then further assumed that the interpreters would always disagree on which side the proposed person would be if he were to walk on the line of both good and bad.
For this reason, we must create a name. We must create a title. In order for this title to fully exist, however, we must apply it. And before we can find it, we must agree that the title is worthy for said person.
This brings us to our one and only test subject, as to be expected as the likelihood of there being two is even more unlikely. Our humble, or not so humble, should you disagree, subject is one by the name of Milo Jenkins.
I suppose in order for one to properly make a judgment on someone's life, or impact of their life that is, one must see the entire life of said someone (the 'someone' being Milo, of course). Just like most lives, Milo began being born a natural birth. His mother was simple minded, nothing special. She was moderately attractive, but not the most beautiful apple in the basket.
The delivery room, or car to be more accurate, was not exactly full, to be kind. There were only two people involved in the birthing process. Milo's mother, of course, and then a random passerby that happened to hear the mother's screaming pain. The father of Milo was not present. He had gone on an abrupt, unannounced journey approximately 9 months ago. He still has yet to return. Where he has gone is irrelevant. Why he has gone, however, I believe you can deduce.
I digress, back to the birth. Through the arduous process, Milo finally was born. Born precisely at January 1st 1980 at the stroke of midnight. The child was brought into the world with the ringing of church bells, fire works galore, and shared kisses from all those around.
The next few years were uneventful. The single mother tried to raise the child on her own, whilst dating the passerby that had helped her on the road. This passerby, however, felt as if the child he helped birth's aim was to steal the mother away. At the age of 4, Milo was beaten constantly by the passerby. In the spots no one could notice easily, you understand. If the mother or authorities had known, then it may have ended.
The mother eventually married the passerby after five years. Hesitant to say yes, as her previous love had randomly gone missing, she finally married the passerby. Despite their attempts, the passerby and the mother could not have another child. Both went to see a specialist, and were both told that they were able to conceive, but nothing. Something was preventing it, willingly or unwillingly.
After another five years passed by, all as uneventful as the rest. However, this is where a change began to occur. It was January 1st 1990 at 12:01. Milo was sitting at his desk playing with a Rubik's cube and saw a flash of a picture above his head. He didn't notice it at first, so kept fiddling with his cube in futility. There it was again! Another flash, even longer this time. It caught his attention for a moment, but not enough to cause a concern.
After ten minutes of continuing fiddling with this cube, the bright beam began to shine just before Milo, one which he could not ignore. The light created the cube. Held up to the beam, the cube resembled it in every way. Every turn made on the cube in hand was translated to the beam.
Milo reached out to touch the cube, to try and shift its column or row. Upon his touch, the cube glowed in brilliance, died back down, and then moved rapidly. Once the movements were completed, the beam resembled a completed rubik's cube. However, the one in hand remained unsolved, for now. Milo, despite not being able to follow the pattern and movements he had seen, somehow had a knowledge of how to solve it.
Placing the cube down, he wondered if what he had seen was even real. He knew he felt the cube in hand, had seen the beam, had even felt the beam! Everything had to be real. He used the knowledge the beam had given on the cube. It was solved in a matter of seconds.
Milo ran to get his mother, to show her this 'magical' beam. Reluctantly, she got off the couch, much to her husband's dismay, and walked over to his desk.
“You see it? You see it? Look!”, said Milo, pointing at the beam.
“See what sweety? I only see the wall,” the mother said. She couldn't see the beam. She was blind to its knowledge, blind to its glow.
“But, it's right there! The glowing cube! You gotta see it, you just gotta!”, Milo pleaded.
“I don't have time for this foolishness. I'm tired and need to go to bed, and so do you. Now go hurry off now and go to sleep.”
Milo slowly loosened his grasp of his mother's hand and, with slight tears held back, he went to his room and fell asleep.
***
“How could she not see the cube? It was right there. Wasn't it? I touched it! I know it was there,” Milo said, as he was huddled up in his blanket.
“Maybe I'm the only one that can see it? Nah, that's ridiculous. If I can touch it, everyone must be able to see. Maybe mom is right...maybe I was just imagining it.”
Milo turned on his radio to soothe him as he went to sleep. Just before he was asleep, his step dad burst through the door with a belt in hand. There was fear in Milo's eyes, and a fire in the dad's.
“You think you can take her from me, don't you, you little brat? Don't you!? Well, I'm telling you now, it won't happen, I won't let you. Come here!”
The step dad, belt in hand, grabbed Milo by the hair and dragged him to the side of the bed.
“I'm gonna teach you a lesson kid. You're gonna learn to let me and your mum be, got it?”
“No, no please. I promise I won't call for her again, please! Ju-just put the belt away, please! I promise!” said Milo.
“It's too late for that. Now bend over and take the belt like a man.”
Milo's step dad lashed against Milo's back end and neck. Both were screaming: Milo out of pain, and the step dad out of anger.
“You will regret this. I will make you regret this,” Milo promised.
After lashing Milo a good bit more, the step dad left the room with a slight grin, and Milo with vengeful and tear filled eyes.
The pain subsided after Milo fell asleep.
***
The next day, Milo got out of bed, turned off his radio, and began to get ready for school. The dates happened to coincide that January 2nd was the first Tuesday of the year, and so the school jumped back into gear immediately.
“Ok. Belt – check. Shirt – check. Pants – check. Underwear – check. Socks – ummm...socks...hmmm. No socks? I just had a pair on my...”
A flash appeared above Milo's bed. It vanished quickly, just like the cube had done, but this time Milo saw it.
“Hey! Hey you! That light thing! Can you hear me? Ummm, if you can, come back please.”
The light remained hidden. Milo walked away and continued looking for the lost pair of socks, and then it flashed!
“Hey! Hey! Don't go, stay! I need to know you're real!”
Milo's responses and pleas to the light made no difference. The light vanished yet again, and remained hidden for the next few minutes.
“This is pointless. I can't even get you to stay! Maybe you can't talk? Or maybe you aren't the communicating type? I dunno.”
Milo went back to looking for his socks and then the flash came back – this time, as a beam. The beam looked like an arrow, as if it were pointing to something. The arrow was hovering over a fold on his bed.
“Let's see here,” said Milo, as he lifted up the cover, “Hey! My socks! You found em'!”
The beam went away the moment he saw the socks, and didn't come back the rest of the day.
Milo got in the car with his mom and both headed off to school.
***
The entire drive up to the school, the entire day at school, the entire drive back home, and the rest of the day – all spent thinking about this beam. This 'mysterious' little helper.
“It only shows up when I need help with something. Something like solving a puzzle or finding something I lost. Maybe that's why mom couldn't see it? It wasn't trying to show her anything? I don't know. I just wish I could control it more directly...”
***
Over the next few years, nothing really changed in the beam. The flashing continued on, and eventually a steady beam would be realized. Milo did learn, however, to control it slightly. He found that when he concentrated on the problem, and it alone, the light would come.
He had yet to fully realize what the beam was or meant, but he believed it would come in time. He was right.
Most of the time, this defining factor is clear cut, black and white. Most of the time. What about the outlier? What of the said hero or villain, depending on your viewpoint, that lies within the gray, no matter how small it may be? Some say they are anti-hero, but why not anti-villain? Are they simply a neutrality? A powerful force that helped both good and evil equally? Indeed they are.
What would such a person be named, however? Not the name said person was given at birth, no, the title. The blatant truth is, we have failed to give these forces a proper title. We have assumed that somewhere along the line, no person could possibly be equally evil and equally good. We then further assumed that the interpreters would always disagree on which side the proposed person would be if he were to walk on the line of both good and bad.
For this reason, we must create a name. We must create a title. In order for this title to fully exist, however, we must apply it. And before we can find it, we must agree that the title is worthy for said person.
This brings us to our one and only test subject, as to be expected as the likelihood of there being two is even more unlikely. Our humble, or not so humble, should you disagree, subject is one by the name of Milo Jenkins.
I suppose in order for one to properly make a judgment on someone's life, or impact of their life that is, one must see the entire life of said someone (the 'someone' being Milo, of course). Just like most lives, Milo began being born a natural birth. His mother was simple minded, nothing special. She was moderately attractive, but not the most beautiful apple in the basket.
The delivery room, or car to be more accurate, was not exactly full, to be kind. There were only two people involved in the birthing process. Milo's mother, of course, and then a random passerby that happened to hear the mother's screaming pain. The father of Milo was not present. He had gone on an abrupt, unannounced journey approximately 9 months ago. He still has yet to return. Where he has gone is irrelevant. Why he has gone, however, I believe you can deduce.
I digress, back to the birth. Through the arduous process, Milo finally was born. Born precisely at January 1st 1980 at the stroke of midnight. The child was brought into the world with the ringing of church bells, fire works galore, and shared kisses from all those around.
The next few years were uneventful. The single mother tried to raise the child on her own, whilst dating the passerby that had helped her on the road. This passerby, however, felt as if the child he helped birth's aim was to steal the mother away. At the age of 4, Milo was beaten constantly by the passerby. In the spots no one could notice easily, you understand. If the mother or authorities had known, then it may have ended.
The mother eventually married the passerby after five years. Hesitant to say yes, as her previous love had randomly gone missing, she finally married the passerby. Despite their attempts, the passerby and the mother could not have another child. Both went to see a specialist, and were both told that they were able to conceive, but nothing. Something was preventing it, willingly or unwillingly.
After another five years passed by, all as uneventful as the rest. However, this is where a change began to occur. It was January 1st 1990 at 12:01. Milo was sitting at his desk playing with a Rubik's cube and saw a flash of a picture above his head. He didn't notice it at first, so kept fiddling with his cube in futility. There it was again! Another flash, even longer this time. It caught his attention for a moment, but not enough to cause a concern.
After ten minutes of continuing fiddling with this cube, the bright beam began to shine just before Milo, one which he could not ignore. The light created the cube. Held up to the beam, the cube resembled it in every way. Every turn made on the cube in hand was translated to the beam.
Milo reached out to touch the cube, to try and shift its column or row. Upon his touch, the cube glowed in brilliance, died back down, and then moved rapidly. Once the movements were completed, the beam resembled a completed rubik's cube. However, the one in hand remained unsolved, for now. Milo, despite not being able to follow the pattern and movements he had seen, somehow had a knowledge of how to solve it.
Placing the cube down, he wondered if what he had seen was even real. He knew he felt the cube in hand, had seen the beam, had even felt the beam! Everything had to be real. He used the knowledge the beam had given on the cube. It was solved in a matter of seconds.
Milo ran to get his mother, to show her this 'magical' beam. Reluctantly, she got off the couch, much to her husband's dismay, and walked over to his desk.
“You see it? You see it? Look!”, said Milo, pointing at the beam.
“See what sweety? I only see the wall,” the mother said. She couldn't see the beam. She was blind to its knowledge, blind to its glow.
“But, it's right there! The glowing cube! You gotta see it, you just gotta!”, Milo pleaded.
“I don't have time for this foolishness. I'm tired and need to go to bed, and so do you. Now go hurry off now and go to sleep.”
Milo slowly loosened his grasp of his mother's hand and, with slight tears held back, he went to his room and fell asleep.
***
“How could she not see the cube? It was right there. Wasn't it? I touched it! I know it was there,” Milo said, as he was huddled up in his blanket.
“Maybe I'm the only one that can see it? Nah, that's ridiculous. If I can touch it, everyone must be able to see. Maybe mom is right...maybe I was just imagining it.”
Milo turned on his radio to soothe him as he went to sleep. Just before he was asleep, his step dad burst through the door with a belt in hand. There was fear in Milo's eyes, and a fire in the dad's.
“You think you can take her from me, don't you, you little brat? Don't you!? Well, I'm telling you now, it won't happen, I won't let you. Come here!”
The step dad, belt in hand, grabbed Milo by the hair and dragged him to the side of the bed.
“I'm gonna teach you a lesson kid. You're gonna learn to let me and your mum be, got it?”
“No, no please. I promise I won't call for her again, please! Ju-just put the belt away, please! I promise!” said Milo.
“It's too late for that. Now bend over and take the belt like a man.”
Milo's step dad lashed against Milo's back end and neck. Both were screaming: Milo out of pain, and the step dad out of anger.
“You will regret this. I will make you regret this,” Milo promised.
After lashing Milo a good bit more, the step dad left the room with a slight grin, and Milo with vengeful and tear filled eyes.
The pain subsided after Milo fell asleep.
***
The next day, Milo got out of bed, turned off his radio, and began to get ready for school. The dates happened to coincide that January 2nd was the first Tuesday of the year, and so the school jumped back into gear immediately.
“Ok. Belt – check. Shirt – check. Pants – check. Underwear – check. Socks – ummm...socks...hmmm. No socks? I just had a pair on my...”
A flash appeared above Milo's bed. It vanished quickly, just like the cube had done, but this time Milo saw it.
“Hey! Hey you! That light thing! Can you hear me? Ummm, if you can, come back please.”
The light remained hidden. Milo walked away and continued looking for the lost pair of socks, and then it flashed!
“Hey! Hey! Don't go, stay! I need to know you're real!”
Milo's responses and pleas to the light made no difference. The light vanished yet again, and remained hidden for the next few minutes.
“This is pointless. I can't even get you to stay! Maybe you can't talk? Or maybe you aren't the communicating type? I dunno.”
Milo went back to looking for his socks and then the flash came back – this time, as a beam. The beam looked like an arrow, as if it were pointing to something. The arrow was hovering over a fold on his bed.
“Let's see here,” said Milo, as he lifted up the cover, “Hey! My socks! You found em'!”
The beam went away the moment he saw the socks, and didn't come back the rest of the day.
Milo got in the car with his mom and both headed off to school.
***
The entire drive up to the school, the entire day at school, the entire drive back home, and the rest of the day – all spent thinking about this beam. This 'mysterious' little helper.
“It only shows up when I need help with something. Something like solving a puzzle or finding something I lost. Maybe that's why mom couldn't see it? It wasn't trying to show her anything? I don't know. I just wish I could control it more directly...”
***
Over the next few years, nothing really changed in the beam. The flashing continued on, and eventually a steady beam would be realized. Milo did learn, however, to control it slightly. He found that when he concentrated on the problem, and it alone, the light would come.
He had yet to fully realize what the beam was or meant, but he believed it would come in time. He was right.
“Ok class, I would like you to take out a sheet of paper. That's right, stop your moanin', we're having a quiz,” informed Milo's history teacher.
“The first one should be easy – When did Christopher Columbus first set sail?”
The freshman all scribbled down their response, including Mr. Milo Jenkins.
“Remember – keep your eyes on your own paper, and keep it covered! I don't want to have to fail you for cheating. Alright, number two – Why were the natives called Indians upon Columbus' arrival?”
“Hmmmm...I believe it's because he thought he had sailed around all the way to India,” thought Milo to himself.
“And finally – What were the three ships Columbus used?”
“Alright, we have the Nina, the Pinta, and the...ermmm...the...Gah, what is it?” thought Milo.
“Ok, does anyone need some more time on the quiz? Milo?”
“Yea, just a few more seconds...”
Milo concentrated on the final ship. Up came a flash, and another and then the final beam. It was in the form of a ship. Milo reached out to spin the ship, to see if he could find anything, and finally he saw the name Santa Maria carved into the ship.
“Do you have a question, Milo?
“Umm, no ma'am. Why?
“Well, you had your hand raised. Were you just stretching?”
Milo hadn't realized that when he spun the ship, he was moving his arms so highly in the air. He said he was only stretching and then wrote down Santa Maria.
Milo debated to himself, “Did I just cheat? No, of course not! I mean, I used a skill I have, right? But it is an unfair advantage over the others, I suppose. I don't know. I guess, I guess I just won't do it again unless it's really really important.”
“Alright class, pass your papers up the row and row leaders turn the paper in to me,” instructed the teacher.
“The homework for this weekend is to read pages 44-56 and answer the Chapter Review questions. Have a good weekend!”
The day went on and then Milo's mother came and picked him up from school – two hours early! He was excited at first, until he heard why he was getting out of school so soon.
Milo's mother, with tears in eyes, said, “Milo, honey, everything's alright. It's your uncle Benjamin, he's been in an accident. We're all going up to the hospital to say our final goodbyes. They say he only has a day or two left at this rate.”
“Wha- wha...no, NO,” Milo yelled, just before letting out horrendous screams.
What you may not know is that Milo's Uncle Benjamin (Ben, for short) was one of the only male figures that hadn't either left or abused Milo at the time being. The loss meant more than just simply not seeing a loved one again. This meant that Milo no longer had anyone to confide it, even if he only saw Ben a week or two out of the year.
The two drove up to the hospital and went up the elevator to room 1-01-80. Milo walked up to his uncle's bed, clutched the sheets in his hand to wipe away the tears, and said, “I will find a way to fix you. I promise I will heal you.”
Ben coughed out a comforting chuckle, “I love you. You've been like my son I could never have. Keep your chin up, no matter the outcome, ok?”
“Yes sir.”
“I need you to promise me,” the uncle persisted.
“I promise. I love you uncle.”
Milo faded into the background of room as other family members got up to say good bye. Milo, however, wasn't so keen on giving up so easily. He thought he had the power to save him, so he tried the best he could.
“How can I save him?” he asked himself. The flash didn't come. Not even a sparkle in the dimmest of a sense. He concentrated harder, still nothing.
“Come on! Don't fail me now! When I actually need you! Help me, somehow, please!”
Despite all the concentration given, the flash wouldn't come. It wasn't that the power wasn't fully alive at the time, but rather that Milo did not have the power he was trying to use. What Milo didn't know is, this power is limited to what he knows, has seen, and can imagine.
The quiz earlier that day – he knew the ship names as he had studied them before. The ship was part of his imagination trying to convey the message. The socks – he had seen where they were placed...only forgotten. The arrow was only a reminder. The cube – the mind is more powerful than we give it credit for. The reason it moved so fast is because that was the mind playing out all possibilities of moving the cube to the correct position, all in a matter of seconds. As it was then in his mind, he knew one way to solve it.
The reason he could not save his uncle was because he had not seen what caused and is causing the complication, he didn't know medical procedure in order to deduce a possible fix, he didn't have the knowledge to execute the power properly.
Milo, unlike you or I, did not know this about his power, not yet at least.
Later that evening the uncle passed away, and with the death came a flood of tears. Not from the family as a whole, no. The flood came from Milo alone.
“I promised him, mom. The last thing I said...a lie. I promised I would, that I would save him, but no matter how much I wanted it, nothing happened.”
“Thats sometimes how life just is, Milo. Some die at bad times, even people we love,” replied Milo's mother.
“Then life is wrong.”
“The first one should be easy – When did Christopher Columbus first set sail?”
The freshman all scribbled down their response, including Mr. Milo Jenkins.
“Remember – keep your eyes on your own paper, and keep it covered! I don't want to have to fail you for cheating. Alright, number two – Why were the natives called Indians upon Columbus' arrival?”
“Hmmmm...I believe it's because he thought he had sailed around all the way to India,” thought Milo to himself.
“And finally – What were the three ships Columbus used?”
“Alright, we have the Nina, the Pinta, and the...ermmm...the...Gah, what is it?” thought Milo.
“Ok, does anyone need some more time on the quiz? Milo?”
“Yea, just a few more seconds...”
Milo concentrated on the final ship. Up came a flash, and another and then the final beam. It was in the form of a ship. Milo reached out to spin the ship, to see if he could find anything, and finally he saw the name Santa Maria carved into the ship.
“Do you have a question, Milo?
“Umm, no ma'am. Why?
“Well, you had your hand raised. Were you just stretching?”
Milo hadn't realized that when he spun the ship, he was moving his arms so highly in the air. He said he was only stretching and then wrote down Santa Maria.
Milo debated to himself, “Did I just cheat? No, of course not! I mean, I used a skill I have, right? But it is an unfair advantage over the others, I suppose. I don't know. I guess, I guess I just won't do it again unless it's really really important.”
“Alright class, pass your papers up the row and row leaders turn the paper in to me,” instructed the teacher.
“The homework for this weekend is to read pages 44-56 and answer the Chapter Review questions. Have a good weekend!”
The day went on and then Milo's mother came and picked him up from school – two hours early! He was excited at first, until he heard why he was getting out of school so soon.
Milo's mother, with tears in eyes, said, “Milo, honey, everything's alright. It's your uncle Benjamin, he's been in an accident. We're all going up to the hospital to say our final goodbyes. They say he only has a day or two left at this rate.”
“Wha- wha...no, NO,” Milo yelled, just before letting out horrendous screams.
What you may not know is that Milo's Uncle Benjamin (Ben, for short) was one of the only male figures that hadn't either left or abused Milo at the time being. The loss meant more than just simply not seeing a loved one again. This meant that Milo no longer had anyone to confide it, even if he only saw Ben a week or two out of the year.
The two drove up to the hospital and went up the elevator to room 1-01-80. Milo walked up to his uncle's bed, clutched the sheets in his hand to wipe away the tears, and said, “I will find a way to fix you. I promise I will heal you.”
Ben coughed out a comforting chuckle, “I love you. You've been like my son I could never have. Keep your chin up, no matter the outcome, ok?”
“Yes sir.”
“I need you to promise me,” the uncle persisted.
“I promise. I love you uncle.”
Milo faded into the background of room as other family members got up to say good bye. Milo, however, wasn't so keen on giving up so easily. He thought he had the power to save him, so he tried the best he could.
“How can I save him?” he asked himself. The flash didn't come. Not even a sparkle in the dimmest of a sense. He concentrated harder, still nothing.
“Come on! Don't fail me now! When I actually need you! Help me, somehow, please!”
Despite all the concentration given, the flash wouldn't come. It wasn't that the power wasn't fully alive at the time, but rather that Milo did not have the power he was trying to use. What Milo didn't know is, this power is limited to what he knows, has seen, and can imagine.
The quiz earlier that day – he knew the ship names as he had studied them before. The ship was part of his imagination trying to convey the message. The socks – he had seen where they were placed...only forgotten. The arrow was only a reminder. The cube – the mind is more powerful than we give it credit for. The reason it moved so fast is because that was the mind playing out all possibilities of moving the cube to the correct position, all in a matter of seconds. As it was then in his mind, he knew one way to solve it.
The reason he could not save his uncle was because he had not seen what caused and is causing the complication, he didn't know medical procedure in order to deduce a possible fix, he didn't have the knowledge to execute the power properly.
Milo, unlike you or I, did not know this about his power, not yet at least.
Later that evening the uncle passed away, and with the death came a flood of tears. Not from the family as a whole, no. The flood came from Milo alone.
“I promised him, mom. The last thing I said...a lie. I promised I would, that I would save him, but no matter how much I wanted it, nothing happened.”
“Thats sometimes how life just is, Milo. Some die at bad times, even people we love,” replied Milo's mother.
“Then life is wrong.”
In every tale of a hero, or villain, rarely are the powers of the individual fully realized at the very start, if even at all. The man generally wanders around the world in his early life, later to realize he can do certain things others cannot – he has power.
Over the next few years, the hero hones this ability he found, manufacturing wonder with the talent. The power becomes almost second nature to him, being able to command the power at will. Then suddenly, the powers grow. The power branches off into something similar, but with entirely different effects. Almost like a tree has the base stem with several branches leading off and then onto leaves.
In determining whether or not Milo is a hero, villain, or somewhere in the undefined, he must exhibit these characteristics of either side to qualify into one of the aspects of being powered. He must grow. He must branch off these powers into something magnificent...or malevolent.
Such a point in Milo's life came on his 18th birthday, January 1 1998. The table had been set with the finest tableware available, lined with silver rimming and glimmering silverware placed fashionably at the side. The center of the table laid a magnificent honey-baked ham drizzled with Milo's favorite seasoning. Along the table followed the corn, mashed potatoes and gravy, a few ribs, and the best of all – a large chocolate and vanilla cake. The sight was splendid to behold.
Gathered 'round the table were a few relatives, some of Milo's friends, and lastly – Milo's mother. His stepdad was nowhere to be found, but Milo didn't complain. Ever since Milo was little up until even then, the stepdad constantly abused him. He claimed he was “making Milo stronger”, when with every whip and every lash it only scarred his body...and broke his heart. Milo had soon lost the ability to cry. Not that he couldn't cry, you understand. The issue was not with the physical inability, but rather the emotional inability. So much in Milo's life had transpired that he had become numbed to most forms of pain, whether it were physical or emotional...it mattered not. The last tears Milo ever shed was the beating he had received the night of his Uncle's death, as he was blamed for making his mother depressed over the death of her brother.
Although joy and happiness were fairly remote in Milo's mind, he did manage to sketch out a grin across his face for this momentous occasion – his 18th birthday! Milo sat at the head of the elongated table, just where the curtain cascaded over it and into a fine point. Beside him sat his mother on the right, and an empty seat to the left for his absent stepfather.
Milo's mother calmed down the joking and the chatter and finally got everyone to agree to a dinner prayer.
“Dear Heavenly Father, I want to thank you for letting us all gather here today to celebrate Milo's 18th birthday. I remember the night he was born, he was so small and fragile. He may still be small and fragile but he's grown to be an amazing man. Thank you for allowing him to be in my life. It has truly been a blessing. Please bless this food and fellowship tonight. We love you and praise you. Amen.”
Milo turned his head to his mom with glossy eyes and whispered, “Thanks, mom. That meant a-”
Before Milo could even finish out the whisper, in came the step dad barging in with liquor in hand stumbling about. He tried to compose himself on the way over, but only managed to make himself like a sophisticated fool. Around came his arm on Milo's shoulder saying “Oh heeyyy! If it's not my faaav'rite stepson. What's this all about right here.”
Milo's mother, red in the face, piped up, “Honey...it's Milo's 18th--”
“Woman! Was I talking to you!? No, I was talking to my buddy Milo. So, it's your birthday son?”
“Yea, I guess.”
“You guess? What the hell does that mean? You don't know your own birthday?”
He then took the hand wrapped around Milo's shoulder and slapped him across the face.
“You know now? You sure it's your birthday now?!”
“Ye-yes-yes! It's my birthday!”
“Oh ho ho, it's all about you isn't it? You know one of these days someone's gonna beat ya if you have that mindset. Kinda like this.”, he then closed off the sentence with a punch to the gut.
Milo recovered and let out a weak, “Don't touch me again.”
“Or what? You gon' get your mommy to come help?”
“No. Touch me again, and I'll kill you.”
Upon hearing this, the stepdad became enraged. A left hook planted itself in Milo's face, soon followed by a right jab to the gut. Milo then collapsed on the ground and was kicked by his stepfather.
Two of Milo's friends ten ran up to try and stop it, but the stepdad pulled out a knife...keeping both friends at bay. He then turned to the table and flipped it over...causing the entire wondrous display to come shattering to the ground. The plates' broken glass crashed partly onto Milo, giving him a few minor cuts on his cheek.
He then walked out the door, liquor bottle in hand. The two friends rushed down to Milo, who had just finally stopped coughing out blood.
“I'm going to kill him. I'm gonna kill him.”, Milo promised.
****
A week went by and Milo went back to school, starting the last semester of his senior year.
“Hey man, you feelin' better?” asked one of Milo's friends.
“A little bit. Still a bit bruised here and there, but overall I'm good.”
“Does that happen often? Like, him hitting you and stuff?”
“It doesn't get that bad usually. What you saw mainly only happens once every two months or so, but I get hit a little bit almost every other day.”
“Wow man, why don't you tell someone? Like, he could go to jail or somethin', right?”
“I want to, but he's all my mother really has. If I get him thrown in prison, she'll kinda be on her own. I can't really support our family.”
“I see. Well, you only have a few months left. Try to keep your chin up man.” the friend encouraged with a smile.
“No. I'm going to kill him. He is going to die by my hand. I don't know when, but it won't be later than April.”
“Mate, you don't wanna do that. I mean, you may, but think of the consequences! It simply isn't worth it. He isn't worth it. And think, if you kill him,your mom will be all alone, right?”
At this point, Milo wanted out of the conversation. He ignored the 'warnings' of his friend and uttered, “I guess. Thanks.”
****
The school day went by and Milo waited until about 9:00 p.m. to come home. Luckily, his step dad had already passed out on the couch, allowing him to sneak by.
Milo then ran up to his room and started thinking about what his friend had said. He thought to himself, “Why can't he see it my way? I'm the victim here, and I deserve vengeance, right? Yes! Yes I do! I just wish I could make my friend see that.”
In that moment, something strange happened. Milo felt the more he thought about his friend, the more he could feel as if he were activating his flash. But...he couldn't see it. Milo pushed his mind harder and harder, trying to get the flash to appear, but nothing. Milo quickly stopped bothering, and went to sleep.
***
The next day at school, Milo's friend showed up eager to talk to Milo.
“Milo! Hey, I had the most interesting dream last night!”
Milo let out a sigh, “Is another stupid tale about you and your magical pig pinky? Honestly, I don't want to hear another 20 minute story about your long heartfelt exposure to your bacon love interest.”
“No, no. Not this time. Well, I did have one kinda like it a few days-- ah nevermind that! I had a dream about you. It was kinda odd though. It was me telling you to kill your dad.”
“Stepdad.”
“Yea, to kill your stepdad. I don't know why though. Huh...odd right?”
“Yea, real odd.” Milo said with a faked chuckle.
Milo went through the day just as before and laid down in his bed thinking, “Did I do that? I felt something, but it couldn't have possibly effected him could it? I'm the only one that can see it, right? I know! I'll try it again and see if similar results happen. Scientific method right?”
He turned off his television and computer and began thinking about his friend, specifically about his friend believing he (Milo) should kill his father. He thought hour upon hour, feeling the flashed beaming across his mind and trying to flood out from any available corner. The power was insane, the energy surging within him. And finally, Milo released.
Milo saw the beam flash across the sky toward the home of his friend, something new from the night before.
“Alright, lets see if that did anything different.”
***
Milo woke up at about 7:00 a.m. the ext morning to the sound of his phone buzzing. His friend had texted him with the following, “Hey man, if you can, I need to talk with you after school. Keep it private.”
The school day rolled past and the two went behind the school building to begin their conversation.
“Hey Milo, you know how I said you shouldn't kill your stepdad?”
“Ummm, yea? Why?”
“I've changed my mind. I can't explain it, but I woke up at about 11:30 p.m. and felt like you should. I don't know why, but you should go through with it.”
“Ummm, I'm not sure. I'll think about it.”
“Hey! No, you gotta do it man. He deserves it. Anyone hits you, make em pay. You're the victim here and you deserve some vengeance...I see that now.”
Milo's face went pale...as he realized what he had done.
Over the next few years, the hero hones this ability he found, manufacturing wonder with the talent. The power becomes almost second nature to him, being able to command the power at will. Then suddenly, the powers grow. The power branches off into something similar, but with entirely different effects. Almost like a tree has the base stem with several branches leading off and then onto leaves.
In determining whether or not Milo is a hero, villain, or somewhere in the undefined, he must exhibit these characteristics of either side to qualify into one of the aspects of being powered. He must grow. He must branch off these powers into something magnificent...or malevolent.
Such a point in Milo's life came on his 18th birthday, January 1 1998. The table had been set with the finest tableware available, lined with silver rimming and glimmering silverware placed fashionably at the side. The center of the table laid a magnificent honey-baked ham drizzled with Milo's favorite seasoning. Along the table followed the corn, mashed potatoes and gravy, a few ribs, and the best of all – a large chocolate and vanilla cake. The sight was splendid to behold.
Gathered 'round the table were a few relatives, some of Milo's friends, and lastly – Milo's mother. His stepdad was nowhere to be found, but Milo didn't complain. Ever since Milo was little up until even then, the stepdad constantly abused him. He claimed he was “making Milo stronger”, when with every whip and every lash it only scarred his body...and broke his heart. Milo had soon lost the ability to cry. Not that he couldn't cry, you understand. The issue was not with the physical inability, but rather the emotional inability. So much in Milo's life had transpired that he had become numbed to most forms of pain, whether it were physical or emotional...it mattered not. The last tears Milo ever shed was the beating he had received the night of his Uncle's death, as he was blamed for making his mother depressed over the death of her brother.
Although joy and happiness were fairly remote in Milo's mind, he did manage to sketch out a grin across his face for this momentous occasion – his 18th birthday! Milo sat at the head of the elongated table, just where the curtain cascaded over it and into a fine point. Beside him sat his mother on the right, and an empty seat to the left for his absent stepfather.
Milo's mother calmed down the joking and the chatter and finally got everyone to agree to a dinner prayer.
“Dear Heavenly Father, I want to thank you for letting us all gather here today to celebrate Milo's 18th birthday. I remember the night he was born, he was so small and fragile. He may still be small and fragile but he's grown to be an amazing man. Thank you for allowing him to be in my life. It has truly been a blessing. Please bless this food and fellowship tonight. We love you and praise you. Amen.”
Milo turned his head to his mom with glossy eyes and whispered, “Thanks, mom. That meant a-”
Before Milo could even finish out the whisper, in came the step dad barging in with liquor in hand stumbling about. He tried to compose himself on the way over, but only managed to make himself like a sophisticated fool. Around came his arm on Milo's shoulder saying “Oh heeyyy! If it's not my faaav'rite stepson. What's this all about right here.”
Milo's mother, red in the face, piped up, “Honey...it's Milo's 18th--”
“Woman! Was I talking to you!? No, I was talking to my buddy Milo. So, it's your birthday son?”
“Yea, I guess.”
“You guess? What the hell does that mean? You don't know your own birthday?”
He then took the hand wrapped around Milo's shoulder and slapped him across the face.
“You know now? You sure it's your birthday now?!”
“Ye-yes-yes! It's my birthday!”
“Oh ho ho, it's all about you isn't it? You know one of these days someone's gonna beat ya if you have that mindset. Kinda like this.”, he then closed off the sentence with a punch to the gut.
Milo recovered and let out a weak, “Don't touch me again.”
“Or what? You gon' get your mommy to come help?”
“No. Touch me again, and I'll kill you.”
Upon hearing this, the stepdad became enraged. A left hook planted itself in Milo's face, soon followed by a right jab to the gut. Milo then collapsed on the ground and was kicked by his stepfather.
Two of Milo's friends ten ran up to try and stop it, but the stepdad pulled out a knife...keeping both friends at bay. He then turned to the table and flipped it over...causing the entire wondrous display to come shattering to the ground. The plates' broken glass crashed partly onto Milo, giving him a few minor cuts on his cheek.
He then walked out the door, liquor bottle in hand. The two friends rushed down to Milo, who had just finally stopped coughing out blood.
“I'm going to kill him. I'm gonna kill him.”, Milo promised.
****
A week went by and Milo went back to school, starting the last semester of his senior year.
“Hey man, you feelin' better?” asked one of Milo's friends.
“A little bit. Still a bit bruised here and there, but overall I'm good.”
“Does that happen often? Like, him hitting you and stuff?”
“It doesn't get that bad usually. What you saw mainly only happens once every two months or so, but I get hit a little bit almost every other day.”
“Wow man, why don't you tell someone? Like, he could go to jail or somethin', right?”
“I want to, but he's all my mother really has. If I get him thrown in prison, she'll kinda be on her own. I can't really support our family.”
“I see. Well, you only have a few months left. Try to keep your chin up man.” the friend encouraged with a smile.
“No. I'm going to kill him. He is going to die by my hand. I don't know when, but it won't be later than April.”
“Mate, you don't wanna do that. I mean, you may, but think of the consequences! It simply isn't worth it. He isn't worth it. And think, if you kill him,your mom will be all alone, right?”
At this point, Milo wanted out of the conversation. He ignored the 'warnings' of his friend and uttered, “I guess. Thanks.”
****
The school day went by and Milo waited until about 9:00 p.m. to come home. Luckily, his step dad had already passed out on the couch, allowing him to sneak by.
Milo then ran up to his room and started thinking about what his friend had said. He thought to himself, “Why can't he see it my way? I'm the victim here, and I deserve vengeance, right? Yes! Yes I do! I just wish I could make my friend see that.”
In that moment, something strange happened. Milo felt the more he thought about his friend, the more he could feel as if he were activating his flash. But...he couldn't see it. Milo pushed his mind harder and harder, trying to get the flash to appear, but nothing. Milo quickly stopped bothering, and went to sleep.
***
The next day at school, Milo's friend showed up eager to talk to Milo.
“Milo! Hey, I had the most interesting dream last night!”
Milo let out a sigh, “Is another stupid tale about you and your magical pig pinky? Honestly, I don't want to hear another 20 minute story about your long heartfelt exposure to your bacon love interest.”
“No, no. Not this time. Well, I did have one kinda like it a few days-- ah nevermind that! I had a dream about you. It was kinda odd though. It was me telling you to kill your dad.”
“Stepdad.”
“Yea, to kill your stepdad. I don't know why though. Huh...odd right?”
“Yea, real odd.” Milo said with a faked chuckle.
Milo went through the day just as before and laid down in his bed thinking, “Did I do that? I felt something, but it couldn't have possibly effected him could it? I'm the only one that can see it, right? I know! I'll try it again and see if similar results happen. Scientific method right?”
He turned off his television and computer and began thinking about his friend, specifically about his friend believing he (Milo) should kill his father. He thought hour upon hour, feeling the flashed beaming across his mind and trying to flood out from any available corner. The power was insane, the energy surging within him. And finally, Milo released.
Milo saw the beam flash across the sky toward the home of his friend, something new from the night before.
“Alright, lets see if that did anything different.”
***
Milo woke up at about 7:00 a.m. the ext morning to the sound of his phone buzzing. His friend had texted him with the following, “Hey man, if you can, I need to talk with you after school. Keep it private.”
The school day rolled past and the two went behind the school building to begin their conversation.
“Hey Milo, you know how I said you shouldn't kill your stepdad?”
“Ummm, yea? Why?”
“I've changed my mind. I can't explain it, but I woke up at about 11:30 p.m. and felt like you should. I don't know why, but you should go through with it.”
“Ummm, I'm not sure. I'll think about it.”
“Hey! No, you gotta do it man. He deserves it. Anyone hits you, make em pay. You're the victim here and you deserve some vengeance...I see that now.”
Milo's face went pale...as he realized what he had done.
As said before, the determination of whether someone is a hero, villain, or neutrality is obtained by looking at the morality behind the actions of the individual. If the actions are good – hero. If bad – villain. And so on and so forth.
When discussing morality, in relation to society's general viewpoint, we place certain 'crimes' or actions above others in some attempt to stop some atrocities in lieu of others. Generally, the pattern follows somewhat like this: Whatever hurts society more is the more egregious offense.
But when using this base for morality, there tends to be a large gray area. For example, let us look at Milo's current situation:
Assuming Milo killed (or murdered, depending on your view) his father, did Milo harm society? Milo's stepfather abused him constantly. The stepfather was a drunk, an abusive husband and father, and a negative force on society.
We all know the basic math principal – a number minus a negative equals a positive. Does that not carry over into morality? Milo commits a negative action (murder), but towards a negative force (the stepdad). That then makes it a positive motion toward society's status. Or does it? What if murdering his stepfather causes Milo to lower his own status as a human being in and of himself as the negative force only applies to Milo? What of the effects the muder would have on his family, specifically his mother? Does this then cancel out the positive effect of the murder and make it negative toward society?
As the interpreter, the determination is up to you and you alone. I cannot tell you whether it is morally upright, morally downright, or a neutral force on society. All sides have their argument point, and you must choose a side. Indifference is not an option in a debate on morality.
The methods one would use in the murder would affect the morality of the action though, correct? Like if a man murders someone with a quick death, or by a slow painful one? The morality shifts ever so slightly or ever so greatly in either direction of right or wrong.
To let you make this decision (arguably your greatest decision of Milo's morality at this point) I must show you all aspects of the situation. We begin this segment not long after we left off in the previous telling of Milo's encounters. Milo is found staying over at his friend's (the same one agreeing to the murder).
“Hey Milo? You still up?”
The room quieted back down, silent with the lack of reply. The silence began to roar from deep within the room, bouncing off the walls. Finally the silence was softly broken with Milo releasing a weak sigh saying, “Yes....What do you want? It's like 2 am...”
“Oh, nothing. Sorry. I didn't know you were still asleep. We'll talk later”
“No, I'm up now. Ask your stupid question...”
“I'll just ask later, I can wait.”
“You'll ask it now...I didn't wake up for nothin'”
“Ok, but don't be all moody tomorrow...or later today...or whatever. You know what I-”
“Ask the question!”
“Ok, ok. I got to wondering. If you were to kill your stepdad, how would you do it? Like, evidence and all that?”
“I don't know yet. I really haven't given my methods much thought.”
This was indeed a lie on Milo's behalf. The murder of his stepfather was the only idea consistently pressing upon his mind. He pondered it daily – hourly, even. Imagining hanging his father off the top of a building, seeing his neck begin to rip and tear, all the while being beaten senseless, much like Milo was himself. He thought of shooting him in the head, making quick, easy work of him...having to deal with him no longer. He thought of taking a dull blade and slowly cutting his stepdad across the fingers, then the arm, and onward up his body searing the wounds so he would not bleed out. Then finally, once all the enjoyment of this torturing monstrosity had ceased to flow, he would slice open his throat and watch as the blood poured slowly down his body. This topic was not something taken lightly. Any method he could think of, he planned. Oh he planned and planned and planned. The thoughts ensnared his mind, turning dreams into pleasant nightmares where Milo was the ringleader. “Haven't given it much thought”? This couldn't be further from the truth.
“Well, you probably should!” let out Milo's friend with a laugh, “I don't want you to get in any trouble that is.”
Despite knowing off the power to control minds, Milo hadn't given it much thought, let alone practice. Thus far, the only person Milo had done it on was his friend – too afraid to do try it on anyone else. Milo tried reversing the effect, but his attempt proved futile. Nothing would change.
“Don't worry, I'll work it out”, Milo assured.
“I know, but how?”
“I don't know! I simply don't know yet, ok!? Just let me be.”
“Hey! You two kids need to be getting' to sleep up there, ok? No more shouting!” the friend's mother shouted hypocritically.
The two began to whisper back and forth.
“Hey, sorry. I didn't mean to push ya. I know the topic of your stepdad is kinda touchy.”
“It's fine. Sorry I went off on ya, you were only trying to help me stay safe.”
“It's kinda bizarre for us to be even talking about this, isn't it? I mean...you and I, planning a murder? Wow. Just...wow.”
“I know, but it needs to be done. I need it to be done.”
“ And we will. We most certainly will, Milo. I promise.”
The room went silent for a few minutes when suddenly Milo came to a glorious, or despicable, realization – he can control minds. He can control his stepdad's mind.
Milo thought to himself, “How can I even plan this? If my stepdad dies, my friend will know I was involved and want to know how. But, if I do it any other way I can very easily get caught. It would be nice having someone else to share this with, I suppose. Yea, I guess I'll tell him. Later though.”
An hour passed by and Milo was still awake, busy staring at the ceiling fan rotating ever so quickly. He kept trying to follow a singular blade and “make the fan go slower” with his mind. It didn't work, but still...
Another hour, and again, and again followed another and, before Milo could tell, the alarm sounded signaling time for both to get up and ready for school. Milo jumped at the sound, eagerly awaiting the conversation with his friend.
“Hey, I need to tell you something.”
“Woa, woa woa...calm down mate. I just woke up...”, said as he slowly rubbed his eyes, still adjusting the the light flashing on.
“Ok, but it's real important.”
“Fine...what?”
“You know those cartoons and comics of superheroes?”
“Ummm, yea? What does that have - “
“You know the telepaths?”
“Sorta, why?”
“Ummm, well, I am one. Kinda...a bit different.”
“Ok, thats good to know. I'm going back to sleep.”
“No, wait, I'm serious.”
“Yep, and so am I. Head.To.Pillow.”
“I'm not joking man. I can make people see and believe things.”
“I don't have time for this. Prove it.”
“I...can't. If I did, I could harm someone's mind. It's too- oh! But I can do something else! My mind can create these 'light' type things. They help somehow. I don't really know what to call 'em officially, but I've given them the name of Fulsi. It's Latin or something.”
“Ok? And what? How do you want to show me this?”
“Well, I can't make others see it.”
“I see...well, thats just too bad.”
“Wait, would you happen to have a rubik's cube?”
“Yea, over on my shelf. Why?”
“Here, go grab it, please.”
He walked over and grabbed the already jumbled cube and handed it to Milo.
“Good luck. I've been fiddling with it for years. Not even google could fix that one...”
“Just watch.”
Milo held out the cube in front of him and up came a beam of a Rubik's cube (Milo became far beyond waiting for the precursor flashes). The rubik's cube slowly began to turn, gaining speed and eventually going faster than Milo could read – but he understood.
Milo then took the rubiks cube in both hands and within 12 seconds had it solved and sitting on the table with his moth's friend currently dropping toward the floor.
“How did you...what? I didn't know you were that good with a Rubik's cube.”
“That's the thing, I'm not. I saw this flash in my mind and it told me where to move the colors. I can try it again if you'd like.”
“No, no. I guess I'll believe you for now. But eventually I'll need some further explanation.”
“Sure, but I got to thinking. I can use this to somewhat control other people's mind. What if I were to 'change' or manipulate my stepdad's mind into killing himself? That way, it's perfectly clean. No one will suspect us.”
“If you can, then, I guess...that would work. It's kinda genius actually.”
“I thought so. I can control it almost at any time, so when do you want to do it?”
“Ummmm, in a few days. Still need to wrap my mind around this.”
“Sure thing. Just tell me when. And, thanks...Johnathon”
“Will do. No problem.”
The two went off to school, staying hidden from each other. Both were slightly ashamed to see the other, but more so ashamed at how the other looked at them. Fourth period rolled around and Milo walked into his Statistics class. He noticed a girl crying in her desk.
“Hey, what's wrong? You ok?”
The girl put up her hand, trying to signal she didn't want to talk. She was too ashamed to show her tear infused eyes to the class. But Milo pressed a little harder and the girl gave out a weak, “No. I'm just not.”
“Well, what's wrong? Can I help?”
“No, you can't. You can't bring him back...no one can. You can't get the insurance to help either. No one can do anything...”
“What? What happened?”
“It-It's my dad...he committed suicide about two weeks ago. Now we need money, but the insurance refuses to pay. Keep saying they don't 'cover' suicides. I don't know... I just don't.”
“Hey, don't worry. You'll get through it eventually, I promise.”
“How can you promise that? Hmm? Thats right...you can't. Just let me be.”
At this point Milo just assumed to leave toward his desk. He sat back down and tried to pay attention to the teacher when something struck him. “They don't 'cover' suicides....”
“What if my insurance doesn't? Then I'll truly be screwed, won't I...No, I can't make him commit suicide. But wait! I could always get my friend to kill him directly.! Yeah! Just control him and convince him to kill my stepdad. That would work! He'll claim I made him do it...claim I 'controlled his mind' – they'll think he's gone nuts! It's perfect.”
The plan was set in stone, set in mind, and set in soul. Nothing could change Milo's mind now. Later that night Milo crawled into his bed and started his 'ritual'. He thought of Johnathon, in everything he knew him to be, and all he intended for him to do. For hours he concentrated upon this idea, this thought. The energy poured through and out of his mind, causing the surrounding area to glow in lightning-like rays protruding from Milo's skull. Finally, Milo commanded the thought to flee toward Johnathon.
Mio looked into the sky, to see it light up like before, but something was different...something was wrong. Generally, the light had a pale yellowish red tint to it, but now it carried a darker purplish black. It was near impossible to pick out as it almost perfectly matched the night sky. Why, you ask? Dark thoughts breed dark results.
The dark light crashed through the walls of Johnathon's room and slammed into his brain. Johnathon woke with a bright gasp with a heavy mind and a polluted soul. He lifted up his arm and balled his hand into a fist...ready for the task.
Johnathon quickly darted out of bed, slipped on the darkest shirt and pants he could, and darted off downstairs. He scrambled to unlock his father's gun safe, but he didn't have the skill. He instead took a knife, ran to his car, and drove over to Milo's home.
He ran up to the door and turned the handle to no avail. He tried running around the yard to the back entrance, but much too his dismay, the result remained the same. There was one last trick up his sleeve. Johnathon knew if he kicked the door down, the entire family would hear it, but if he managed to go through the crawl space, he just may be able to climb up the hatch to the basement.
He circled around to the side of the building and unlatched the door and crawled in. He squirmed through the tight crevice, trying to ignore the ominous hissing. Finally he reached what appeared to be a ladder. He climbed up to the top and opened the hatch to the basement – he was in.
Slowly he opened the door into the hallway connecting the living room to the staircase. Up he slowly went on the stairs, trying to not make a sound – shifting his weight to what he thought was even with every step. Three steps further and the step made a loud creek. Panicking, Johnathon tried to hide the knife to make sure that if he was caught, he would still be somewhat ok.
After waiting a few minutes, he re-armed himself and continued toward the parents' bedroom. He pushed the door open and tip-toed over to the side where the stepfather slept. He drew the knife and held it over the stepdad, almost ceremoniously. Then he thought to himself, “This is it. This is finally it. Milo is going to be so proud,” and he plunged the knife into the his side and stabbed repeatedly.
After about the fourth or fifth stab, the mother woke up and began screaming. Milo quickly rushed up stairs and bashed open the door, seeing what had occurred. He tried to keep his smile hidden, as to not give himself away, so instead encased his smile with a superficial anger.
“John! Wha-what are you doing! Get back, get away!”
“It's done Milo, I did it. I did it for you. Don't you see?”
“For me? Why! Why would you kill my father?!”
In this moment, John realized what he had done. Suddenly his mind became clear. He looked down at the knife and cast it aside trying to forget. He tried covering his eyes, but the blood dripping from his hands only re-emphasized the deed. All he could do was fall to the ground and weep.
Moments passed and finally the police arrived, having their sirens sing to the mourning of the mother. The police rushed in, slammed John to the wall and took him into custody.
“You have the right to remain silent.”
Not a second passed before John used his right of omission toward silence.
“Take Milo! Not me! He made me do it, I swear! Don't, please. I'm innocent.”
The police shoved him in the vehicle and took him to the local precinct. Upon arrival, they threw him in an interrogation room.
“hello Johnathon. I'm a local police detective. Before we begin, I would like to make you aware that you have the right to an attorney. Should you-”
“Nah, I don't need one. I'm innocent in all this.”
“Of course you are. Now, let me ask you a few questions.”
“Why were you at the Jenkin's home?”
“I was their to kill my friend's stepfather. And I did.”
“I'm sorry? I thought you said you were innocent?”
“I am. I was being controlled.”
“Oh, of course. By who?”
“Milo. He told me he can make people do things...like, control their mind. He was going to kill his stepfather using it, but I gues he changed his mind.”
“So, you're saying Milo controlled your mind to make you come break into his apartment at 3 am wearing all black and to stab his father with a knife four times in his abdomen?”
“Look, I know it sounds insane, but it's true. Just ask him, he'll tell you.”
“We'll be speaking with the victim's family later on. I think that's all I need from you at the moment. I'll be back later.”
The police put John in a holding cell for the night and waited until morning to speak with the family. Once the clock rolled around to about 11 am, the police knocked on the door and asked to talk to Milo privately.
In order to observe John's reaction to Milo's testimony, they placed him on the opposite side. John could see Milo, but Milo didn't know Johnathon was present.
“Hey Milo, take a seat. This shouldn't take all that long.”
“Alright. Ummm, is Johnathon here?”
“Nope, just you and me. Please, take a seat. So, how long have you and Johnathon been friends?”
“A few years. We met at school a while back. I wasn't ever really the coolest guy, but he was nice to me.”
“Any reason why Johnathon would want your stepdad gone?”
“Not that I can tell. I mean, I told him my stepdad kept beating me, but I didn't think he'd kill him.”
“Ok. I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but Johnathon mentioned you saying you were going to kill your stepdad by mind control? What do you think he means?”
“I'm sorry? Mind control? Like...sci-fi voodoo trash? What kind of question is that? No, I didn't want my stepfather dead. Yea, he hit me, but I loved him.”
“He mentioned that you 'made' him kill your dead by using the same method.”
“Look, I don't care what that crazed idiot said. I didn't want my father dead and I certainly didn't use any 'mind-scontrol' on anyone.”
Across the room and through the hall stood Johnathon, trying not to well up with tears. He masqueraded his sadness with anger and hate and dashed toward the glass, pounding on it as hard as he could, screaming, “Liar! You liar! You did this...you did all of this...”
“I'm sorry, ill be right back.”
“I thought you said it was just you and me?"
“It is, I'll be back in a moment.”
“No, we're done. Call me back in later if you actually want to speak one on one.”
The police officer let Milo out of the room and walked him to the exit.
“I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Jenkins.”
Milo turned around and pushed through the door with a devilish grin.
When discussing morality, in relation to society's general viewpoint, we place certain 'crimes' or actions above others in some attempt to stop some atrocities in lieu of others. Generally, the pattern follows somewhat like this: Whatever hurts society more is the more egregious offense.
But when using this base for morality, there tends to be a large gray area. For example, let us look at Milo's current situation:
Assuming Milo killed (or murdered, depending on your view) his father, did Milo harm society? Milo's stepfather abused him constantly. The stepfather was a drunk, an abusive husband and father, and a negative force on society.
We all know the basic math principal – a number minus a negative equals a positive. Does that not carry over into morality? Milo commits a negative action (murder), but towards a negative force (the stepdad). That then makes it a positive motion toward society's status. Or does it? What if murdering his stepfather causes Milo to lower his own status as a human being in and of himself as the negative force only applies to Milo? What of the effects the muder would have on his family, specifically his mother? Does this then cancel out the positive effect of the murder and make it negative toward society?
As the interpreter, the determination is up to you and you alone. I cannot tell you whether it is morally upright, morally downright, or a neutral force on society. All sides have their argument point, and you must choose a side. Indifference is not an option in a debate on morality.
The methods one would use in the murder would affect the morality of the action though, correct? Like if a man murders someone with a quick death, or by a slow painful one? The morality shifts ever so slightly or ever so greatly in either direction of right or wrong.
To let you make this decision (arguably your greatest decision of Milo's morality at this point) I must show you all aspects of the situation. We begin this segment not long after we left off in the previous telling of Milo's encounters. Milo is found staying over at his friend's (the same one agreeing to the murder).
“Hey Milo? You still up?”
The room quieted back down, silent with the lack of reply. The silence began to roar from deep within the room, bouncing off the walls. Finally the silence was softly broken with Milo releasing a weak sigh saying, “Yes....What do you want? It's like 2 am...”
“Oh, nothing. Sorry. I didn't know you were still asleep. We'll talk later”
“No, I'm up now. Ask your stupid question...”
“I'll just ask later, I can wait.”
“You'll ask it now...I didn't wake up for nothin'”
“Ok, but don't be all moody tomorrow...or later today...or whatever. You know what I-”
“Ask the question!”
“Ok, ok. I got to wondering. If you were to kill your stepdad, how would you do it? Like, evidence and all that?”
“I don't know yet. I really haven't given my methods much thought.”
This was indeed a lie on Milo's behalf. The murder of his stepfather was the only idea consistently pressing upon his mind. He pondered it daily – hourly, even. Imagining hanging his father off the top of a building, seeing his neck begin to rip and tear, all the while being beaten senseless, much like Milo was himself. He thought of shooting him in the head, making quick, easy work of him...having to deal with him no longer. He thought of taking a dull blade and slowly cutting his stepdad across the fingers, then the arm, and onward up his body searing the wounds so he would not bleed out. Then finally, once all the enjoyment of this torturing monstrosity had ceased to flow, he would slice open his throat and watch as the blood poured slowly down his body. This topic was not something taken lightly. Any method he could think of, he planned. Oh he planned and planned and planned. The thoughts ensnared his mind, turning dreams into pleasant nightmares where Milo was the ringleader. “Haven't given it much thought”? This couldn't be further from the truth.
“Well, you probably should!” let out Milo's friend with a laugh, “I don't want you to get in any trouble that is.”
Despite knowing off the power to control minds, Milo hadn't given it much thought, let alone practice. Thus far, the only person Milo had done it on was his friend – too afraid to do try it on anyone else. Milo tried reversing the effect, but his attempt proved futile. Nothing would change.
“Don't worry, I'll work it out”, Milo assured.
“I know, but how?”
“I don't know! I simply don't know yet, ok!? Just let me be.”
“Hey! You two kids need to be getting' to sleep up there, ok? No more shouting!” the friend's mother shouted hypocritically.
The two began to whisper back and forth.
“Hey, sorry. I didn't mean to push ya. I know the topic of your stepdad is kinda touchy.”
“It's fine. Sorry I went off on ya, you were only trying to help me stay safe.”
“It's kinda bizarre for us to be even talking about this, isn't it? I mean...you and I, planning a murder? Wow. Just...wow.”
“I know, but it needs to be done. I need it to be done.”
“ And we will. We most certainly will, Milo. I promise.”
The room went silent for a few minutes when suddenly Milo came to a glorious, or despicable, realization – he can control minds. He can control his stepdad's mind.
Milo thought to himself, “How can I even plan this? If my stepdad dies, my friend will know I was involved and want to know how. But, if I do it any other way I can very easily get caught. It would be nice having someone else to share this with, I suppose. Yea, I guess I'll tell him. Later though.”
An hour passed by and Milo was still awake, busy staring at the ceiling fan rotating ever so quickly. He kept trying to follow a singular blade and “make the fan go slower” with his mind. It didn't work, but still...
Another hour, and again, and again followed another and, before Milo could tell, the alarm sounded signaling time for both to get up and ready for school. Milo jumped at the sound, eagerly awaiting the conversation with his friend.
“Hey, I need to tell you something.”
“Woa, woa woa...calm down mate. I just woke up...”, said as he slowly rubbed his eyes, still adjusting the the light flashing on.
“Ok, but it's real important.”
“Fine...what?”
“You know those cartoons and comics of superheroes?”
“Ummm, yea? What does that have - “
“You know the telepaths?”
“Sorta, why?”
“Ummm, well, I am one. Kinda...a bit different.”
“Ok, thats good to know. I'm going back to sleep.”
“No, wait, I'm serious.”
“Yep, and so am I. Head.To.Pillow.”
“I'm not joking man. I can make people see and believe things.”
“I don't have time for this. Prove it.”
“I...can't. If I did, I could harm someone's mind. It's too- oh! But I can do something else! My mind can create these 'light' type things. They help somehow. I don't really know what to call 'em officially, but I've given them the name of Fulsi. It's Latin or something.”
“Ok? And what? How do you want to show me this?”
“Well, I can't make others see it.”
“I see...well, thats just too bad.”
“Wait, would you happen to have a rubik's cube?”
“Yea, over on my shelf. Why?”
“Here, go grab it, please.”
He walked over and grabbed the already jumbled cube and handed it to Milo.
“Good luck. I've been fiddling with it for years. Not even google could fix that one...”
“Just watch.”
Milo held out the cube in front of him and up came a beam of a Rubik's cube (Milo became far beyond waiting for the precursor flashes). The rubik's cube slowly began to turn, gaining speed and eventually going faster than Milo could read – but he understood.
Milo then took the rubiks cube in both hands and within 12 seconds had it solved and sitting on the table with his moth's friend currently dropping toward the floor.
“How did you...what? I didn't know you were that good with a Rubik's cube.”
“That's the thing, I'm not. I saw this flash in my mind and it told me where to move the colors. I can try it again if you'd like.”
“No, no. I guess I'll believe you for now. But eventually I'll need some further explanation.”
“Sure, but I got to thinking. I can use this to somewhat control other people's mind. What if I were to 'change' or manipulate my stepdad's mind into killing himself? That way, it's perfectly clean. No one will suspect us.”
“If you can, then, I guess...that would work. It's kinda genius actually.”
“I thought so. I can control it almost at any time, so when do you want to do it?”
“Ummmm, in a few days. Still need to wrap my mind around this.”
“Sure thing. Just tell me when. And, thanks...Johnathon”
“Will do. No problem.”
The two went off to school, staying hidden from each other. Both were slightly ashamed to see the other, but more so ashamed at how the other looked at them. Fourth period rolled around and Milo walked into his Statistics class. He noticed a girl crying in her desk.
“Hey, what's wrong? You ok?”
The girl put up her hand, trying to signal she didn't want to talk. She was too ashamed to show her tear infused eyes to the class. But Milo pressed a little harder and the girl gave out a weak, “No. I'm just not.”
“Well, what's wrong? Can I help?”
“No, you can't. You can't bring him back...no one can. You can't get the insurance to help either. No one can do anything...”
“What? What happened?”
“It-It's my dad...he committed suicide about two weeks ago. Now we need money, but the insurance refuses to pay. Keep saying they don't 'cover' suicides. I don't know... I just don't.”
“Hey, don't worry. You'll get through it eventually, I promise.”
“How can you promise that? Hmm? Thats right...you can't. Just let me be.”
At this point Milo just assumed to leave toward his desk. He sat back down and tried to pay attention to the teacher when something struck him. “They don't 'cover' suicides....”
“What if my insurance doesn't? Then I'll truly be screwed, won't I...No, I can't make him commit suicide. But wait! I could always get my friend to kill him directly.! Yeah! Just control him and convince him to kill my stepdad. That would work! He'll claim I made him do it...claim I 'controlled his mind' – they'll think he's gone nuts! It's perfect.”
The plan was set in stone, set in mind, and set in soul. Nothing could change Milo's mind now. Later that night Milo crawled into his bed and started his 'ritual'. He thought of Johnathon, in everything he knew him to be, and all he intended for him to do. For hours he concentrated upon this idea, this thought. The energy poured through and out of his mind, causing the surrounding area to glow in lightning-like rays protruding from Milo's skull. Finally, Milo commanded the thought to flee toward Johnathon.
Mio looked into the sky, to see it light up like before, but something was different...something was wrong. Generally, the light had a pale yellowish red tint to it, but now it carried a darker purplish black. It was near impossible to pick out as it almost perfectly matched the night sky. Why, you ask? Dark thoughts breed dark results.
The dark light crashed through the walls of Johnathon's room and slammed into his brain. Johnathon woke with a bright gasp with a heavy mind and a polluted soul. He lifted up his arm and balled his hand into a fist...ready for the task.
Johnathon quickly darted out of bed, slipped on the darkest shirt and pants he could, and darted off downstairs. He scrambled to unlock his father's gun safe, but he didn't have the skill. He instead took a knife, ran to his car, and drove over to Milo's home.
He ran up to the door and turned the handle to no avail. He tried running around the yard to the back entrance, but much too his dismay, the result remained the same. There was one last trick up his sleeve. Johnathon knew if he kicked the door down, the entire family would hear it, but if he managed to go through the crawl space, he just may be able to climb up the hatch to the basement.
He circled around to the side of the building and unlatched the door and crawled in. He squirmed through the tight crevice, trying to ignore the ominous hissing. Finally he reached what appeared to be a ladder. He climbed up to the top and opened the hatch to the basement – he was in.
Slowly he opened the door into the hallway connecting the living room to the staircase. Up he slowly went on the stairs, trying to not make a sound – shifting his weight to what he thought was even with every step. Three steps further and the step made a loud creek. Panicking, Johnathon tried to hide the knife to make sure that if he was caught, he would still be somewhat ok.
After waiting a few minutes, he re-armed himself and continued toward the parents' bedroom. He pushed the door open and tip-toed over to the side where the stepfather slept. He drew the knife and held it over the stepdad, almost ceremoniously. Then he thought to himself, “This is it. This is finally it. Milo is going to be so proud,” and he plunged the knife into the his side and stabbed repeatedly.
After about the fourth or fifth stab, the mother woke up and began screaming. Milo quickly rushed up stairs and bashed open the door, seeing what had occurred. He tried to keep his smile hidden, as to not give himself away, so instead encased his smile with a superficial anger.
“John! Wha-what are you doing! Get back, get away!”
“It's done Milo, I did it. I did it for you. Don't you see?”
“For me? Why! Why would you kill my father?!”
In this moment, John realized what he had done. Suddenly his mind became clear. He looked down at the knife and cast it aside trying to forget. He tried covering his eyes, but the blood dripping from his hands only re-emphasized the deed. All he could do was fall to the ground and weep.
Moments passed and finally the police arrived, having their sirens sing to the mourning of the mother. The police rushed in, slammed John to the wall and took him into custody.
“You have the right to remain silent.”
Not a second passed before John used his right of omission toward silence.
“Take Milo! Not me! He made me do it, I swear! Don't, please. I'm innocent.”
The police shoved him in the vehicle and took him to the local precinct. Upon arrival, they threw him in an interrogation room.
“hello Johnathon. I'm a local police detective. Before we begin, I would like to make you aware that you have the right to an attorney. Should you-”
“Nah, I don't need one. I'm innocent in all this.”
“Of course you are. Now, let me ask you a few questions.”
“Why were you at the Jenkin's home?”
“I was their to kill my friend's stepfather. And I did.”
“I'm sorry? I thought you said you were innocent?”
“I am. I was being controlled.”
“Oh, of course. By who?”
“Milo. He told me he can make people do things...like, control their mind. He was going to kill his stepfather using it, but I gues he changed his mind.”
“So, you're saying Milo controlled your mind to make you come break into his apartment at 3 am wearing all black and to stab his father with a knife four times in his abdomen?”
“Look, I know it sounds insane, but it's true. Just ask him, he'll tell you.”
“We'll be speaking with the victim's family later on. I think that's all I need from you at the moment. I'll be back later.”
The police put John in a holding cell for the night and waited until morning to speak with the family. Once the clock rolled around to about 11 am, the police knocked on the door and asked to talk to Milo privately.
In order to observe John's reaction to Milo's testimony, they placed him on the opposite side. John could see Milo, but Milo didn't know Johnathon was present.
“Hey Milo, take a seat. This shouldn't take all that long.”
“Alright. Ummm, is Johnathon here?”
“Nope, just you and me. Please, take a seat. So, how long have you and Johnathon been friends?”
“A few years. We met at school a while back. I wasn't ever really the coolest guy, but he was nice to me.”
“Any reason why Johnathon would want your stepdad gone?”
“Not that I can tell. I mean, I told him my stepdad kept beating me, but I didn't think he'd kill him.”
“Ok. I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but Johnathon mentioned you saying you were going to kill your stepdad by mind control? What do you think he means?”
“I'm sorry? Mind control? Like...sci-fi voodoo trash? What kind of question is that? No, I didn't want my stepfather dead. Yea, he hit me, but I loved him.”
“He mentioned that you 'made' him kill your dead by using the same method.”
“Look, I don't care what that crazed idiot said. I didn't want my father dead and I certainly didn't use any 'mind-scontrol' on anyone.”
Across the room and through the hall stood Johnathon, trying not to well up with tears. He masqueraded his sadness with anger and hate and dashed toward the glass, pounding on it as hard as he could, screaming, “Liar! You liar! You did this...you did all of this...”
“I'm sorry, ill be right back.”
“I thought you said it was just you and me?"
“It is, I'll be back in a moment.”
“No, we're done. Call me back in later if you actually want to speak one on one.”
The police officer let Milo out of the room and walked him to the exit.
“I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Jenkins.”
Milo turned around and pushed through the door with a devilish grin.
Do note, 'A Bitter End' does not mean the book is done. It has a lot more still to go
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DeletedUser44426
Guest
I am astounded by your work you have here. I do hope you consider writing another piece.
DeletedUser29066
Guest
I like it, look forward to next chapter
DeletedUser44027
Guest
Very good, actually captured my attention, something quite rare for a short story in the lit section
DeletedUser8396
Guest
Thanks mates Since I actually enjoy this concept a great deal, I will probably be spitting these out rather steadily. Hopefully I can keep the quality up in later installments!
Since I actually enjoy this concept a great deal, I will probably be spitting these out rather steadily. Hopefully I can keep the quality up in later installments!DeletedUser8396
Guest
My Mirror
My mirror is useless. Yes, it has its uses, but it is useless. My mirror is worthless. Yes, it has a dollar value, but it is worthless. My mirror is ugly. Yes, the mirror has potential for beauty, but it is hideous. My mirror isn't loved, it can never be loved.
Every time I look at this waste of a mirror, I am filled with disgust. Every time, filled with hate and sadness. Every time I look at the mirror, I want it to be different. I want it to be a bit smaller, a bit bigger, a bit shorter or taller. I sometimes want it to look nicer. I sometimes wish it was worth something.
Every time I think about my mirror, about how it is so incredibly worthless, I just wish someone could value it more than me. Every time I see this damned mirror I wish that it were more beautiful when I see it. Every time! Every time I wish that this mirror was capable of feeling love, capable of being loved. Not just some piece of reflective glass on a wall that sits there waiting to be judged by me.
This mirror. My pathetic mirror, but it's not the only one.
My mirror is useless. Yes, it has its uses, but it is useless. My mirror is worthless. Yes, it has a dollar value, but it is worthless. My mirror is ugly. Yes, the mirror has potential for beauty, but it is hideous. My mirror isn't loved, it can never be loved.
Every time I look at this waste of a mirror, I am filled with disgust. Every time, filled with hate and sadness. Every time I look at the mirror, I want it to be different. I want it to be a bit smaller, a bit bigger, a bit shorter or taller. I sometimes want it to look nicer. I sometimes wish it was worth something.
Every time I think about my mirror, about how it is so incredibly worthless, I just wish someone could value it more than me. Every time I see this damned mirror I wish that it were more beautiful when I see it. Every time! Every time I wish that this mirror was capable of feeling love, capable of being loved. Not just some piece of reflective glass on a wall that sits there waiting to be judged by me.
This mirror. My pathetic mirror, but it's not the only one.
DeletedUser33530
Guest
I think I found around 5 pieces here that dont make me feel like my life is worthless.
Other than that good piece.
Other than that good piece.
DeletedUser29066
Guest
DeletedUser8396
Guest
Updated with Chapter two. Stay tuned for chapter three in the next few days...you will then see the full beauty of what the story is intended to be.
DeletedUser44426
Guest
Interesting piece. I am gladly looking forward to part 3.
DeletedUser29066
Guest
Ditto, although having to use a special power to remember the Santa Maria seems a bit of a stretch...lol
DeletedUser8396
Guest
Broken Mind, Torn Heart, Scarred Soul
Have you ever gotten a cut on your arm and not known where it came from? Maybe a bruise, rash, or whatever. Nevertheless, something bad happened to you and you didn't know how it happened?
If and when you were asked about how you got it, what did you say? Did you tell the person you didn't know? Make up some excuse of a lie? Stand silently and hope they'll move one?
You see, I find myself in this predicament. Every day I feel pain. Every day I feel like I'm not good enough. Every day I have an overwhelming sense of rejection. Every day I contemplate whether or not I'm worth being loved, and sometimes if I'm even loved at all...if I'm even capable of being loved. I wonder to myself why I've become so callous, so caustic.
I have no answer. I honestly do not have one to give. All I know is that that is who I am, or who I perceive myself as if you prefer. I don't know when this changed, though. I used to be joyful, loving, kind, and hopeful.
Just as your arm was pristine before the cut, I was, in a sense, pristine. It was only after I was cut, or scarred, if you will. Before this change, I wasn't as...broken.
But this analogy goes even deeper. While you may not specifically know how this cut may have happened, we can assume a few things about it. We can assume the cause was something sharp, something that can go further than skin deep. We know that it caused damage.
Just like the cuts and scars on my metaphorical heart, the symbolic blade that caused these must have been sharp. Whatever caused this, whether a single or series of events, cut deep past the surface and damaged something within, something hard to repair.
When this cut on your arm was noticed, it was probably not too long after the occurrence. There was an apparent change noticed soon. Others saw it and asked. Why is this different? If one's outside is broken, we notice immediately. However, if someone's mind, heart or soul is damaged, we are not so quick to realize and confront. Nevertheless.
This cut, as it began the healing process, the first step was most likely scabbing. This scab acted as a weak protection against a very tender area. The scab could handle a bit of abrasion and picking, but any significant force and the cut was rehashed.
Similarly, so is the cuts on our heart. When the change occurs, even though we are unaware of it going on, we are damaged. We quickly scraped together some defense, no matter how weak, and tried to pull ourselves together. The defense wasn't well played through, and wouldn't withstand much pressure, especially from supposed 'friends'.
Eventually, this cut on your arm has skin replace it. Sometimes with unnoticeable skin, but sometimes with an apparent scar. This scar serves as a permanent reminder that some damage occurred, but now it is significantly protected, by layers and layers of defense.
Yet again, the same is true for a damaged heart. After we go through the trial by fire of the scabbing, the skin eventually becomes replaced. Sometimes the damage isn't noticed. The event passes and is never seen or thought of again. But what of the scarred heart? The one with a permanent reminder daily of how one was broken. This constant reminder, however, has caused you to build a defense against anything against it. You build layer upon layer of defense and emotional wall after emotional wall to make certain the tenderness will never be exposed. If there's ever a chance of it happening, you lash out in defense, or run away...because you remember. You remember the pain.
Why is it we bear such a striking resemblance to inward pain to outward pain? We act almost the exact same way.
A broken mind. A torn heart. And a scarred soul.
Have you ever gotten a cut on your arm and not known where it came from? Maybe a bruise, rash, or whatever. Nevertheless, something bad happened to you and you didn't know how it happened?
If and when you were asked about how you got it, what did you say? Did you tell the person you didn't know? Make up some excuse of a lie? Stand silently and hope they'll move one?
You see, I find myself in this predicament. Every day I feel pain. Every day I feel like I'm not good enough. Every day I have an overwhelming sense of rejection. Every day I contemplate whether or not I'm worth being loved, and sometimes if I'm even loved at all...if I'm even capable of being loved. I wonder to myself why I've become so callous, so caustic.
I have no answer. I honestly do not have one to give. All I know is that that is who I am, or who I perceive myself as if you prefer. I don't know when this changed, though. I used to be joyful, loving, kind, and hopeful.
Just as your arm was pristine before the cut, I was, in a sense, pristine. It was only after I was cut, or scarred, if you will. Before this change, I wasn't as...broken.
But this analogy goes even deeper. While you may not specifically know how this cut may have happened, we can assume a few things about it. We can assume the cause was something sharp, something that can go further than skin deep. We know that it caused damage.
Just like the cuts and scars on my metaphorical heart, the symbolic blade that caused these must have been sharp. Whatever caused this, whether a single or series of events, cut deep past the surface and damaged something within, something hard to repair.
When this cut on your arm was noticed, it was probably not too long after the occurrence. There was an apparent change noticed soon. Others saw it and asked. Why is this different? If one's outside is broken, we notice immediately. However, if someone's mind, heart or soul is damaged, we are not so quick to realize and confront. Nevertheless.
This cut, as it began the healing process, the first step was most likely scabbing. This scab acted as a weak protection against a very tender area. The scab could handle a bit of abrasion and picking, but any significant force and the cut was rehashed.
Similarly, so is the cuts on our heart. When the change occurs, even though we are unaware of it going on, we are damaged. We quickly scraped together some defense, no matter how weak, and tried to pull ourselves together. The defense wasn't well played through, and wouldn't withstand much pressure, especially from supposed 'friends'.
Eventually, this cut on your arm has skin replace it. Sometimes with unnoticeable skin, but sometimes with an apparent scar. This scar serves as a permanent reminder that some damage occurred, but now it is significantly protected, by layers and layers of defense.
Yet again, the same is true for a damaged heart. After we go through the trial by fire of the scabbing, the skin eventually becomes replaced. Sometimes the damage isn't noticed. The event passes and is never seen or thought of again. But what of the scarred heart? The one with a permanent reminder daily of how one was broken. This constant reminder, however, has caused you to build a defense against anything against it. You build layer upon layer of defense and emotional wall after emotional wall to make certain the tenderness will never be exposed. If there's ever a chance of it happening, you lash out in defense, or run away...because you remember. You remember the pain.
Why is it we bear such a striking resemblance to inward pain to outward pain? We act almost the exact same way.
A broken mind. A torn heart. And a scarred soul.
DeletedUser33530
Guest
i have to stop reading works here. The just make me depressed.
DeletedUser8396
Guest
Hesitation.
I've never been all that straightforward in certain topics. Some I'm as head strong as a bull, because I've made certain that I am right and can't be hurt. I've noticed that if I can see all possible outcomes and determine which is the most likely, then I can proceed with ease. However, there's a part of me that hesitates, even if just for a moment, if I can't see each outcome or determine the result of every outcome.
As you can see, infinite probability messes with my mind. I see infinite choices and all are infinitely probable. There is no right or wrong choice to make based on the facts presented, and thus no one or nothing can be blamed for making whatever decision.
Such an area is love. The story I am about to tell you is true and hopefully it will give you a window into a piece of who I am.
You see, love is a touchy topic when you discuss it with me. I mean romantic love, just to be clear. Like, having a crush on some girl, or whatever. I often take the topic too seriously, and sometimes over-complicate the issue. I try and anticipate every option the girl could make: rejection and mockery, rejection with kindness, or acceptance.
Anticipating the options she has is not difficult, it is rather easy actually. There are only three. However, determining which is most likely, is impossible. As you cannot determine which it will be, you look at the girl's actions. You then try and interpret how the girl acts around you, and try and see if that is her just being kind or playful, or if that is her cluing in that she actually does like you back. Sometimes the evidence is apparent, where even a toddler could see the spark. However, sometimes it is more vague, causing this technique to be much more useless.
You then have to apply the standard 33% rate to the three choices. Of these three you must determine if it is worth the risk. 66% chance of rejection, and 33% chance of acceptance. Of the 66%, 33 you will get harmed more than you bargained for.
Such is the issue in my case.
You see, there is this girl. I've known her for about three and a half years now, and have had feelings for her for about three of them. These feelings, however, have yet to amount to anything aside from the last year. She was single and I knew I didn't have a chance as it currently stood.
So, what does any sensible guy do? He puts himself in a position to where he gets to build a relationship or friendship with that girl to form a foundation. And that was my step one. I slowly started building that connection, forging it into something we both enjoyed.
Then, once the friendship was established, what do I do? I start contemplating when, how, and if I should tell her how I feel. I start debating the 33%'s and see how it would end up. While debating and harbouring these feelings, I still try to build this relationship with her.
But I told you earlier, I hesitate. The day comes and I finally muster the strength to talk to her, to tell her how I feel, or so I thought. I begin the discussion and then something happened and it was never said. It was but a week later and now she is with someone else. One moment of hesitation and it was all over. Yes, I can wait. Yes, I can secretly hide in the corner and hope it ends just so I can have a chance at being with her. I could. But would that really be what a friend would do? Would that be what she would want in someone who claims to love her or like her, even? No, it isn't.
So, now I am stuck here, watching the days fly by and seeing her be with another man by the timespan of one week. One little week. All because I hesitated. All because I waited just one more day. The saddest part is, I am not the only one. To deny oneself before even giving the other person a chance to accept or reject you then be sworn to silence as to not disturb the current relationship status of said person.
This begs the question of why we are even here. Are we here simply to gain acceptance and love from others and to avoid rejection? Maybe to please a higher being such as a deity? Maybe to be in constant search for knowledge and emotions such as love are only distractions from that goal?
I don't know. It is of my viewpoint that it is a combination of the first two. If I am right, then hesitation in expressing your feelings is denying your nature and purpose. Albeit, it is natural to feel hesitation, but doing so in such an extent that it denies yourself entirely from being accepted? That is too far. That is unnatural.
I've never been all that straightforward in certain topics. Some I'm as head strong as a bull, because I've made certain that I am right and can't be hurt. I've noticed that if I can see all possible outcomes and determine which is the most likely, then I can proceed with ease. However, there's a part of me that hesitates, even if just for a moment, if I can't see each outcome or determine the result of every outcome.
As you can see, infinite probability messes with my mind. I see infinite choices and all are infinitely probable. There is no right or wrong choice to make based on the facts presented, and thus no one or nothing can be blamed for making whatever decision.
Such an area is love. The story I am about to tell you is true and hopefully it will give you a window into a piece of who I am.
You see, love is a touchy topic when you discuss it with me. I mean romantic love, just to be clear. Like, having a crush on some girl, or whatever. I often take the topic too seriously, and sometimes over-complicate the issue. I try and anticipate every option the girl could make: rejection and mockery, rejection with kindness, or acceptance.
Anticipating the options she has is not difficult, it is rather easy actually. There are only three. However, determining which is most likely, is impossible. As you cannot determine which it will be, you look at the girl's actions. You then try and interpret how the girl acts around you, and try and see if that is her just being kind or playful, or if that is her cluing in that she actually does like you back. Sometimes the evidence is apparent, where even a toddler could see the spark. However, sometimes it is more vague, causing this technique to be much more useless.
You then have to apply the standard 33% rate to the three choices. Of these three you must determine if it is worth the risk. 66% chance of rejection, and 33% chance of acceptance. Of the 66%, 33 you will get harmed more than you bargained for.
Such is the issue in my case.
You see, there is this girl. I've known her for about three and a half years now, and have had feelings for her for about three of them. These feelings, however, have yet to amount to anything aside from the last year. She was single and I knew I didn't have a chance as it currently stood.
So, what does any sensible guy do? He puts himself in a position to where he gets to build a relationship or friendship with that girl to form a foundation. And that was my step one. I slowly started building that connection, forging it into something we both enjoyed.
Then, once the friendship was established, what do I do? I start contemplating when, how, and if I should tell her how I feel. I start debating the 33%'s and see how it would end up. While debating and harbouring these feelings, I still try to build this relationship with her.
But I told you earlier, I hesitate. The day comes and I finally muster the strength to talk to her, to tell her how I feel, or so I thought. I begin the discussion and then something happened and it was never said. It was but a week later and now she is with someone else. One moment of hesitation and it was all over. Yes, I can wait. Yes, I can secretly hide in the corner and hope it ends just so I can have a chance at being with her. I could. But would that really be what a friend would do? Would that be what she would want in someone who claims to love her or like her, even? No, it isn't.
So, now I am stuck here, watching the days fly by and seeing her be with another man by the timespan of one week. One little week. All because I hesitated. All because I waited just one more day. The saddest part is, I am not the only one. To deny oneself before even giving the other person a chance to accept or reject you then be sworn to silence as to not disturb the current relationship status of said person.
This begs the question of why we are even here. Are we here simply to gain acceptance and love from others and to avoid rejection? Maybe to please a higher being such as a deity? Maybe to be in constant search for knowledge and emotions such as love are only distractions from that goal?
I don't know. It is of my viewpoint that it is a combination of the first two. If I am right, then hesitation in expressing your feelings is denying your nature and purpose. Albeit, it is natural to feel hesitation, but doing so in such an extent that it denies yourself entirely from being accepted? That is too far. That is unnatural.