The Labyrinth Below

I entered the tall high rise residential building by way of the front revolving door. Walking past the front desk, I made my way to the double elevators located next to the mail room and pressed the arrow indicating the direction of up. The circular plastic disk lit up to confirm the request was being processed and I stared at my feet on the floor while I waited. Something seems off, I felt the all of the concrete in the building at once like a some high prime number; clearly announcing its name to me; the building, the structure. Everything within the walls are subject to the laws that apply to the space defined by it. Am I dreaming?

The doors opened suddenly after waiting for me to complete my thought. I took a deep breath and stepped inside. The panel of choices presented an array of circular plastic disks similar to the one I just saw, but this time adorned by numbers. I touched them as I searched for the one that had a 35 on it. I chose and the machine complied. A brief moment passed and then I ascended right away to the level where the management office was. It seemed like I was stuck in my moving chamber for years before a subdued tone was sounded to alert me I had arrived. The doors opened again and released me to a 4 inch thick floor 35, and I turned to the right and read the placard on the wall that read “Management Office” before I pressed through.

“Hi, it’s Chris from Imperial Contracting, I’m here to look at a unit for you.” I said to the air that connected the individual working cells together with hopes that I could discover who was responsible for getting me to my final destination in an efficient way addressing all at once.

“Oh, yes. Hello. Hold on I’ll pull the keys for you, do you have your I.D?” one of the ladies replied to me while getting up to resolve my occasion as she had many pressing matters to attend to that day, and every day for that matter.

“Sure thing!”

I reached into my back pocket and retrieved my wallet and took out my drivers license and held it in my hand. I looked down at the picture on it. Seconds passed that felt like hours and I felt something cold on my shoulder. Just then my card began to slowly melt away right there in my hands. This can’t be happening I thought. It bent and warped until it became a molten substance that fell through my fingers and onto the floor, which swallowed the card right up. It disappeared! I looked up from what just happened and instead of the bustling office, there was darkness in every direction. I felt that it went on for a great distance well beyond the confines of the building. Am I dreaming?

“I’m afraid that we don’t have a key for that unit on file. I will have to go up with you and let you in with my master key.”

I gazed into her face, but it was badly distorted and blurred so that I could not make out any distinctions that resembled the office worker I was just interfacing with just a moment ago. I know that indeed I do dream, even this very instant I thought to myself. I submitted to the unconscious state of my mind and went forward with the plan of whoever is in control of human dreams.

“Follow me.” she said.

I followed behind her in a direction that was arbitrary to me as no points of reference could be made out in the darkness except for her and I, that somehow managed to reflect light that came from an unknown source. I heard her footsteps now clicking on what sounded like a grand floor made of marble. My heart began to fret as I felt more and more of the rules being thrown out the window. Soon I will not be able to explain why any of this is happening and it will become a nightmare. We kept going.

The whole thing seemed surreal as I thought about why I had come in the first place which was to do work for the building on an electric panel for one of its residents. When I held that notion up next to the notion of the lunacy that was running amok right now with the fuzzy lady in the dark, the thought of a beautiful red apple popped into my mind whose skin was painted in blood which was why it was a red. Sanity wrapped in horror. I have to get out of here. Will I wake up soon?

All of a sudden the clicking came to a stop and the outline of a door appeared that was traced in light because she was opening it and the light escaped all around its boarders. She walked through and so did I. I was now in a perfectly normal stairwell, and the ladies face returned back to the way it was before.

“We have to take the stairs, the elevators are out of order.” she said.

“Whats your name?” I asked.

“You know who I am already.” she replied coldly lucid.

I didn’t ask again because I had absolutely no idea who she was, and I felt if I pressed something terrible would happen.

We ascended the metal stair way for such time that I knew my legs would fail soon. Although we went up, I distinctly feel like we are going down; like there was an inverse relationship concerning everything in the stair well. On and on we step, endless stairs. The light began to grow more dim the higher we go, and the echo of our feet striking the steps resonated more fully and ever became more broad and carried I’m sure all the way to the chambers of hell. We alerted them to our presence.

As we advanced, time itself raced paced our position in the river and left us behind. The enclosure became aged. By force in relation to our pace, time was out of control. I saw all around me what would be in 100 years. It was all worn down and falling apart, clearly abandoned and left by a people outside of the building obviously in turmoil to leave such a trophy of progress to its demise. Why do I continue to follow this devil still?

Back in my bed by body convulses in a quiet tumultuous protest, yearning to wake up. This is a night terror! I’ve had them before as a kid. This isn’t going to be good. Sweat saturates the linen and my temperature rises. Something is wrong.

“Can you smell it?” The lady asked in front and above me as she continues to climb.

At once I became aware of a putrid odor I can only compare to a dead rotting animal, well like 1,000 dead rotting animals on the hottest day in the Amazon. I nearly vomited.

“It’s the slime.” She answered herself.

The slime? I thought. What is she talking about. Then I saw it. An ocean of horrifying slime oozing down all of the walls. I could not tell where it was coming from or what caused it. I stayed in the center of the well daring not to touch it. It flowed downward and as I peered below, somehow I could see the ground which was not there but instead there was an opening to a sewer that was below the building. Almost as if the meaning of the slime, the building, the lady, and the darkness became known to me all at once being part of the fabric for which it was woven; my eyes were opened. I am aware of all of it, and what they are saying to me in this concert of abstract lunacy.

As I pondered, we arrived at the floor we journeyed for. Being so high from the ground, I couldn’t help feeling as though we were in some subterranean abyss. The door she opened led to a hall way lined with doors on the left and the right. All of the doors were shut and could not be opened by us right now save one door. We floated in silence to that door. Pausing outside of it I could hear something like a torrent of storms times storms on the other side; violent wind and shaking and screams. I do not want to go inside.

“I don’t want to go in there.” I said.

“You know that you are going in there already, you will see what is on the other side.” The woman stated.

She did not knock, but instead inserted the key into the tumbler and disarmed the mechanical guards preventing passage. She turned the door knob… and slowly pushed open the door, and it stopped with a thud as it hit the wall opposite and rested. My eyes hungrily but fearfully feasted on the sight that was now before me.

What should have been an apartment was not. It was a place far away. There were stones everywhere as though it were some kind of ancient ruin, but at the same time it was mixed together with the things that were or should have been expected inside a lonely apartment. I saw a television, a radio, a stove, and a great stone alter. On this alter I saw a man who was bear except for a wrapping around his loins, laying upon the alter on his back. His body was dirty and there were cuts all over him. His age was well advanced, and he did not seem to notice anything that was happening around him because he was in some sort of trance. With his head lying flat and looking into the ceiling, his arm extended beside him to a set of papers that were flailing in the wind that was now picking up to match what I heard before we entered the apartment. He was writing fervently words I could not make out, not even looking down at them but staring off else where. Writing and writing did he. There was no pause or delay. upon his chest I saw a deep cut that was in the shape of a number. I moved slowly closer to discover what it was. Carved in his chest was the number “666”, and carved upon his forehead was the symbol of a pentagram.

Not so, this isn’t happening! I thought in my mind that was now filled with terror and bewilderment. Seeing these two marks were purposefully cliche, someone wanted me to be clearly aware of something. In a trance he did write.

“Who is this man?” I now yelled loudly as the wind and the torrent was in the transformed room all about.

“He is writing your death.” She replied simply.

 

At once I awoke and sat vertical in my bed. Sweat was abounding all over my body and my heart raced without restraint. The dream was slipping away, I was immediately beginning to forget it as the awake usually does upon completion of the night. Desperately I held on to it until I found its meaning. Its meaning was this:

The building was full of people. The people were not aware of the special room inside of them. It influenced them and led them into the darkness. The people followed by their own free will. Their ways were as foul as the slime that went down and gathered below. The man in the room was recording their actions to bring accusation against them to gain more legal access to tormenting them and taking them. The people did not believe this was happening, it could not be seen with their eyes of flesh.

I gasped. I lay my head back down and fell asleep.

 

 

 

 

Consider This.

In the morning I gaze into the beautiful red, glowing calm, newly waking star. Its radiance sings of things that are born, and the notes are played against the cold wind. The ivory clouds above flee from the day before while painting themselves in the crimson hue of blood that gives them life day after day. The birds are low to the ground bowing before the image of renewal that is unfolding before them, daring not to corrupt the sovereign heaven that covers the whole earth. The fresh atmosphere I drink through my flaring nostrils, and drink deeply I do quenching the thirst of my respiration for which my flesh depends. The air gives way to a feeling that is quiet at first, but swells up in me like a fire blazing like the sun.
In mourning I gaze into morning. The cold clouds inside my eyes begin to precipitate, and slowly tears flow down my face to water the earth beneath. They are in the midst of the crimson blood that flows beneath my skin as my red cheeks give life to this sorrow that is unfolding before me now. I am bowed low to the ground, daring not to corrupt perception with my grief. The grief of loss. The grief of longing. In longing I spend my days; days poisoned by sadness intertwined with golden hope for the forever. When my heart dies, it will beat again new and in perfection inside a new house that is no longer a tent which blows in the wind. I long.
I long for someone I have never met. I groan for our Source, groans of hopeless desperation to be in the presence of peace. To be in the presence of the God of love. He will provide for me. He will take care of me; who puts good food in my mouth to eat, who gives me cool water to drink, who shields me from the wilderness, who has died to give me life and a hope. For scarcely for a good person would someone die. He died for a world of darkness. We have loved our dark ways, we have suppressed the truth because we love to do the things that we do. His words tell me that all things are naked and open to the one to whom we must give an account on that Day. No deed is done in secret.
The things that are not consistent with His perfect nature are transgressions by name. We allowed transgression into the world, we opened the black metal gate with our betrayal. We believed a liar and became liars. Death came into the world like a disease, killing stars and ourselves. The system is imperfect and is failing. I can see the world is full of rust. He would have been just to take us away into oblivion; He would have been right to judge us offenders. Instead He has saved us from the satisfaction of injustice, which is death. When we offend the law, the price to satisfy is blood. It must be made right with life. We are debtors and have incurred debt. The price has been paid for by the Shepard’s blood. He has given His life to pay for our debt which we could never pay for on our own. Death, could not hold Him for long. Just as He was raised to life in three days, so shall we again live after this heart stops beating, and be with Him in the forever. The way is simple and easy. I remember that night when I succumbed to the salvation.
Off into the black night I gazed, ready to die, ready to stop breathing for there was no purpose for me. There was nothing more I could do, I have done everything I could do. I was ready to accept a life full of hopelessness. Then I remembered something. I remembered what someone told me once when I was younger. One of those Jesus freaks told me something and I was clawing at my mind to remember what he said to me. He told me what Jesus said: “Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give your rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.”
And: “Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it. Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it.”
I laughed at him and went my way. My way was getting darker and darker as I grew older. Depression set in and its grip gave me no rest night and day. In ignorance I was letting my soul die. Now I grasped at the moving smoke that was my conversation with this fanatic who said words to me that no other human could say, words that were true and reverberated my core. Words he said were the words of this God. It was easy to be saved he said. so easy it was hard to accept really. He recited one more passage I was in desperation to remember. I came into focus in my mind as I said it out loud as it materialized in my brain. it was “Jesus said ‘For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved. He who believes in Him is not condemned.’”
That’s it… all I have to do is believe in who Jesus is and what He did for me? I screamed in my mind and my spiritual ears bled. Broken I collapsed onto the ground and called out to this Jesus.“Jesus, I believe.”
I felt hope flood in. I felt.
I got a bible because that is what the Christians say is the words of God that tell about who He is and what great things He has done for us. It seemed natural to do so. I follow this Jesus now and I say in my mind, He is the only thing keeping me alive. As I read I know that no man has ever spoken this way before. He has never lied, He has never failed. I grew more dependent on Him. I wanted to know who I was to Him; why did he care about me so much that He would pay for my sins that I willfully committed against Him with His own blood. It was like the Judge who was about to drop the gavel and give me my just reward Himself got up and let the officers take Him away to pay for my crimes so that I could go free. Why? Who am I to Him? I read that “I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” God tells me “I am the apple of His eye.” God tells me that I am “His treasured possession.”
Time went by. Things began to get difficult for me as I assimilated more and more truth from His words. I read “Remember what I told you: A servant is not greater than his master. If they persecuted me, they will persecute you also.” The world hated Jesus because they loved their darkness. They crucified Him. Our lives are lives of freedom and hope, but we must pass through the shadow of death first. We must be loyal and true to the end. He will say to us when we get to our real home “Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!” We must persevere to the very end and not fall away.
There exist three laws of logic that were first formally recognized by Aristotle, and are universally understood and accepted as the foundation to all sound and true reasoning. They are the law of identity (Everything is the same as itself; or a statement cannot not remain the same and change its truth value.), the law of non-contradiction (Nothing can both exist and not exist at the same time and in the same respect; or no statement is both true and false.), and finally the law of excluded middles (Something either exists or does not exist; or every statement is either true or false.). Truth is NOT relative, there is only one truth, one way. The Lord has never lied to us, His words are true and infallible. There is a great mind that will challenge your intellect. Please choose reason. Dr Ravi Zacharias has many words to say I hope would make you consider the possibility that God is real and there are very high stakes about what happens after you die. Please view https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xaPVSvzOROU. I petition your reason and ask you to hear the other side and make your decision. There is also a great debate that I urge you to view as well between Ken Ham and Bill Nye which is https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z6kgvhG3AkI

Please consider accepting Jesus. Its easy, all you have to do is ask Him.

Three Jacks and a Candle: Chapter 2 part 2 of 3 (unrevised)

The alarm buzzed abruptly and vibrated off of the thrift store nightstand with a thump. A steady flow of saliva that was rivering out of Sarah’s mouth was immediately cut off when the void from where it came was shut with a groan. Horizontal became vertical and erect holding her head in pain stumbling to the bathroom across the room. The alarm continued to buzz on the floor; Sarah ignored it before finally realizing what was making the sound and then ended its life for waking her up. She unplugged it and put it in the top drawer. “Time to get ready for work, again.” Sarah grumbled.

—–
The bells above the café door jingled as Jack went inside the vintage coffee house called Weitzes Café. Such a small establishment means he could seat himself because the waitress knew who was new and who was waiting for the check. He chose to sit in the middle of the narrow restaurant in a booth that protruded out of the wall across from the diner bar that was empty. Looking around after settling in, there was only two more people in the place. Good for him he thought. He picked up the menu preplaced at all the tables and was deciding what food would be responsible for sustaining him for another day. The waffle looks good he thought. Just then the bells above the door rang again and a tall gentleman with a dark long jacket walked in and removed a pair of aviator sunglasses. He walked over to where Jack was sitting behind the menu and sat down on the other side of the table. Jack lowered the menu enough to identify the company and then was raised again in disregard. “Tom, you just can’t stay away can you?”
Tom picked up another menu and idly replied “We’re best friends Jack, you can’t brush me off.” Tom’s voice was quiet but carried a weight that was palpable, as if he came from another world full of despair and placid acceptance, now retired to earth where no one could understand the gulf in between.
The two of them didn’t look like they belonged in a modern world full of electronic communication devices and trendy pound signs; they stuck out in a peculiar way. Jack hated the new wave of opium guiding the young generation and corrupting the old. A man of 30 years old, dirty blond hair combed to the side nicely, slender, piercing blue eyes that wouldn’t look into another’s but into the soul instead to see the truth; Jack was an ordinary human being minus the persuasion of masses. “Don’t you have anything else to do on Sundays, like not bothering me?” Jack said.
“I bet this menu hasn’t changed in fifty years, this is awful, why are you even here? The food is going to be bad.” Tom replied.
“Negative as usual, I’ve never been here before. I pass it all the time on my way to work. I like it, it has a nostalgic feel.” Jack said.
“No, you just don’t like being around people and this place is dead. I can read you like a book. You think you’re better than the rest of us? You always want to be alone like you know something that ten million other people don’t. When are you going to join the rest of the human race and get off your high horse?” Tom hissed putting the menu down on the table in front of him as he was only arbitrarily reading it in the first place.
Jack looked up toward the front of the restaurant and saw the rays of sunlight penetrating the single pane glass illuminating the fine particles of dust that were gracing in no direction, almost motionless in suspended animation. He looked down at his hands that started to shake ever slightly and Jacks heart began to pump harder. The walls bore cracks and paint chips and the odor was of old newspapers mixed with breakfast food. He hated all of it, every detail he could perceive was a nightmare. He could not enjoy any of it, but nothing escaped his discernment.
“What will it be?” a waitress interrupted looking down at her note pad not connecting with Jack face to face. Her hair was dark and her skin pale, her body was full and healthy except for the melancholy aura she perspired. Jack was frozen in time and the hairs on his skin began to stand on end as her appropriate words permeated his ears and the combination of voice and text confessed to him all of her pain in one fell swoop.
Jacks heart now racing and skin getting clammy, he looked up to her and the clock stood still as fell into the labyrinth of beauty he saw in her face she wouldn’t give up, and what he knew was inside. “I’ll just have the special, with coffee please. . . no I mean tea, hot tea.”
She was serving him in this restaurant in a mechanical way, submitting to the role she played here as waitress, not acknowledging the people behind the orders. He saw her but she would not see him. His insides began to melt as he realized he has seen her before.
“I’ll just have coffee.” Tom cried, but the woman was already on her way back to the kitchen and didn’t hear the request. “Wow she’s got a one track mind huh.”
She returned and set a cup with hot water in front of Jack quickly and then retreated to the back. Jack saw what must have been her boss scolding her for some mistake she obviously couldn’t possibly make in Jack’s eyes, and witnessed her countenance sink lower and continue about her business.
“Where the heck is my coffee! Boy she is an air head for sure.” Tom exclaimed.
“Shut your mouth, no one asked you to be here anyways. Leave her alone.”
Tom looked deeply into Jack and saw how the image of the lowly waitress consumed his reluctant friend like he had never seen before. “Ah, I get it.”
“Get what? You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jack snapped back.
A few minutes later a different girl returned with the food on tray and laid it out before Jack who watched intently hoping that she would turn into the first girl spontaneously, and when he was disillusioned, he said impatiently “What happened to the other girl?”
“Oh sorry she had to go home because she got sick suddenly. I’m Tanya, can I get anything else for you?”
“No thanks, just the check I’m in a hurry.” Jack answered.
Jack ate. Tom watched. The cars went by outside and so did the people on the sidewalk. Jack saw a young man in front of the store window handing out little tracks of paper to anyone who would take one, but most people he saw walked right passed and ignored him. He was determined and wouldn’t give up though and kept on trying to get someone to listen to whatever he was saying. Jack found himself wondering what made him do this. Tom was talking in the background in Jacks ears about this and that and how everything stinks and is bad, but Jack just kept watching the fellow outside and gave an occasional “oh yeah”, or “wow”.
Jack

What keeps people from laying down in the middle of the street? What is this life that you have fueling your cause, whatever it is? I want some of it too. My flesh is on fire, my mind is exhausted, my muscles ach all the time and are contracted in anticipation but never release. I am not able to find peace here, I am just on the path but never on the bench smelling the flowers. I hate it all not because I am indifferent, but because it is all in front of me but out of my reach. What do you have, man on the sidewalk, that I do not.
Jack rose to his feet, left the money and tip on the table, took a deep breath and walked out.

Three Jacks and a Candle Chapter 1 (3/3 unrevised, unedited)

Quickstepping to the blue overhead signs that outlined a generic male and generic female figures, he entered the corridor that lead down to the restrooms. Sweat began to evacuating out of his palms and forebrow as he entered into the men’s room, and then directly into a stall. He closed the metal door behind him and went to the back corner wall and leaned up against it; crouching down he held his head in his hands and began to lose control in his mind. What he needed now was isolation. Too much to see, too much input to consider; how could he keep a straight face this whole time. It was a personal excuse to Jack that he went to the mall to sharpen his salesmanship, really it was to fix what he knew was broken. His sarcastic outlook mutated into solemn concern for his balance and mental stability.
Looking around him now Jack witnessed the hole that was the human race in this bathroom stall somewhere on planet earth. All of its glory wrapped up in the confines of the waste depository, he saw graffiti sprawled across the walls revealing the most sincere emotions emulated by the ones who had been here. Jack realized that the walking dead patrons of Mall Town U.S.A, were all cannibals! They feasted upon the flesh of all the others, their teeth gnashing as they devour their own kind. Darkness. Was he the only one to think so? After Jack gathered his composure, he slowly rose to his feet and went home.
———

Inserting his key into the deadbolt positioned in the middle of his front door, the lock accepted the cut below the pins in the tumbler and granted access to the bearer. He swung it open and it hit the back of the wall behind; as if he opened a portal that led from hell to comfort and consolation. He entered and closed the door behind.
He moved down the hall way to his room and opened the top drawer revealing his evening clothes. They were folded perfectly and in place ready to be used by Jack. All of his clothes were plain and didn’t boast any name brand or flashy emblems; these were clothes to be worn to hide the shame of human nakedness and to keep warm only. All of them were meticulously folded or rolled positioned on purpose inside a sector in a drawer all the way down. He knew exactly what he had, how many, and where they could be found. In fact a scan of Jacks entire apartment would reveal the same. All chosen by utility and not by desire. He had because he needed them; but he needed them not because of utility by for consistency. He needed things to be the same and predictable and Jack exerted control over every single possession in his realm. All things were labeled, cataloged, and filed. He also craved the etiquette of yesteryear knowing that this brave new world had none to offer. It has been a free for all since the sixties, and as a lover of history, Jack retreated to just after the beginning of the industrial revolution. He escaped his own generation, and wandered through the centuries of before; anything but now. He changed his clothing and went into the kitchen and sat at his simple table next to a window that overlooked the street.

JACK
The clock ticks upon the wall. Upon my wall ticks the clock. Incessantly marking time, it progresses one instance into the next forbearing death to death and life to life; it makes no difference to this juggernaut clock ticking on my wall. Steady now. Not too fast, not too slow. We are carried along at the appropriate velocity, not forgetting the essence of the cadence resounding serves to remind that time does not belong to me, but instead merely emphasizes the direction to which I travel. The moment we are born we begin to die; the moment I was born I began to die. My time stops for neither my frustration nor fright, which both I pay to this clock treading upon my serenity. Tick. Tick. Tick.
The head hangs upon the shoulders. Upon my shoulders hangs my head. The ears I have on either side, left and right, accept the sound and tempt my mind to entertain. I let out a sigh. I don’t need a clock to tell me what to do. My hand brushes across my kitchen table, small and round, against imaginary debris. The seasoned grains in the tables face, and in the lonely chair on which I am sitting tell me a tale about the fate of some tree in the wilderness, my own body lacks the fortitude to be re-purposed entering into the annals of antiquity like the tree my elbows now rest atop. Oak would make a great casket though. Perhaps I will ask the Mennonite whom I get all my furniture from to make me one, and I shall keep it in my closet. I long for its encompassing rest, I long for the pressing earth, I long for the heavy stone bearing my name on it “Here is Jack Heim, this rock will never forget him.”
Jack sighed as he took a sip from his coffee cup that bore a yellow smiley face on it. The affirming vessel did not however contain coffee, but Black English tea instead.
Ah the tea. The rest of the world’s joe. I could see my reflection in the large circumference of the flavored water. I take another sip; not bad. After eating I bring my breakfast-ware to the sink and slowly clean the remnants into the shallow water and place them on the rack to dry. Putting my hand into the cold water I pull the stopper. While watching the murky water drain away, a maelstrom began to emerge in the water. It twisted and moved about the center of the drain violently pulling any wayward sea farer straight away to the bottom of the ocean. The sailors scream in terror as they meet their destruction, fully aware, in a decisive journey into the abyss. A soap bubble bursts when it connected to the bare metal bottom of the sink; and the water was no more. I took a breath and threw the dish towel into the kitchen hamper.
The light switch clicks when I reposition it upwards as I walk into the bathroom. Centered at the mirror standing on the rug, I look into his eyes and he looks into mine. “I know just as much as you do!” Only a face without expression replies.
Just then Jack heard three slides successively overcame, and the front door creak open slowly. Next He heard footsteps then ended in the kitchen followed by his chair sliding across the floor. Then silence. Jack when to confront the intruder. His heart nearly stopped beating in his chest.
“Jack, nice to see you again.” The figure clothed in darkness knitted a sequence of words simple in nature but reverberated violently inside Jacks thoracic cavity.

Three Jacks and a Candle ( 2/3 Chapter 1 unrevised, un-edited draft)

He arrived and entered the building through the east doors and navigated his way through the outer cordon of department stores before finally arriving the main sanctuary within. On the way he went by the mannequins modeling the latest fashions, they not offering protest to their overlords the skin patrol. Jack reasoned to himself that these dummies were no dummies at all, but more realistic than any flesh human counterpart he would encounter in this place, or most places for that matter. Styles come and are laid to rest as often as the days change, the polymer humanoid figures remaining ever consistent to their original design. Ah, the contemptuous youth. Droves of them for as far as the eye can see. Misplaced young people and over available older people. We shall worship youth; defecating where they eat all while embodying the standard to which civil truth is measured. The need to be accepted is more intoxicating than reason. The people are terrifyingly ruled by play doh, taking the form of whatever politically correct excuse is available at the time. Jack bent down and tied his loosened shoe lace running amok. As usual a few round trips would be in order before settling down upon a bench to people watch. Jack methodically executed right hand turns until coming full circle, and then completed the journey once more.
Vendors could be found hurling offers and promises of better fitting windows, faster internet speeds, or fine jewelry. Too many to number, all running the same race as he, these brothers in arms dance for peanuts, of humiliation, that despite Jacks proud stature, did participate avidly and without shame. He was among his own people. Nearing a temporary cart in the middle of the broad square in the mall common area, a man threw a gelatinous sphere into the air, and in amazement Jack witnessed it deform violently when its fall was suddenly halted by the floor beneath. Shortly after what resembled a scrambled egg began to gather itself up again and transform back into the gelatinous ball of wonder. What a demonstration Jack thought! Sales people spend incredible amounts of time facilitating the difficult task of first getting through defense of bramble and thorns, in order to deliver a pitch or entice curiosity so to present the benefits of such products being pedaled; and this stranger cuts right through the thick forest of suspicion, all without uttering a single word. Mesmerizing to say the least. The patrons gather in droves interests peaked by the audacity of this fellow treating his wares with such ill respect. “I do declare!” Jack thought to himself in his victorian shock. He even began straying off course like a fly buzzing to light, to the cart of snake oil and gelatinous fun balls.
Coming into the food court, Jack noticed a lonely janitor. The janitor was lonely because he said so, without saying so. Accessible to any who took notice, it was communicated in character deed, his persona propagating his internal condition. The monochromatic uniform suggested compliance to institution standards, and the wrinkles on his hands suggested years of loyal service to the same. His eyes met Jacks, and Jacks heart broke for this worker. The girls and boys happy to congregate nearby produced more than enough work for him to pass the time before he could go back home to his wife and two-point-five children. Jack shook it off and became cold to the gentle sir with mop in hand.
Finally settling down in the place Jack hates the most, the mall, he sits on a bench. He wonders why he is here in this place.

JACK
Why do I put myself through this? All of these drones marching to the beat of inconsistent lunacy. Who is their god, whom do they serve? We all have gods, some are more pronounced than others. They are lust, hate, envy, pride, jealousy, vanity, sloth, gluttony… Like I said, we all have our god to follow and bow before. How can there be a point when there are so many paths to different destinations? In the land of the blind, when there is none with one eye, all are king. All feel in the darkness for meaning and purpose. The winner is the one who is surer than the rest, being inside just as scared as everyone else. I sit and pick them out of the crowd.

Jack looks over to his right and observed the security station in a dimly lit corner. Two security guards were present with the task of deciphering the glowing monitors that were in front of them. The pair were definitely about a different tone altogether. One of serious recourse if any violation of mall code was broken by the mall subjects. Jack paid particular attention to them because of the sick feeling that came over him when he did. Jack didn’t see security guards; Jack saw a watering hole on the Savannah plain. The cool pool of water vital for the living quadrupeds all around situated center stage in a horrific play about getting paid in the end. The guards were ferocious crocodiles hidden below the surface of the water waiting for any takers. Instead of this natural scenario however, Jack felt as though the crocodiles encouraged safe passage for the fast food to enjoy to their content the needed water. Only after the pool was filled would they bring down judgment of death and fire. He saw the mall playing out in its entirety and the different players and roles. Some were unaware, some were aware and waiting to attack, some sat on the side and wondered how it all came to be. “This was not the point of me coming here!” Jack said out loud. Another wasted trip.

One Third of Chapter One(unrevised, un-edited draft) Three Jacks and a Candle

THREE JACKS AND A CANDLE
Chapter 1
Restless

The stairwell door closed behind as Jack took his first steps onto Enochlophobia Ave. outside of his apartment building. The sun now almost asleep, he invited the cooling air into his throat. Standing adjacent and facing directly opposite the stoop just descended, he was a statue lost in the interpretation of stimuli flooding into his cortex. His eyes alone began to shift as if two millstones grinding in the direction down the street to the fixed traffic lights maimed in yellow paint, glowing green in their middle part. A slight breeze caused the pole to sway. The city was crowded at this time as the neighborhood enlivened with pedestrians of all sorts returning from work or going to their personal destinations. They passed by not recognizing the complexity of fellow human engineering; more than enough to go around means acceptable losses in a social system. Jack didn’t mind. The more of them means the less of him. Good.
“Hi Jack”
His head turned in the direction of the salute and recognized that the man from the apartment below was hailing him.
“Kevin! From 1C! How are you?” An emboldened fox engaging the public when needed, Jack returned the serve with the greeting of the day and an inquiry. He noticed a Styrofoam cup of Seattle’s best in hand and a brown bag of ‘AnyBagels’ being clutched in Kevin’s arm. At ground level Jack noticed sandals accompying a ridiculous wardrobe. Reaching the conclusion that Kevin was obviously in for the night and was in fact returning from an urban berry hunt; Jack began to design the conversation to be ended as quickly as possible giving the impression much had been accomplished in the few words that were soon to transpire.
“Yeah, I’m good. Just out on a bagel run and then it’s back to my shows. I’m on a binge you know, my reality lineups are getting so much more realistic” Kevin wiped membranous discharge from his nostrils and smiled expectantly towards Jack.
“Oh yeah, that sounds fun, I’m out and about tonight. I don’t have anywhere to go really.” Jack said.
“Well see you later!” Kevin pressed forward and opened the door behind them.
“I guess he was in more of a hurry than I thought.” Jack said to himself. “Now where was I?”
One step in front of the other produced steady forward momentum, towards the mall. A wonderful place full of people. Jack did enjoy going to places like these so that he could study behavior in hopes of improving his sales tactics. He wanted to witness consumer behavior and see firsthand why people make the choices they make. Being a sales representative and aggressively animalistic, added up to a satisfying career in persuasion. People were not people to Jack; they were animals like himself. They were fruits of the plain and he was learning to kill more efficiently. Anything that was less intelligent or slower moving than Jack was fair game, and deserved to be parted with their money.
Jack made his way to the right side of the walkway and began towards the mall. A shoe lace became dislodged and swung in rhythm to his footsteps. Jack didn’t notice. The grade began to slowly increase as he went over the bridge to Main st. where his final destination lay. Lost in his own world he looked up and found that no one else was around. In the background a train clanked and screeched through below him. Just then, he saw a homeless man at the other end of the bridge sitting on the ground with back against the wall leaning on one arm apparently enjoying life. Jack knew the routine, “he will ask for money, and then I will ask him for money and brush it off.”
He just wanted everyone to leave him alone. As he began to overcome the vagabond, Jack noticed something off about the man’s demeanor. His body said desperation, while his eyes told of an ancient past. Much more. Who is this guy Jack wondered, some one time big shot? He felt the man looking into his soul through the darkness. Suddenly Jack felt as though he were in a situation that was a contradiction to what his eyes were telling him now and increasingly felt at a disadvantage defending his fortitude passing the lowly man. He overcame the judge and continued. Just as he did, he saw her.
She wandered without purpose through the annals of civilization such as he did.
JACK
I can see you, I have seen you before. Your red hair and sad face betrays you. You have betrayed me. I am alone. I don’t know you, nor have I ever spoken with you. I have never acquainted myself with you intricacies. We are estranged and devote ourselves to similar occupations. Upon your left face, flesh ill placed after a childhood accident I assume, now hidden behind the fire crowning your head. Your hair never leaves this side. I can see her fingers gripping and releasing, cutting the others and grasping for disillusion. She stands still in the shadow. To where does she gaze, the world will collapse at her feet. You will not come close to me, you cannot be trusted, woman of man. You have betrayed me. Can you remember in the beginning when we were together? You have given yourself to mediocrity and I to selfish delight. Where are we now?
HER
I can see you, I have seen you before. Your piercing eyes and quiet demeanor betray you. You have betrayed me. I have never met you, man of woman, but I know you well. We were together once in the beginning, but now we are strangers. Where do you go every night?

Jack bowed his eyes low and looking up once again she was gone and he was beyond her. He didn’t care what her name was or speaking to her. She was a scapegoat to him. A singular sampling of the female race, he questioned her, he hated her, he loved her; but not the woman with hair of fire and the burned face. He hated perfection even more and craved disposition. He was burned inside much deeper than her lovely countenance, and it could not be hidden by bodily adornments.

Three Jacks and a Candle

– Dear reader: This is a very brief prologue to a novel I have seen from beginning to end in my mind. It stands idle and useless, but I wish to share a few chapters of this story with you now as I organize them. Yes, I am a Christian, one of those (so this is a Christian novel); however I implore your creative writing faucet and seek your critical feedback. This is tale of my own personal journey from battling severe depression (for absolutely no reason) since about 15 years old until very recently when I rediscovered the faith of my youth, and have been pulled out of the flames of torment. I have joy and hope now, I look forward to the morning sun. My body ached all over, muscles tight bracing for an invisible attack that never presented itself, my mind committed to mutiny. Now I have been saved by my Captain. Be patient with me and understanding my fellow writers. Tear these pieces apart as your helpless prey you hunters, and comment on the different elements of writing technically, or just tell me your reflection or impression of the excerpt. These may be far in between as I don’t have much time to write. Thank You All!

The clock ticks upon the wall. Upon my wall ticks the clock. Incessantly marking time, it progresses one instance into the next forbearing death to death and life to life; it makes no difference to this juggernaut clock ticking on my wall. Steady now. Not too fast, not too slow. We are carried along at the appropriate velocity, not forgetting the essence of the cadence resounding serves to remind that time does not belong to me, but instead merely emphasizes the direction to which I travel. The moment we are born we begin to die; the moment I was born I began to die. My time stops for neither my frustration nor fright, which both I pay to this clock treading upon my serenity. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The head hangs upon the shoulders. Upon my shoulders hangs my head. The ears I have on either side, left and right, accept the sound and tempt my mind to entertain. I let out a sigh. I don’t need a clock to tell me what to do. My hand brushes across my kitchen table, small and round, against imaginary debris. The seasoned grains in the tables face, and in the lonely chair on which I am sitting tell me a tale about the fate of some tree in the wilderness, my own body lacks the fortitude to be re-purposed  entering into the annals of antiquity like the tree my elbows now rest atop. Oak would make a great casket though. Perhaps I will ask the Mennonite whom I get all my furniture from to make me one, and I shall keep it in my closet. I long for its encompassing rest, I long for the pressing earth, I long for the heavy stone bearing my name on it “Here is Jack Heim, this rock will never forget him.”

  Jack sighed as he took a sip from his coffee cup that bore a yellow smiley face on it.

The affirming vessel did not however contain coffee, but black English tea instead. Since I breath fire now due to the acidity in the coffee, and consuming all in the substitution of the hydrating quality of water alone, my health has begun to suffer considerably. Ah the tea. The rest of the world’s joe. I could see my reflection in the large circumference of the flavored water. I take another sip; not bad. After eating I bring my breakfast-ware to the sink and slowly clean the remnants into the shallow water and place them on the rack to dry. Putting my hand into the cold water I pull the stopper. While watching the murky water drain away, a maelstrom began to emerge in the water. It twisted and moved about the center of the drain violently pulling any wayward sea farer straight away to the bottom of the ocean. The sailors scream in terror as they meet their destruction, fully aware, in a decisive journey into the abyss. A soap bubble bursts when it connected to the bare metal bottom of the sink; and the water was no more. I took a breath and threw the dish towel into the kitchen hamper.

The light switch clicks when I reposition it upwards as I walk into the bathroom. Centered at the mirror standing on the rug, I look into his eyes and he looks into mine. “I know just as much as you do!”

Only a face without expression replies.

Insightful Indulgence

    

     Let me reveal, if I might, betray, the locks that restrain the waters of my indulgence. On occasion my wish, my weakness, my opium, is to devour the uniqueness of the author. I must by inference determine your design, and sequentially discover the gulf of deviation through your own self providence. The dissonance is sweet to consume. The words you arrange in alliance to sights you have in your mind display more than any conversation might facilitate. Three thoughtfully tasteful words can keep me company for an age. In short. . . I love to see what makes people tick. Variety in abundance soothes the discontent of solitude. I am lonely for others that believe in dying only once, others who will arrange majestic compositions to honor the Source of power across the stars, others who long to see the same victorious redemption.

     I enjoy writing immensely. I am still young in the ways of literature and fumble to wisely choose the proper diction not saturated in vanity and haught. I strive to present solemn urgency as my tone, encourage sobering reflection as your mood, and reveal my very core in my voice. I crave the parallel and the symbol; the simile and the metaphor. My style is like cooling tungsten which will soon temper, the crystalline structure beginning to organize into defined order. I am a child.

     I begin to write but lack the patients to expel the ideas and relationships I so clearly see in my head. I can smell, taste, feel, and understand; but I have not discipline. I want to take you to the places I visit and bring you to the farthest reaches of my mind. I read your words and see a fountain of exposition effortlessly transposed onto digital parchment. I want to be like you. I want to write.

The Heads of Wheat

PRELUDE

The heads of wheat are of becoming self-propelled propagation moving to the trajectory called purpose. The heads of wheat are as strong as iron, they are as kind as lambs. We are the heads of wheat. There is us, in two fold and duality, each part separated by the institution of time advancing mechanically. Before the ground and the veil were breached, we pierced our Captains flank. The intent was the death of light, to remain ever in our cesspool of oxidation. Now we have been united; we were in the market broken, undesired and not chosen. This, the temporary took ages, only to be bought and possessed by our Captain once again.

These things are mysterious to those who do not follow the Captain, we His enduring disciples of hope, have accepted this Spirit to overcome and conquer our objection. We are spears now that draw not blood, but draw out the souls of the dead walking about. I hail you the brothers of my spirit, the sisters of my spirit. We are together with shields and swords drawn in the midst of treachery. This accolade is for you, it is presented to give us together bread to eat. We are closer than family, we are within every border, we are on your left and on your right, we are bonded. We move as one across the the narrow path through the firmament. Take heart and be comforted, take sandal and destination; we are all here together. Call on one another, the true faithful, and we will aid. We will collapse upon our unifying mission, we have each other, we have our Captain.

Here.

Here..

War is here. It falls from the ambiance and permeates my faculties. It is here, abounding on all sides of in and out. I can see it red like rust enveloping the superficial and corroding insides. I can see there is no escaping its presence as the way is infesting with its forms. I feel the concrete of the side walk I am walking along with my fingertips and smell resilience in the grit that breaks away. The sky I can see is like blood and waves of malevolence pass over my waning body. Do you think opposites exist here? No, only true and madness are the archetypes. The latter masks itself and deceives the masses. It is called as power full, but has no justification for its pseudo existence; the end of the melody melancholy is death and the end of death is truth prevailing at last. The greatest lie ever told, the most severe treachery! A sword will cut into the darkness as life is merely a breath passing away. War is here; ever is it with us. You and I are born into a system that is unbalanced and one that will topple broken soon impending. This war is neither of bullet nor explosion, atoms nor mass. The eye cannot see its manifestation unless it perceives the overworld. It is forever and evermore the same and is what is represented in the form of words themselves, building the foundations of the world, those great pillars in the earth. Your words can both kill and sustain. How ambivalently we blast their numbers into the atmosphere. The enemy is here. It waits for you, talks to you, and is with you. I can feel them hiding in the forests, and in the shadows; swimming at the bottom of the ocean. Leviathan is coming. Arm yourself, ride out to war and engage the enemy. Take heart for the lynchpin of those disfigured monsters is thin and easily plucked. They will fall and diminish at your roar. They will melt by your gleaming eyes searching them. Pour them out and distinguish your judgment against the dark madness. Execute your protocol with violence of action. Take them. Take those spirits who cower from your advancing cries. They never held power but the power humans have given. These things can I understand now or after, but the end is only the beginning.