Here is the beginning.
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One.
Never. How he struggled with the finality of that word, its haunting permanence. Never. It offered no recourse, allowed for no exceptions. He wished the word didn't exist tonight, but it did. Never would never disappear. He continued along the damp sidewalk, alone, hoping that he could leave the word behind if he walked all night.
Never. So tantalizingly close to forever that it even rhymed. Yet there was no mistaking the two. There was no hope to be found in never. Only the eternal certainty of what was not to be, could never be. The word pursued him around every street corner, harassed him under every flickering street light. It was everywhere he looked and everywhere he didn't. On the stop signs he didn't stop for, glimmering in the puddles he stepped over. On his fingertips and buried in the pit of his stomach. The word even fell from the sky, soaking his clothes, his skin. Never. The sound droned in his head like a heartbeat, making his mind more tired than his legs. Ne-ver...ne-ver...ne-ver...
He walked with his head bowed, grappling with a word that had come to consume his existence. Oblivious to the stars littered across the wet midnight sky, he walked. And no matter how quiet it was or how hard he looked, answers, or at least something resembling one, escaped him. Tonight his eyes were mirrors, capable of reflection only in the simplest sense of the word.
The downpour was fitting. It made an unpleasant walk even more so, but he didn't resent it. Even though he had no umbrella to hide under and no poncho to cover up with, he didn't mind the rain. It emptied the streets and made his journey seem, if nothing else, private. Cold gusts of wind randomly blasted his face, almost freezing the rain onto his cheeks. It was only a matter of time before the rain turned to snow, just like his breath turned to fog. As a boy, when it got this cold, he used to put his index and middle finger up to his mouth, take a long drag of air and blow it out. The fog made it look like he was smoking. His brother was the only person who had ever laughed at that.
He kept going, because it didn't occur to him to stop. The memory of his childhood slowly washed away, as all memories have a way of doing, and he was alone again. He quickened his pace. He would stop when the heartbeat did.
There had to be a place where everything made sense; the word, his life, his fears. Where simple questions had simple answers. Where he didn't break down and cry. Maybe if he kept walking, he would find it.
He turned left onto a quiet street that was normally busy. The road was shiny, like a black pool with yellow stripes running down the middle. At the far corner of the street was a cathedral, which was impressive even for a house of God. The rain made it look even more so. The stone gray exterior, stained by the falling water, was so dark it could almost be confused for a light shade of black. A few lights were on inside, illuminating the stained glass windows. They too, looked impressive on this waterlogged night. He didn't know how old the building was, or any of the history behind it for that matter. He just knew what everyone else did who looked at it: that it was massive, impressive, and holy.
The bells in the tower on top of the cathedral rang out, as they did every hour. He didn't bother to count how many times. Instead, his mind wandered back to a little over a week ago, when he had gone inside the church, in search of the same thing he was pursuing tonight: an answer, or at the very least, comfort. Preferably both. As impressive as it looked from the outside, the inside was even more magnificent. The marble altar up front was surrounded by beautiful white candles sitting in silver and gold candle holders. A crucifix that would be over-sized in almost any other building, hung on the wall behind the altar. Rows and rows of dark rosewood pews lined up neatly in front of the altar, offering not too much comfort or leg-room. Eight days ago, on one of those pews, he sat down and talked with a priest.
But the conversation had brought him neither answers nor peace. Father Andrews, the priest whom he had spoken with, looked too young to legally buy a drink, let alone counsel on life and death. His eyes were too bright to understand just how dark life can be. The only thing the discussion had left him with was a taste of resentment. "God has a plan for everyone and everything," Father Andrews said, but it felt more like a recitation. "It's not our job to understand it, only to believe in it." It seemed easy to talk about God's plan when you weren't one of its sacrifices. The boy priest had even offered a psalm, psalm 91, as comfort for times when he felt his faith wavering.
Never. So tantalizingly close to forever that it even rhymed. Yet there was no mistaking the two. There was no hope to be found in never. Only the eternal certainty of what was not to be, could never be. The word pursued him around every street corner, harassed him under every flickering street light. It was everywhere he looked and everywhere he didn't. On the stop signs he didn't stop for, glimmering in the puddles he stepped over. On his fingertips and buried in the pit of his stomach. The word even fell from the sky, soaking his clothes, his skin. Never. The sound droned in his head like a heartbeat, making his mind more tired than his legs. Ne-ver...ne-ver...ne-ver...
He walked with his head bowed, grappling with a word that had come to consume his existence. Oblivious to the stars littered across the wet midnight sky, he walked. And no matter how quiet it was or how hard he looked, answers, or at least something resembling one, escaped him. Tonight his eyes were mirrors, capable of reflection only in the simplest sense of the word.
The downpour was fitting. It made an unpleasant walk even more so, but he didn't resent it. Even though he had no umbrella to hide under and no poncho to cover up with, he didn't mind the rain. It emptied the streets and made his journey seem, if nothing else, private. Cold gusts of wind randomly blasted his face, almost freezing the rain onto his cheeks. It was only a matter of time before the rain turned to snow, just like his breath turned to fog. As a boy, when it got this cold, he used to put his index and middle finger up to his mouth, take a long drag of air and blow it out. The fog made it look like he was smoking. His brother was the only person who had ever laughed at that.
He kept going, because it didn't occur to him to stop. The memory of his childhood slowly washed away, as all memories have a way of doing, and he was alone again. He quickened his pace. He would stop when the heartbeat did.
There had to be a place where everything made sense; the word, his life, his fears. Where simple questions had simple answers. Where he didn't break down and cry. Maybe if he kept walking, he would find it.
He turned left onto a quiet street that was normally busy. The road was shiny, like a black pool with yellow stripes running down the middle. At the far corner of the street was a cathedral, which was impressive even for a house of God. The rain made it look even more so. The stone gray exterior, stained by the falling water, was so dark it could almost be confused for a light shade of black. A few lights were on inside, illuminating the stained glass windows. They too, looked impressive on this waterlogged night. He didn't know how old the building was, or any of the history behind it for that matter. He just knew what everyone else did who looked at it: that it was massive, impressive, and holy.
The bells in the tower on top of the cathedral rang out, as they did every hour. He didn't bother to count how many times. Instead, his mind wandered back to a little over a week ago, when he had gone inside the church, in search of the same thing he was pursuing tonight: an answer, or at the very least, comfort. Preferably both. As impressive as it looked from the outside, the inside was even more magnificent. The marble altar up front was surrounded by beautiful white candles sitting in silver and gold candle holders. A crucifix that would be over-sized in almost any other building, hung on the wall behind the altar. Rows and rows of dark rosewood pews lined up neatly in front of the altar, offering not too much comfort or leg-room. Eight days ago, on one of those pews, he sat down and talked with a priest.
But the conversation had brought him neither answers nor peace. Father Andrews, the priest whom he had spoken with, looked too young to legally buy a drink, let alone counsel on life and death. His eyes were too bright to understand just how dark life can be. The only thing the discussion had left him with was a taste of resentment. "God has a plan for everyone and everything," Father Andrews said, but it felt more like a recitation. "It's not our job to understand it, only to believe in it." It seemed easy to talk about God's plan when you weren't one of its sacrifices. The boy priest had even offered a psalm, psalm 91, as comfort for times when he felt his faith wavering.
"He is my God, and I trust Him. For He will rescue you from every trap and protect you from deadly disease..."
As he remembered it, the words felt empty. Just as they had then.
It was raining even harder. As he stood out front, staring at place that he had been in not long ago, he thought of another psalm. He couldn't remember the number.
It was raining even harder. As he stood out front, staring at place that he had been in not long ago, he thought of another psalm. He couldn't remember the number.
"O Lord, how long will you forget me? Forever? How long will you look the other way?"
The bells stopped and it was quiet again. The only noise came from the rain hitting the trees and the concrete. He climbed the stairs which led to the cathedral, but not any closer. The doors would be locked. Then, after a moment of staring, he continued on. Not exactly sure of where he would go, but sure that he must go somewhere.
Street corners and houses and cars passed by without him realizing. The rain kept falling, showing no signs of surrender. Small puddles became big ones. Walking under trees made little difference, if any. Lightning flashed off in the distance, and a gentle rumble of thunder answered a few seconds later. Still, he kept moving, and again, as it always did, the absurdity of hope crept back in. Maybe, just maybe, if given enough time, his thoughts and the headaches they were coupled with would fade into the darkness, carried away by a gust of city wind. Maybe his phone would ring in the morning, as soon as the clinic opened, and they would say it was all a mistake, that everything was fine, and that they were sorry and hoped he had a nice day. Just maybe.
While taxi drivers hunted the deserted city streets in search of customers and children were enjoying the sleep that comes after a week of school, he wandered in the dark, hounded by questions that no twenty-seven year old should ever have to face, let alone try and answer. Even after the wind died down and the rain slowed to a drizzle, the heartbeat was still there. The pulse that he so desperately wished the storm would have drowned. Ne-ver...ne-ver...ne-ver...
Street corners and houses and cars passed by without him realizing. The rain kept falling, showing no signs of surrender. Small puddles became big ones. Walking under trees made little difference, if any. Lightning flashed off in the distance, and a gentle rumble of thunder answered a few seconds later. Still, he kept moving, and again, as it always did, the absurdity of hope crept back in. Maybe, just maybe, if given enough time, his thoughts and the headaches they were coupled with would fade into the darkness, carried away by a gust of city wind. Maybe his phone would ring in the morning, as soon as the clinic opened, and they would say it was all a mistake, that everything was fine, and that they were sorry and hoped he had a nice day. Just maybe.
While taxi drivers hunted the deserted city streets in search of customers and children were enjoying the sleep that comes after a week of school, he wandered in the dark, hounded by questions that no twenty-seven year old should ever have to face, let alone try and answer. Even after the wind died down and the rain slowed to a drizzle, the heartbeat was still there. The pulse that he so desperately wished the storm would have drowned. Ne-ver...ne-ver...ne-ver...
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