Eye Economics

Very very rough draft. Let me know what you think :D


Eye Economics


It was on September 29th that Miss Audrey Wilkinson decided to take her life. She had thought about it several times but never had gathered the unction to do it. It was on September 29th that she stood at the top of the 5 story parking garage thinking about the government and her fears. Her children were grown, not dependant. Not even entirely wrapped up in her life anymore. They had gone about their affairs and Miss Wilkinson’s life was not of much importance anymore to any of them it seemed. She would receive a guilty phone call once a month from a son, Gabriel, who had forgotten her birthday. Her daughter, Anna, would call maybe once a week and distractedly over her phone line ask her mother questions about responsibility. “Did you pay your electric bill, mother?” “Are you eating healthy?” “Did you remember to pay the lawn care company?” Such a stark role reversal. Miss Wilkinson vomited inside of her mouth at the thought. Her other son, Michael, never called. He never showed up for holidays. He very well could be dead. It was on September 29th after choking down a severe probing of a conversation with Anna that Miss Audrey Wilkinson drover her Cadillac Deville to the top of Great City Parking and climbed the concrete wall to overlook the small city. She had taken the ticket that she would never pay. She had choked on Anna’s words, Gabriel’s unwanted intentions and Michael’s silence for far too long. Far be it from her to need something for once in her life. For once maybe she could be the center of attention. God forbid that her own children hadn’t been raised well enough to respect their elders and to care for their mothers and fathers. It was on September 29th five years earlier that her husband, James had finally been overcome by liver cancer. She had sat at his bedside in the hospital every night for months as his condition worsened. It had eaten at his insides. Prometheus reversed. Years of his fire water had destroyed his liver. The cancer spread in a sporadic manner and had eventually claimed his life. She had wept and cried and eventually lost all quality of life with her husband of forty years. When he withered, she withered. When he cried, she did too. When he died she felt that her insides had died also. It was on September 29th that she stood five stories up remembering her beloved spouse and the life he had left behind. She wondered when the thought of more life had become a threat. With tears and a kiss to the chilling wind she stepped forward and the concrete wall was left barren of emotion and empathy, as it had started. It was unwilling to beg for Miss Wilkinson’s pathetic life and unwilling to cry when it was over. It was on September 29th from the fifth floor of Great City Parking that if you had listened closely you could have heard a distant thump, and if you had been morbidly curious and looked over the wall you would have seen Miss Audrey Wilkinson in a bloody mess on the sidewalk of Hurston Street. From the concrete she looked up at the heavens and whispered, “Oh God, what have I done? Help.” It was on September 29th that if you walked by on the sidewalk you would have seen a woman who expected to be robbed of her pain by the pleading ground below, but instead was dealt a new hand of bitterness and frustration because of her failed suicide attempt. An ambulance’s sirens sang lullabies in the distant night air. They sang, “Hush little baby…” and eventually encouraged the depressed and shattered Miss Wilkinson into a deep trance of a sleep. When she woke there was a blur through two quarter sized holes. She made out the familiar hospital ceiling. The taste of glue was fresh on her breath, but her breathing was confined. Miss Audrey Wilkinson awoke from her deep, narcotic sleep and found herself sustained and alive inside of a plaster full body cast. The surgeon walked into the room and made small talk for a moment. He asked about allergies, about next of kin. He said that she was blessed to be alive. She tried desperately to speak back and answer his questions, but was unable to even mutter. He told her that she broken some 30 bones in her fall and that he had with his own hands set the breaks and that she must heal inside of the body cast. He said that if she needed anything to ask for him. Then he filled her full of morphine and left her to sleep. Her bitterness overwhelmed her. It was on September 29th that if you were a bird on the window outside of Miss Audrey Wilkinson’s hospital room that you would have seen her give up on life. If you had been inside of her head you would have heard her plea for God to intervene and to allow the pain to stop. You would have heard weeping and gnashing of teeth. And like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon you would have seen Audrey Wilkinson hit rock bottom and emerge from out of herself. You would have seen a woman who nearly died in desperation, become a woman who saw life for the first time as an expanse of sunlight and beauty. That is if she wasn’t inside of the body cast. She wept now with joy and not bitterness. Within the next days her beloved family arrived and she somehow was forgiving all trespasses. She wept as Gabriel, not out of obligation but love, hugged her for the first time in years. She whispered prayers for him from inside of her shell of new life. With the new realization of life’s beauty, she whispered inaudibly of her appreciation for Anna and her reminders. She noted how life was about perspective. It was fitting that she had lived in a shell for so long, but now once she had been liberated, she was trapped in the shell of this harsh body cast. Her voice was too weak to be heard through the dense plaster, which barely left enough room for breathing through the small slit at her mouth and nostrils. Her new cage was finding an expanse of beautiful, not mournful emotions and being unable to express them. Not being able to hug Gabriel or Anna back. Only being able to see them when they hovered above her quarters of light. She couldn’t move her arms or legs, just her toes and fingers. But she could breathe, truly breathe for the first time! She was released from the hospital two days later to the care of her daughter. She would have the cast removed piece by piece in a few months when the healing had taken effect, but she was feeling health pour into her from the onslaught of this new way to be human. She was alive and healthy. For weeks Miss Wilkinson lived in Anna’s basement where the warm heater was so that she wouldn’t get too cold. Anna would bring her shakes and medicine and take care of her mother tirelessly. She began to wear down after the third week and began to forget about her mother who was still kept inside of her plaster cage. Miss Wilkinson began to resent once again her daughter and her slacking in care. Before long Miss Wilkinson began again to feel bitter and frustrated. With a rasp on her basement door, she became startled. Before she could muster up the voice to tell the knock to enter, the door swung open and she heard footsteps. Heavy footsteps made their way to her bedside, but she could see nothing. “Hello, mother.” An alien voice spoke to her. “It’s been a long time.” Michael whispered. She attempted to move her lips but was unable to speak. “Unhappy to see me, mother?” Michael said dissapointedly. “Well, I’m happy to see you mom!” With a ferocity, Audrey felt a sharp pain sink into her ribcage. She gasped for air and saw a shadow on the ceiling of what looked like a fire poker being raised and before she could understand what was happening another blow resounded throughout her body as it came down in the same place. “STTT…STTTTT…” she whispered but was unable to form the words. She began to panic but was trapped inside of the shell of plaster and couldn’t move. The blows continued for what seemed like an eternity when they dissolved as quickly as they had come. She heard the fire poker fall idly to the ground, the footsteps retreat and the door close. She breathed heavily and fought against the pain that had just been leveraged to her by her long missing son. Her anger boiled over her, but she was helpless to do anything. Rest assured, when she was released from her prison she would destroy Michael for this intrusion, she thought with bitterness. She lay in silent pain until she fell asleep.

A knock on her door came early a few days later. She had slept, aided by the Vicadin and Valium cocktails, for almost the entirety of the last few days, waking only to realize the entrapment and become more and more bitter. She lay in her cocoon as a bitter old lady with haenous intentions. She was ready for the day when she would truly be able to inflict pain on Michael for the sudden intrusion. With the silent understanding, the door opened. “Mother, you have a guest. Reverend McClarty rang earlier and has stopped by.” Nothing. “I’ll leave you two.” Footsteps chased Audrey. The door shut quietly and the reverend’s voice spoke softly. “Can you speak, Miss Wilkinson?” She mustered a slight groan but was unable to allow sound to escape her lips. “Excellent.” The reverend said softly and calmly. “Brace yourself, you witch.” Two blows to Miss Audrey Wilkinson’s cast caused her to reel. He had attacked her much like her son, Michael and once again she was unable to scream, not to mention speak. “I will draw the demon out of you, Audrey! Do not suffer long, sister! GET OUT! GET OUT DEMON!” As he screamed the last words a powerful tremor shot through Audrey Wilkinson’s entire body and she found herself sinking into a deep sleep. She could vaguely make out “the power of Christ compels you…” As she succumbed to the wounds inflicted to her head inside of her body cast. When she awoke the reverend was gone, but her head throbbed from the attack.

Over the next few days, visitor after visitor would quietly close the door behind them, use Audrey Wilkinson as a punching bag, say their respects and excuse themselves. Her hope had disappeared and all she could think about constantly was whether or not the next person’s punishment would finally put her out of her misery. The community police officer arrived at one point, threatening her that if she ever talked that she would spend time in jail. Her frustration and anger began to bubble over and the sight of even light in her basement room would cause her to convulse at the thought. She had begun to curse her existence and question how she was supposed to find good in a world where all of this destruction was allowed to happen so readily.

It was on February 12th that if you had been at the residence of Anna Torweigh that you could have witnessed the largest party that the small Kansas town had ever experienced. Everyone in the community had arrived throughout the day for a party that would last late into the morning. Miss Audrey Wilkinson was to have her body cast removed today and everyone was anxious to see what they would find once the plaster was removed. Each citizen had paid her a visit and none had anticipated what would happen when she got the cast removed. They all stood outside of the front door around a big summer bonfire, roasting marshmallows and enjoying the company. They awaited Miss Audrey Wilkinson’s presence at the party and wait, they did. It wasn’t until nearly one o’clock that the body cast was carried out the front door and placed on the massive bonfire. It roasted for what seemed like the rest of the night. Whispers continued around the fire as everyone continued to await Audrey Wilkinson’s grand appearance. Rumors sparked that she had undergone massive plastic surgery and that she would be stunning. The people danced and told stories and sang the old familiar church songs that had radiated throughout the community that night. Each feeling somewhat responsible for the cold treatment that they had given Miss Audrey in the earlier weeks, but some feeling justified. At 4 in the morning people finally started to lose interest in the party and demanded from Anna that Audrey be brought out to the crowd so that they might all enjoy her company. When Anna refused to allow her mother out of the house, the guests began to become frustrated. “How dare I allow you to see my mother just because of your guilt. It’s apparent what’s been happening this week and you want to rectify your own emotions about the beating of a helpless lady. We all know the impact that she had on this community before this accident. She practically kept us all under her thumb. I have news for you, your attacks and frustrations were justified. Her reign of terror in this community has been one that has gone on long enough. How dare she close our markets and regulate our church services with her twisted little words? Why was no one able to stand up to her before she was in this accident!? We all just thought someone else should do it. None of us would stand up for ourselves and take over when we’d had enough.” The truth was that Anna was telling the truth. For years Miss Audrey Wilkinson had twisted the small town around her finger. She manipulated the priest into an affair and then blackmailed him into preaching towards her godliness. She had threatened the market to shut them down based on unsanitary conditions and held them to dishonest business for her own profit. Everyone in the town was somehow being controlled by Miss Audrey Wilkinson. Her suicide attempt hadn’t been looked down on. The funeral had been ready. They had all just waited for her to feel about herself the way they all felt. One man in the crowd yelled, “Well, why wait for her to get back to normal and punish us more!? Let’s take care of it now, then!” With these words the party rushed inside to find Audrey Wilkinson and put an end to her oppression. What they found was gruesome. Complete and utter emptiness. Miss Audrey Wilkinson was nowhere to be found. It was on February 13th at 5 in the morning that the party eventually dismissed after being unable to find Miss Audrey Wilkinson anywhere. It was on February 13th at 5 in the morning that everyone in the small Kansas town went home to their houses and slept the most peaceful night they had enjoyed in years.

Sometimes a Lion(Working Title)

Sometimes a Lion (Working Title)
by Kenneth Price


A lion circles. It leaps. It roars. It’s fierce. In its love it is fierce. It kills and never regrets. That’s what I was told. That’s what I believed. I was a lion and I was fierce. I killed. I lived to see my name in lights. From an early age I would hear my name chanted in blood boxing circles. The dank pits of human pain and fear. I left my name in the blood of my rivals on the dirt. No fight lasted more than minutes. My fists were claws and once I clamped down there was no fighting it. Like an animal, the opponents, the victims would squirm. They would fight for air, but like the mighty lion I would stand in triumph. With blood burning through my veins and in my eyes. Seeing red. Seeing death. If someone showed a fight I would circle. I would claw. I would fight. In a fight I was fierce.

I grew up the child of a riverboat captain. He would leave from Manaus and cruise up and down the Amazon all of my life, taking goods or people wherever they needed to go. My mother died giving birth in a small village along the Amazon River. I don’t think my dad ever quite forgave me for killing his bride. She was only 21. They married because of me. It was the right thing to do. His problem is that he had so much fight inside of him but he never allowed it to escape. It was bottled up so much that I tend to believe he eventually died from it. He missed my first fight. And he missed my last. It’s from his crews that I learned to scrap. A child in Brazil is exposed to a lot of fighting from the time their born. Jiu Jitsu is a national commodity and the point wasn’t lost on me. One of the engine workers on my father’s boat named Thiago would spar with me. We would tumble and roll. Thiago had fought nationally for a while. They called him “Belezo” or beauty. He took hundreds of shots that would rip other men’s faces apart, but he walked out of the ring never cut, never bruised. On the riverboat he still looked sterling. Untouched, hence his nickname. Belezo taught me to fight, but he said it was in me, all over me. It grew in me. It was in my spirit and my spirit was a flame of unblemished war. It was Belezo who took me to my first fight. Trash cans littered the alley and it smelled of urine and sweat. The alley was dark and intense and it leapt with the shadows of warriors swinging and jumping and dodging against the walls. We walked through the alleys and into an open area. The flames of torches ate at the sky and lit up a hidden back yard that we had just stepped into. A dirt patio lined with three foot walls covered in dry blood and sweat was the focal point of the yard. I tripped over my foot and stumbled. I managed to catch my balance as Belezo grabbed my shoulder. He directed me towards a group of men talking. “I’m going to make some money off of you, lindo.” Belezo whispered. “Steady hands, strong heart. Stay right here. I’ll be back in moments.” Belezo mingled with the men and shook hands with a larger man. The man was apparently the one in charge of the fights that were happening in the back yard. Belezo grabbed a drink and walked back to me. I was the fourth fight on the six fight card tonight and I was fighting a boy two years older than my twelve years. He had never been beaten and was making his way into the boys Jiu Jitsu league that had started in the past months. His name was Rodrigo and they said that his fists were heavy and his feet were fast. I was not afraid. Belezo had told me that the fire would guide me. We watched the fights prior to mine and I had been confident that I could have hung with any of them given the chance. Belezo knew it too. It came time for my fight and I stepped toe to toe with Rodrigo. From the crowd I heard shouts for “Rowdy”. I assumed that was his nickname. The ref stepped in and told us the rules. Fists only, no biting or scratching. Keep it clean. The fight was on and Rodrigo had smothered me like a blanket. His fists pounded into my gut and into my side systematically. I felt my eyes go a shade dimmer as a fist pounded into my skull and I reeled, expecting to hit the floor. My instincts took over and my fist doubled through Rodrigo’s stomach unexpectedly. He spit up blood and took a step back. My head stopped spinning and red covered my eyes. He would pay for the pain I was feeling. I was blinded with rage and my hands took over. The first few shots he blocked with great strength but in moments my fists found places to go. The side of his mouth. The bridge of his nose. His left ribcage. A beautiful stinging blow to his chin. He fell. The referee refused to allow me closer and the red removed itself from my eyes. As Rodrigo doubled over and hit the mat he reminded me of an event that I had witnessed as a child. A lion in the city when I was a child had escaped the zoo and went on a rampage through the city. People fled in fear and would hide in their homes praying that the lion would not pay them a visit. My father and I were unloading freight off of the riverboat when the lion closed in on the dock where we were working. A member of the police saw the lion and withdrew his gun. It took 6 shots for the lion to fall, but he hit the ground feet from my father and I. He laid on the wood whimpering until it breathed its last breath. His eyes were fixed on me. El Rei had been his name, The King. The King lay dead in front of me and as I blinked Rodrigo stood up and touched my gloves. “Good fight, rookie!” Rodrigo said and walked off. I screamed into the night at the pure satisfaction of wrecking someone the way I just had Rodrigo. The adrenaline pumped solidly through my veins and I was alive. I had never felt this feeling in my young life and I knew instantly that the only way I would live is through these tinted eyes. Belezo grabbed me up in his arms and cheered loudly. “Leâo, you have made me very proud!” Lion, he had called me.

That name would stick with me through the series of underground fights I fought, all through Belezo’s restless eyes. For years after the fight, the name Leâo would be whispered any time we would walk into a dark alley fight. Then my break came. Belezo told me about a small fight in Rio that promised a spot on the next national tour. I would have to compete against a Brazilian, Abrau Costa, who had beaten fifteen straight opponents and was promised a shot at the belt as soon as he defeated number 18. He was a gentle man in his normal life, but was fierce in the ring. He had an intense love for his mother, Edeli, and rumor was that once a man had spoken of her inappropriately and he had broken every finger at every joint on the mans hands and that was simply to compliment the bloody nose and black eyes. I had grown to be a fierce competitor, myself, and prided myself in my undefeated record of 12 wins in the amateur circuit. All of my wins had compiled to a mere thirty minutes of ring time. The name of Leâo was now being mentioned in the pro circuit as a shoe in for the belt. Belezo was proud of me and promised me a shot at Abrau as my first fight in the professionals. I found myself for the first time since my first fight nervous and unsure if I could actually compete at this level, but Belezo pushed me forward in my training. He would have me ready for the fight, he promised and I would beat Abrau handily. The fight approached and we went through all of the press conferences and weigh in and as the big night arrived I found myself in a nervous anticipation. We would fight second to last and I was an underdog in the fight. I was expected to get torn apart. He had a few kilo weight advantage over me and in twenty seven fights he had lost one, which started his climb back up to the top with the last fifteen. His twenty seven pro fights to my twelve amateur was enough to allow for a large slant in his direction. Belezo had taught me over the years that pain is only weakness and that if I didn’t die in the ring I would become stronger. Abrau and I had run into each other the day before the fight at a local restaurant and he had shaken my hand and wished me luck. He was a gentle man and I couldn’t see how any of the rumors could have been true. He had knocked out three quarters of his opponents though and I refused in my mind to view him as a gentle giant, but as a deadly foe who would kill me if I didn’t defuse him first. He was dangerous and I was in danger. I prepared in the locker room for 30 minutes and said my final prayers before the fight. The officials ushered me from my locker room and into the arena where my opponent waited for me in the ring. My fate was in my hands and what I did in that ring would make or break my destiny. All I could focus on was the roar of the crowd. If I could harness that power I would be able to ride the wave into the fight. The men who worked for the league prepped my face for cuts and checked my gloves for any foreign objects and I was ready to go. Before I realized it I was standing in front of Abrau once more, but his amiable look was gone. He meant to kill me. My eyes flushed red as the bell rang and I jumped out of reach of his first jab. He followed it and missed with his next shot. I retaliated with two jabs of my own, both of which found flesh. He stumbled backwards reeling and I followed in with a few more quick jabs. He was used to receiving punishment, though and he jumped back into action. We locked up and the ref had to remove us. We fought back and forth for the entirety of the first round. I was amazed that one of us hadn’t caved yet when the bell rang, but I was ready for whatever he could throw at me. Belezo was in my corner and he yelled in my ears, “You are strong, Lindo! Make him pay! Steady hands, strong heart, Leâo.” The bell rang and I jumped up to go toe to toe with Abrau again. We began dancing once again and I rattled him with a few quick jabs and he returned the favor. He pounded me with a few intense shots to my sides and finished the combo with a shot to the top of my head. The red intensified and I could see Abrau hitting the ground in my head. I unleashed a series of punches towards his head and could feel them sink in. He began to tip backwards and spun around. I continued to pound his face with various jabs that Belezo had taught me and Abrau stumbled towards me and came to rest on my shoulder. The ref pulled us apart once again and I found an impression of Abrau’s bloody face on my shoulder. The bell rang and brought round two to a close. Belezo told me two things during the corner time but I heard neither. All I could think of was the abuse that Abrau was about to feel. When the bell rang I jumped forward and began to punish him. He took two hits to his cheeks and one to his temple and then disappeared from my eyesight. Dead weight rushed the ground and the force of all 200 pounds slammed into the mat. Its bloody impression showed itself as Abrau’s face bounced once and twice and came to rest. He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. I had knocked out several opponents but I had never seen them react like this. Blood pooled around Abrau’s head and he didn’t move. The referee jumped in and raised my hand as the winner, but my hand fell as heavy as his body had. Tears relieved the red from my eyesight and I fell on my knees in a heap of human flesh. My body draped over Abrau’s and he wasn’t breathing. His corner rushed towards me and pushed my weight off of him and I couldn’t move. I wept bitterly for what seemed like hours. I had killed a man. My hands had killed a man. Deep sorrow engulfed me and the rest of the night was lost in its river. A lion kills and has no regrets, no remorse. I killed. I regretted. I was no lion. I was an abomination.

Pain shot through my head and I sat in pure terror and regret. How could I allow this to happen? I was not worthy of life. I was worthy of death. An eye for an eye. I left the stadium undetected and fled to my hotel room in Rio. Belezo had tried continually to perk me up and say that these things just happen. That it would be no time at all before I would be back in the ring and my fists would be raging. I knew that my fists would never be used to bring forth pain again. I would never fight again. My first pro fight would be my last. As I slept that night the sorrow returned in waves. I dreamt all night of that fateful moment that I saw my right hand speeding towards Abrau’s temple. The fist sped quickly and as it made impact it blasted a hole through me. It blazed and left a hole inside of me. I was unable to breath or even think. I lay looking at the ceiling and saw El Rei stalking my father and me on the dock all those days ago. As I blinked the child that I was turned into Abrau and I knew better to look at El Rei. The lion was now me and I was mauling Abrau. Out of instinct I knew what had to happen next and shouted at myself to turn, to run before it was too late. In seconds blasts resounded and I felt the bullets blaze through me and I was on the ground. Abrau’s empty stare haunted me. When El Rei escaped he forfeited his right to any life whatsoever. Now, much like El Rei, I had no right to life. I had taken what hadn’t belonged to me. The tears flowed constantly and would not stop for the rest of the night. Belezo called several times but I would not answer. I eventually fell asleep in the early hours of the morning. The next few days were spent in my hotel room with the curtains pulled tight and no lights on. Nothing to remind me of my sin, my iniquities. I had been selfish and I was responsible. I left one time. Abrau’s funeral was being held a few blocks from the hotel. He was nothing short of a national hero and thousands upon thousands of people showed to give support to his family and to mourn for the fallen. I slipped on sunglasses and a hat and made my way to the procession. I followed it on foot for what seemed like an eternity. I had to find his mother. I had to offer her my condolences for the atrocities I had committed and then I could rest. The procession weaved through Rio and into a cemetery. I found his mother after the mournful ceremony. I had been unable to hold back the tears or waves of guilt in days and they didn’t stop even to wish my opponent well into his afterlife. I would pay my respects and drown in my sorrow. I fell on my knees at Edeli’s feet and removed my sunglasses and hat and succumbed to the tremors that had been tearing at me all morning. I reached for her hands and startled, she withdrew them. “How can I touch the hands that killed my son?” she whispered quietly. I managed to whisper, “I’m…I’m…Please forgive me…” for no one but myself to hear. Fresh tears made their way from the corners of Edeli’s eyes and continued to fall silently. “I’m afraid…I can’t, child…It’s much too fresh and you have removed the scab. Time will heal all hearts, but not now. Let the wind take over and carry our sorrows far away from us. Until then, menino, Steady hands, strong heart.” She said, almost pouring salt in my wounds. Her words haunted me, “Time will heal all hearts…” She had said so understanding but so condemning. How could she be so sweet but still curse me to hold this burden on my own?

I picked myself up and made my way back to the hotel. I would dream but never sleep from that day on for many years. I would dream of myself in the ring punching at an unseen ghost. I would make contact and know that I had delivered the finishing blow and look up to see Edeli’s face in shock as she fell to the ground. I would see myself beating Abrau jus as it had happened and him falling into his mother’s cradling arms singing to her son, “Time will heal all hearts.” She would sing in a haunting Portuguese. Time will heal all hearts. It had been weeks and I sat wide awake on my bed, now back in Manaus listening to her haunting lullaby that belonged to her son, that now I had stolen much like his life. I was a filthy coward and a thief. Time might heal her heart. Time might heal most hearts. It would not heal mine. I deserved less a fate than Abrau who had gone down in my paws like the gazelle, unknowing and innocent. I awoke from one of the dreams with blood all over my hands. A nosebleed covered my eyes with red and I immediately rushed to remove the curse from my eyes. When I removed my hands I saw Abrau lying between them in a pool of blood. I cried deeply and the sorrow enveloped me. The lullaby began to play in my head. I took from my desk the journal that I had been using to document my dreams and my remorse and regret. “The terror lives inside of me and it will not leave my head. I see that poor boxer who was only looking for livelihood and fame and I stripped everything from him. I see the mother who had one thing in the world, her son. I took that from her.” I walked to the bathroom and started the hot, soothing bath water, the only escape from the constant dreams except for the alcohol. I took a deep drink of the bourbon that sat on my dresser and continued writing, “Leâo will have one more victim. A wise woman said that Time will heal all hearts. Let this purge you of the hurt that has encompassed your world, Edeli. Abrau do not haunt me anymore, I wash my hands of this. An eye for an eye…” With that I pulled out my pocket knife climbed into the tub. I began to breathe deeper as the steam rose and met my face. I unfolded my knife and breathed in death. This would finally be over. My hell on earth would be over. I traced my left arm with the sharp knife and felt my blood release from its captivity. My mind spun from the relief. Disoriented I made another cut in my other arm but couldn’t even trace my arm before my world went dark and I sank beneath the water. My world went red. Edeli, Abrau, forgive me. Time will heal your hearts.

I awoke to a white glow. A frail hand held mine. When I regained my sight everything was a blur. I looked around the haze and I was lying in a small hospital room. Doctor’s voices echoed from down the hall. I heard a bird chirping from the window and a weeping sound from my right. “Oh, God,” she said, “Have mercy on him, my Father! Awaken him, Father. Give him a new life.” I turned my head and in my daze I could barely make out a withered woman with grey hair weeping with her face down beside my bed. My eyes slipped into darkness, but I tightened my grip on her hand and the prayer was stopped short. She simply said, “My son, you’re awake!” I had never seen such grace in my short twenty years. She spoke softly and quickly, “I must tell you a story, menino. Years and years ago I married a man. He was a beautiful man and he promised me that he would love me forever. He fought for a living and it made me so nervous to watch him fight, because I knew that it was dangerous, but I supported him because I loved him. We had a child and he promised that when his son was old enough to realize what he was doing that he would quit professional boxing. That night came on my son’s third birthday, but not by my husband’s choosing. My husband boxed that night and he killed a man in the ring. He calmly walked out of the ring and as he left he was jumped by the dead man’s brothers. They beat him lifeless and threw him off of a bridge into the Amazon River. My son knew his father for three short years of his life, but it was already in my son’s blood.” She started crying, but continued to speak, “You see, menino, my son cried that night, as if he knew what had happened. I never saw my husband again after he left the arena alone. I watched your fight in Rio and when I heard of your suicide attempt, I knew that you needed prayers, menino, because I knew what you had done would wear on a man.” My world was still shaking and I couldn’t focus on anything as she spoke. I was in such a daze from the medication that I moved in and out of her story. Her voice sounded so familiar to me, but I couldn’t place it. I had heard it all along since I had faded into the red and as I lay unconscious. She had prayed for me all along. She continued, “My husband, Belezo, they called him. He was an amazing fighter. The only fighter that I’ve seen with more talent and ambition was his son, Abrau.” My world spun as I dipped out of my haze and her face spun in clarity. Edeli sat at my hospital bed. “Time will heal all hearts, menino. I am holding the hand of the man who killed my son, but this man has now become my son. I forgive you, Lucio. I forgive you, son.” I was unable to breathe. It felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room and I was fighting to find what was left. I had killed myself but God had given me another chance at life. Everything came into perspective in that moment, “An eye for an eye.” She whispered. “You will never replace Abrau, but you owe me a son. An eye for an eye.” She smiled deeply and I couldn’t help but join her. The deep sorrow was gone and all I knew was Edeli’s smile. “Belezo is still alive.” I whispered. “I know.” She said, “He saved me. I sat in despair after Abrau’s funeral and he came to me and apologized for the years of grief. He held me for hours as I mourned for Abrau. He made everything right and he covered my wounds with the palms of his hands. And he saved you. He found you and brought you to the hospital. All the way here he held his hands over your wounds. He wore your blood. You see, child, he tried to help you over and over again, but you tried to do things alone, just like me. If I had been looking all those years I would have seen him. That’s why you fought Abrau. It was because he knew that you would fight his son. What emotions he must have been feeling to see one of his own die and the other die emotionally. But he does it everyday. You see. They found Belezo’s body in the river all those years ago. I checked your father’s records and he never employed Thiago Costa. You, in a bloody mess walked to the hospital and checked yourself in on your own. They have your bloody footprints tracked all the way back to your house, menino. Belezo was looking out for us. He brought us together, but he’s been dead for years.” I wept silently as she whispered, “Get some rest menino. Steady hands, strong heart.” She said with a smile. I held Edeli’s hand for what seemed like hours. I was overwhelmed at the beauty of life. I was thankful for Belezo. Beauty. I was thankful for the forgiveness that now saturated my life. I was thankful that God had given me a second chance at this life. And I was thankful that time heals all hearts.

No One Was Dancing(Prologue and Ch1)

Prologue: From the Lips of Southern Prophets

My papey? My papey, God rest his soul, was as brilliant as brilliant comes. His word was gold. He would say, “Thane, it’s gonna come a time when people won’t care much too much about the world dying around them. It’s gonna come a time, son when people is gonna do what’s right in their own eyes and nothings gonna stop them from doin what they wanna do.”

My papey died in a hit and run, ridin’ a bicycle across the street. I reckon that and his prophet warning is what made me want to keep the world in my palms. The problem is these days…and I always love to hear people talk about these days. It’s always been these days. These days you can’t hardly even tell what’s happening in the world. There’s war and terror and mistrust in the government. In my day if you had told me there was room to keep the government at an arms length, that arms length woulda been knocked off by someone who knew better than to bite the hand that feeds.

The shame is the war and terror…they’re goin right on in our hearts. You can’t pass somebody on the sidewalk without wondering if they’re ready to turn you with a knife to your throat. Even one time in county that old boy, Reb Thompson, short for Rebel, got shanked by an ole’ prisoner who said that he looked at him the wrong way. Well if that didn’t make the warden madder than a Missouri mule…sent that old boy straight to the ‘lectric chair on that very day. Didn’t need no due process. A shankin’ was due process enough. Didn’t even give that boy time to cool down before they tossed em in the ground right next Reb. Saved money on funerals, the way we saw it. At lease then we had some idea who ta look out for. These days you can’t tell the gangbangers from the politicians as far as I’m concerned…

I worked my way up from Sherriff Deputy to top brass in the FBI. They would always say, “Thane, as honest and as much of an old timey straight shooter as you are, you can do anything in this business.” And I reckon I have. What you’re about to find is my last will and testament for the Bureau. These files will tell you some outlandish sorts of stuff an I reckon that only the parties involved will ever know the real truth. But you? You can make your own decision. An’ I’ll tell yah, you should know that some of the names have been changed to fit the integrity of the cases they represent. And by all means, know that these stories are just the way they wanted them, in a voice that fits much like their own...

I just keep thinkin, yeah Papey, I spose you’re right…

and as ol’ Mr. Dylan said…The times they are a changing…and I sure just don’t know what to make of it…

One: A Discussion over Sunday Brunch

“…and oh, yes. I have the fire shut up in my bones.

Tomorrow when you wake up, eat your breakfast. Generic corn flakes with 2% milk because that whole stuff will kill you. A banana for potassium and you’re set.

Orange juice for vitamin C.

and Fiber. Get your fiber.

For a full helping of the gospel, take two parts faithfulness, three parts prayer, one part selfishness and mix. The byproduct is some unholy cross of blessings and curses. These are the things that wake you up at five in the morning to a throbbing headache and numb appendages. Yes, you’re alive. Yes, you feel this.

A shower to steam the wrinkles from the lipstick stained shirt you wore last night. The night before. You don’t worry about cleanliness. If cleanliness is godliness, you’re a heathen.

A Pagan.

Prophet of Baal, repent from your wicked ways. Or don’t. It’s none of my business, yet.

You walk into the closet. Another pair of Dockers slacks and a pressed to perfection pink tie to match the beauty of the lipstick from not so much your wife. not so much your mistress. not so much your lover, friend.

I don’t want to be the one to tell you this, but these things won’t save you.

Your professors would tell you that too much negative anything could kill you. Too much good intentions mixed with too much tranquilizer will kill any sized cow that you put in front of a gun.

Too much blood in your system, yeah, that’s your big worry right? Well, too many red blood cells, that’s called polycythemia. Think athletes, think steroids. Adrenaline laced throughout your body. Too much red blood leads to tumors in your liver. Liver tumors produce too much cortisol. Too much cortisol and you can end up with Cushing’s syndrome. Cushing’s syndrome leads to fat deposits in your face, arms, legs, whatever part of you that you don’t want fat build up, there it is. No dear, you’re not pregnant so don’t waste good money on tests. You’ll want to look into liposuction. You’ll want to look into a good gastroenterologist. And you thought Prometheus had it bad?

I’m going to tell you the truth. Now.

I’m afraid for you. You see, the issue here is that you don’t appreciate your life. You don’t really understand how well you have it…”

And all of a sudden her voice was more than Wes could take. He woke up in a daze, half hung-over thinking about the impossibility of his infidelity once again. He was positive that there was no way he had slipped up again…

His wife began to stir…Could she know?

“The problem is you’re so ungrateful…What do you think orphans in Botswana think of your brand new Bentley? Your 401k? Your expense account? Are the left-overs from your room service in the hall of the penthouse in the Weston feeding those children?...”

Chalkboard…fingernails….the answering machine played on…

“For infidelity, take two parts willing participant, 5 parts vodka, 1 part uncertainty and mix…For a broken heart in a wonderful wife take…”

Coffee…Cigarettes…move faster…move sharper…

“Have you wondered what impact you’re really making on the people around you? Your wife? Your boss? Would you like to find out? Do you ever wonder what those small bug bites in the middle of the night that wake you up and make you realize you have to go to the restroom are? The swelling…it’s normal right? Could it be that you’ve put all of your spiritual eggs in the one wrong basket?”

Wes Strickland reached behind his ear…to his calf…these small little bumps beginning to swell. Mosquitoes, he reassured himself…It has to be. Those pricks in the middle of his daze…they had to be bug bites…

“Steroids can do funny things if injected into the right pressure point…Remember the cortisol? Remember the prayer line? 1-800Forgive? I’m not sure that God has a problem with you anymore…but I’m afraid I do…”

He wasn’t sure he had called a prayer line? 1-800for…

“For untimely death mix 1 part mistress, 1 part leaky faucet, 1 part loose shower line and mix…let sit for 3 minutes and cool to taste…”

And all of a sudden his night was crystal clear…and he remembered the footsteps…the chloroform…

“One last thing, Mr. Strickland and I will leave you to the misery of your fat deposits…your cortisol…your polycythemia…don’t take a shower…even the best soap won’t clean up the mess I’ve left you…It’d be in your best interest to run and to never look back. Leave your wife a note and tell her you’ve made your own life miserable…don’t involve her in this. It’s for the better…If you don’t, I can promise it will catch up with you, Wesssss…”

Elizabeth Strickland woke to the shower running, the vivid crash of a glass mug against the floor and the smell of smoke…and her husband nowhere to be found…One day she’d find out how the dead woman had wound up in her bathroom, but it wouldn’t be through Sylvia’s message on the answering machine.

Wes had taken care of that.

He left one tear stained note that simply said, “I’m sorry, it’s best if you forget about me.” with his wedding band lying inconspicuously on top.

It wasn’t until weeks later that they found his car…and his body with abnormal fat deposits like tumors growing from his calf and bulging from his deformed, waterlogged face at the bottom of Cross Lake.

It was said Sylvia had a thing for reading the obituaries and keeping the tally marks of her success. She would paper mache the results on her wall as trophies. For Sylvia Clawson this wasn’t just a pleasure, it was a profession.

Later, her landlord would say that he had made every effort to ensure that his building had the most paper thin walls in the city. He would say that insulation was a luxury. That there was a reason that the A/C vents were always positioned just above the telephone jack. He would say that every once and a while from her apartment you would hear one, two, three…rings and a cough. Then, “1-800Forgive prayer line. What are you struggling with, sweetheart? Tell me all about it and I’ll pray for you, honey.” And by that time it was already too late.

FHH CH2(So Far)

Cautionary Tale: A bit unfiltered so far...Revisions are still forthcoming and it lacks a few important thoughts that will be added as the appropriate words come to me, I just need to post something to feel alive...so have at it. I hope maybe it's something you're not used to hearing.

Something Has to be Said for Love

I’ve gotten into a habit over the last few years of staying up late at night. There are a few things that I enjoy immensely about my late night experiences and not the least of these is the infomercials. I find it fun to watch products that will most likely brake with any extensive use, but you know that for the few easy payments, the magic food chopper will somehow change your life.

It’s interesting to think of God in the same context(payment plans and changed lives.)

One night I was on a late night kick and started watching the movie Spanglish about midway through. It’s always convenient that at that hour, you can guarantee that another showing of the movie you’re watching will come on directly afterwards. So knowing that I’d be able to watch the first of it directly after it was over without having to actually go to the movie rental store and rent it to watch the rest, I plunged myself in.

And I balled my eyes out.

There is a scene where the main characters divulge some pretty deep and sensitive secrets including an affair and just nasty, family breaking stuff. And God, like He always does seemed to nudge Himself into my personal space without really asking what I wanted. You know, typical God stuff.

I’m grateful though. Because what He spoke, I needed to hear. We’ll come back to that in just a moment.

You need to understand something about me. I don’t have a radical testimony about overcoming alcohol and smoking pot and doing a rock of cocaine every night. I’m not a sex maniac who has to worry about STD’s and getting a girl pregnant from sexual relationships. I’ve never stolen anything except a piece of candy from a gas station once when I was 9. I’ve never murdered and barely thought about it. I’ve lived a pretty sheltered life. That’s not to say I’m perfect and without sin. I’m nowhere near ready to cast any stones. Rest assured I do have issues and we’ll get into that later.

Part two of what you need to understand is that I’m an idealist to no end.

If I do something, I want to finish it. If I attend college I won’t be happy with just an Associates Degree, I need the Bachelors. I can’t rest with just beating a video game unless I’ve beaten it 100%. I have to read every word in, on the outside of and most of the time on the internet about a book before I’m able to put it down. It’s just how I work.

So where these two thoughts come together is, as a naïve new disciple of Christ yeas ago when explaining my ideal mate to God, I told Him that she needed to be beautiful and that she needed to be a virgin. I wanted her to be perfect like me (I say this completely sarcastic but still naïve). I kept thinking that in my quest to save myself for my wife that obviously she would have the same thoughts about me and that once we met the stars would align and the birds would sing and the road before us would turn into a vast beach for us to walk and talk for hours. I’ve come to grips since then that nothing really happens that way and not everything I desire will be given to me.

To save you the boring details of my whole uneventful dating life in the last few years, I want to tell you the story of one of my friends. My friend grew up in the ghetto. If you asked him what the Ten Commandments were he would laugh in your face. He did recognize Moses (because Moses is the name of his Rottweiler). This kid had a drug problem from an early age. He would drink like a fish and as a byproduct stayed planted in bed with girls a lot. Now he has grown up and found Christ and through a long chain of events found a girl that he was kind intrigued by. But she has saved herself for her husband and he hasn’t saved himself for anyone.

When she found out, she was devastated.

She’s an idealist like me. All or nothing.

He was left kind of just cleaning up the mess he made in his past. Through a lot of prayer and understanding and the love of God, she was able to see eye to eye with him and realize that it wasn’t something he did to hurt her, but it was a mistake that he made at an early age. They’re happy together to this day.

Why do I tell this story? Because I believe the God we serve is into this sort of thing, and let me tell you how.

There was a group of people once upon a time who was rescued. Let me even back up further so that you understand what exactly happened to them. This people received a promise from their lover, their friend, their father, that no matter what happened He would always look after them. He would always love them and He would always have their best interest in mind. This father, friend, lover, was incapable of anything but love towards these people because they were the apple of His eye.

These people made choices and similar to my friend, found themselves disoriented and “in bed” so to speak in places they knew they shouldn’t have gone to begin with. So they cried out for their lover to come back. Years went by in which He allowed, through agony His bride, His love to undergo slavery and pain, a natural byproduct of the choices they had made. This lover, friend, father, was able to rescue them, but allowed them the opportunity to let their choices speak for themselves. Something to the effect of two words that haunt me to this day: natural consequences.

My mom and dad are the poster parents for raising a Godly family. You hear the scripture all the time, “Spare the rod, spoil the child.” I’m here to tell you that my parents have laid their hands on me in discipline maybe 5 times in my life. I have my problems, obviously but my mom had this system figured out that would drive me nuts. At times I begged her to just hit me. She would call it natural consequences. The actions that I committed were always followed by equal consequences. I seem to remember some scientific theorem about that, but we won’t go into all of that right now. It works! If I did something stupid to get in trouble, my mom didn’t have to hit me, she allowed the natural consequence of my action to set in. If I did something to lose her trust, she wouldn’t trust me. It brings completely new meaning to, “This hurts me more than it hurts you.” I watched her toil through my mistakes. It made me see at an early age that my actions truly impact other people.

So this lover and my mother must have been in cahoots, because all through the story, you see Him allow the people that He loved suffer natural consequences. The pain must have been excrutiating for Him to look at the people that He was meant to be with walking away and even see them whipped and in chains. So the time arose for His dramatic rescue and it was dramatic! You can read about it in Exodus.

The thing that I really want to get at is much like the movie Spanglish and much like my friend, we as humans have the capacity to really botch stuff sometimes.

I think I remember reading something similar to this one time:

“So you really think you can love someone? You really think you’re capable of showing someone the love that has been bestowed on you by your Father? Try laying down your life for your neighbor. Try dying for the people who spit in your face. That’s true love.”

Okay so I might have exaggerated it a little bit, but I believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is exactly what the scripture is trying to say.

I don’t believe for one second that the children of Israel wandered in the deserts for all those years wandering around in circles because they didn’t love God. I believe it’s because they didn’t have the proper proportion of fear with their love. I’ve heard a lot of reference to the balance between fear and love, that being that love can’t be the only thing preached over and over again because we’re commanded to fear God.

I like to think that if we love God the way we’re supposed to that we will automatically fear God the way we’re supposed to. Maybe it’s naïve, but I think the love that God asks, also commands fear. What do I mean?

It comes back to Spanglish. I promised we’d come back.

In the movie, the wife was incapable of showing her husband the love that he deserved. But the husband, man can we learn a lot from him. After her admission to an affair and totally expecting to be forgotten and lost, the husband’s response is so redeeming and so indicative of a love that few people in the world will ever grasp(albeit, it’s arrived upon after long and heavy deliberation, but what else can you expect from a human, barely capable of loving.) He chooses to love her. I could use a lot of other words here, but here’s what I mean. The fear that is exemplified in this love is given with his choice to love. He has no idea whether or not she actually will break off this love affair. He has no idea whether she actually wants to be with him or is saving face for their children. He has no idea if the marriage is even savable, but he puts aside all of the fear driven human reactions to love her. To show her that no matter what she’s done that he is capable of loving her because she asked his forgiveness.

God does the same thing everyday. He extends His hand to us in spite of our continual ability to cast Him off to the side and have our affairs with things. It’s not that we don’t love Him, it’s that we don’t know how to love Him through our fears. It’s that we don’t know how to cast aside or indifferences with the human race. Think of it like this, besides God, what has every human relationship we’ve ever been in done to us? It has hurt us. It has abused us. It has taken instead of given. It has dragged us through the mud and expected more out of us than we can give.

It’s so easy to withdraw.

If humans are our example for relationships, how can we trust someone who doesn’t always feel there for us? How can we trust the “air” to hold us and to love us when we continually hurt Him?

Conversely, God is asking us to tip the scale. He’s asking us to flip the whole thing around and look at it from a new point of view. Instead of taking human relationships as the golden standard, He wants us to look at Him for how to love people. Unexpecting. Unconditional. Unrequited.

Love through fear. Love with an understanding of what it is to fear, but trust instead.

Jesus was all about that.

I think of a disciple who failed on an every day basis and Jesus was able to life Him up on an every day basis. Not in a false and pretentious human love, but in a love that said, “I care about you more than you realize, no matter how much I have to beat you over the head.”

He was there to hold out His hand when His brother, His friend was unable to walk on water and began to sink. He said I love you for trusting me.

He was definitely there even after His brother, His friend abandoned Him and said that he had never even associated with the man. He proved His continual willingness to love through the continual passion and pursuit of the heart of Peter.

Jesus was at the well when the Samaritan woman who had known love as sex truly needed Him. He was able to show the gentle path to salvation for a woman who was so used to being used for everything she could offer and nothing that anyone ever saw her for.

He was even showing love in the temple when he turned over the tables. This time to His Father who deserved better than thieves living in His home.

He exemplified His love a few times in His words and their worth reading again and applying again, “Greater love has no man than he who would lay down his life for his friends.” and, “Love your enemy, do good to those who mistreat you.”

The Spirit of the Stairway

Autumn came too fast this year
Winter whispers its cull in my ear
Singing all things are dead they are dead and they are mine

I find I’m awakened by
the ghosts in the night
singing louder and louder…

“break off the dead…
shake off the dead…and move on”

The old lake from the dock
boasts all winter long
of his solemn reprieve
from the times we believed
the summer nights would last forever…but those nights are gone

In the front room my old father’s chair
His haven, fallen in disrepair
but it’s withered the storm…I’ve withered the storm

Sitting on the old wooden swing
It tells the songs I used to sing
about you…about me…all the things I should have said

“break off the dead
shake off the dead…and move on”

the ruts in the dirt
no this shouldn’t hurt
you said oh I love you
but this can never work
and I jumped from the swing
to chase you down the street as you sped off and left me…you left me…

I’m left with my ghosts and you took the best of me…

M. Black Enters the Village

We'll sing welcome to the you stranger, we've prepared a place
where you can lay your weary head
Come sing fa la la la la and welcome to the new year
and think of all the tears we've shed
We've been fighting for honour and glory and power
we've been fighting all year long
and in the midst of it all we've lost all sight
of our joyous happy songs...
get out of here ghost...

Well I think it's time we got out of this town, and let's quit while we're ahead
I've seen enough movies to know this time tomorrow one of us will be dead
and it won't be me...it won't be me NO IT WON'T BE ME! get out of here ghost!

We've been kicking and screaming with bags over our heads
suffocating in your sweet lies
And the choir of angels in the church loft sing their choruses
and alibis
For the years we've lost in this little town,
all the days and the months can't compare
Let's gather around, gather around brothers
gather around town square...
we'll sing, "get out, get out, this fight is over. get out, get out, while there's still time!"

we've been fighting tooth and nail...tooth and nail to the end...to our bitter end

Pre Empty Nest Syndrome-Addendum I: If You Want Something In Life Reach Out and Grab It…So She Hugged Him

I’m watching the setting sun from a new viewpoint in a new manner of understanding. I’m realizing that my time in this season is coming short and coming short of my expectations. I look back at what I’ve written and I realize that not always do green lights point you to the exact path that you’ll follow. Sometimes there are cross roads and intersections. I’m cultivating new friendships and new gut wrenching realizations of my needs. There are people that I assumed that I would be close to that have filtered out of my life and the enthralled surprise of friendship that never would have presented itself in normal “me” situations. I’m coming to realize that the more and more I walk along this path and begin to find so called exits that I’m coming to a complete halt out of confusion and frustration. The notable thing though is that God does not spare me from confusion. I think it’s a call to His character. As I grow into Him and become more so His, He’s saying to me, you want me? You can have all of me. And it’s this statement that has brought me frustration. God doesn’t ask that we understand just His good side when we need something. He wants to show us His entirety. The problem is that not too many people are standing in line for that ride. I don’t think confusion or frustration, either one are attributes of God, but mystery is. Power and sovereignty is. My Pastor says all the time that everything in this life comes through the hands of a sovereign God. I think of hobos and hippies in bigger cities who ride the bus to the station at the end of the night because they have no place better to go. Am I willing to surrender my life so much to the point that I ride the bus because I have nothing better to do with it? Or is it because I want to see where it’s going and believe it’s a better means of arriving there? I think my fundamental breakdown is that in my head I refuse to see that everything is a God moment. It’s not that I do it intentionally; it’s that I have blinders on to so much potential in the world. I want the confusion of God. Not so that I can relish in the fact that I’m continually confused and not so that I can feel like I’m in some eternal waiting room, waiting for my opportunity to go in and see the big man. I want the confusion of God so that I can jump into the foray and fight for something that I might not understand, but will be beautiful. I think confusion and comprehension go hand in hand in God’s kingdom. I think to fully understand peace and experience it we have to fully go through the storm and experience it. Our mundane sunsets must look incredible to someone that’s healed from being blind. And our confusion and frustration look incredible from the outside looking in. There was a movie that changed a lot about how I looked at things. The main character told his girlfriend when he left that if she wanted something in the world she had to reach out and take it. So she hugged him. God is reaching down and saying if we want something we need to be responsible to take it. It’s important that I don’t forget that when I take it, I have to take all of it, not just the good, but the seemingly bad. And when I look back at the path I’ve walked, I can’t even see the beginning anymore. I can’t see the end, but I sure can’t see the beginning.