Amateur Hour

Moving On

2010-07-06T17:15:00.001-07:00

She left me for someone with more confidence and ambition than I thought I could ever have. I agonized for months over the loss of our relationship. I went to the gym, I volunteered myself for extra work at the office to start climbing the ladder. I managed to seek her out at a party a year later, and she took an immediate interest in me now that I had changed. But for the life of me I couldn’t remember what it was I found interesting about her in the first place.

From the Shadows Part 1: Awakening

2010-06-30T13:36:00.000-07:00

From the Shadows
By Adam Gurri

Part 1: Awakening

I

They had returned to the Saunders’ home in Sarah’s car. Mrs. Saunders had been riding shotgun, and the poor woman kept glancing back at her son, as though he might vanish if she were to take her eyes off of him. It was understandable given what they had been through, but to Sarah it seemed entirely unnecessary. Mark’s presence was, if anything, abnormally imposing. Even though she had dutifully kept her eyes on the road as she drove, and even though he hadn’t said a word, she could feel that he was there.

She tried to excuse herself when they finally arrived, but Mrs. Saunders wouldn’t hear of it. “I need you there, Sarah,” she pleaded, “I need someone to tell Arthur that I saw what I saw, and I’m not just going completely out of my mind.” Sarah felt awkward about the way that had been put—after all, Mark was right there to defend his mother’s sanity if called upon. Yet she knew that she couldn’t refuse. If she walked away without talking about it, she might begin to doubt her own sanity in time.

In the initial encounter with Mr. Saunders, she was not actually called upon to say anything at all. He was stunned by the altered appearance of his son, and the near-hysterics of his wife. As Mrs. Saunders grew more fretful and lengthy in her explanations, Mr. Saunders grew more overwhelmed and confused. Realizing that she was starting to sound like a crazy person, perhaps fearing that she was a crazy person, she grew more desperate to explain herself. Finally, Mr. Saunders brought an end to this dizzying cycle.

“Why don’t we all go in and sit down for a while,” he suggested. His tone was not sharp, but it was firm, and Mrs. Saunders fell silent. She looked so frightened and ashamed of her own behavior that it was painful for Sarah to see her. The poor woman had just been through too much for one evening.

As they all filed in, Sarah paused at the door. “You too, Sarah,” Mr. Saunders said with authority. Then, as an afterthought, added, “Please.” She sighed and resigned herself to the prolonging of the longest night of her life.

A silent agreement was made to avoid the subject so that people’s nerves might settle a bit. It was then that Sarah found she was called on to speak—but not of what happened. Mr. Saunders asked her about her family, about her studies, about her impending graduation—in short, about everything except what was on her mind. She did her best to answer his questions, but felt suffocated by Mrs. Saunders’ silent suffering, and Mark’s apparent withdrawal.

At her husband’s prompting, Mrs. Saunders made hot coco. The mundane and routine nature of this task seemed to bring her some much needed comfort. Mr. Saunders may have been entirely ignorant of the situation, but thirty years of marriage had taught him a great deal about what his wife needed when the pressure upon her had become more than she could bare. This small example of that touched Sarah; she had known them for most of her life and seeing them like this returned to her a sense of reality that had been missing for hours.

Once the coco was served, it was Mr. Saunders who introduced the topic. “Now, let’s take this very slowly,” he began, “What happened to you tonight? What happened to Mark?” Sarah looked to Mrs. Saunders, who was glancing back at her with uncertainty in her eyes.

“We were mugged,” Sarah replied, the words seeming small and insignificant as she spoke them, “we were mugged, and they shot Mark.”

“Shot?” he shouted, suddenly on his feet, “Where? Is he bleeding? Why didn’t you take him to a hospital?” Only now was it clear how fragile his calm had been, how desperately he had been fighting to maintain it.

“He was shot in the head, Arthur!” Mrs. Saunders suddenly snapped, “In his head! He’s not bleeding, he’s not wounded at all! But he wasn’t hurt, he was—” but even in this sudden burst of passion, she could not make herself finish that sentence.

“Murdered.”

A paralysis shot through the room like a bolt of lightening, and everyone froze. Mark had been staring off into space, and had not spoken a word since they had arrived. Despite discussing his condition, they had all but forgotten his presence. “That’s-what are you…this isn’t funny,” Mr. Saunders asserted without conviction, after struggling over what exactly to say.

“It may not be funny,” Mark said with grim confidence, “but it is true. I was not wounded. I was not harmed. I was murdered.”

“That’s insane,” Mr. Saunders murmured.

“It’s true,” Sarah told him quietly, “we both saw it happen. They shot him point-blank in the eye.”

“But…he looks, I mean, it wouldn’t—” poor Mr. Saunders had finally lost his composure entirely; he was feeling as lost as the rest of them.

“Let me explain,” Mark said more gently, as if asking their permission. “The three of us have some things that we all know happened tonight. We know that I was killed. We know that I didn’t die, but was…changed. Changed in more than just the way I look. I’m sorry that I haven’t said very much since then…I just…I think you both weren’t sure if you were sane after what you saw. Well, I lived it. I…wasn’t completely sure I hadn’t just lost it, either. I wanted to hear you both say it. I needed to hear you both say it. I’m sorry mom, I didn’t mean to scare you…” As he finished, a familiar warmth came into his voice. His mother turned and embraced him, as she had only hours earlier. He was no longer the stranger in the room. He was Mark again.

Pulling herself back enough to see his face, Mrs. Saunders held her son’s hand tightly as she buried him under a barrage of questions. “What happened? Did you see something? I heard you tell those people—”

“You shouldn’t worry about that,” he interrupted her quickly, “I was kind of…uh, I hate to say it—drunk on the moment, and said a lot of crazy things just because I liked the way they sounded in my head.”

“So you didn’t—”

“Not necessarily.”

“But what about—”

“Would someone,” Mr. Saunders asked in a low voice, “please tell me what the hell happened to my son?” Sarah was jarred out of the ongoing exchange. The fleeting lightness in the mood was crushed all at once by the very real presence of his anger.

“I’m sorry…” Mrs. Saunders muttered, her cheeks bright red.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, mom,” Mark sighed, “I’m the one who’s sorry. A lot of things happened tonight, dad. Most of it I don’t really understand…but I do know a lot more than mom or Sarah do. So I’ll give you what I’ve got…I can’t promise that it’ll explain much, or make any of this feel any more real. I’ll be perfectly honest, but you may feel like sending me to the nuthouse afterwards…”

“We may all need to be put away, afterwards,” his father replied curtly, and gave a long-suffering sigh. In the thoughtful silence that followed, Sarah decided to seize the moment.

“I think I should go,” she said, rising to her feet.

“Sarah…” Mrs. Saunders said softly, as if suddenly remembering that she had been the room all along.

“We’ve talked enough so that I’m pretty sure I’m not crazy,” Sarah explained, “and I’ve done what I could to help you feel the same way about yourselves. If Mark wants to tell me what he’s got to say, I’ll be glad to listen to him, but…right now I think he needs to be with his family.”

“Well, maybe…” Mrs. Saunders said uncertainly.

“Yes, you’re probably right,” Mr. Saunders agreed, emanating a respect that Sarah was not used to receiving from him, “thank you, Sarah. It really means a lot, all you’ve done.”

“Please stay.” Mark begged, and his sudden plea made her go stiff.

“I…shouldn’t,” she told him, “you should talk to your parents first and get a handle on this. You know I’ll be there for you…but right now I’d just get in the way. Family should come first.”

“There are only four people who witnessed my death,” Mark said quietly, avoiding everyone’s eyes, “two of those people don’t deserve to hear what I have to say. But…I want to share it with the other two. I just do. I’m being selfish about this. I’ve always been a selfish person.”

“She’s right Mark, let’s take this one step at a time,” Mr. Saunders piped up, “you can tell her when you are ready.” There was no response at first, and Sarah stood, wondering if she ought just to go. Mark stared at the ground, withdrawing into his own thoughts. The atmosphere of uneasiness, the sense that there was a stranger where Mark had been, once again descended upon the room.

“Mom thinks that Sarah wants to leave because she is afraid of me,” he said suddenly, “and it makes her sad, but she understands it. Understands it and hates it at the same time, because she’s a little afraid herself. Dad doesn’t want to let anyone outside the family in on too much before he’s confident with his own understanding of the situation. He wants to protect me. And Sarah…kind of knows that. She doesn’t want to seem like the kind of person who would take advantage her friend and his family just to satisfy her own curiosity. And she is very curious, but she is also very strong. She wants to do the right thing.” He met her eyes as he finished, and she felt her cheeks warm at his sudden attention and his high opinion of her.

“Can…can you read minds?” Mrs. Saunders asked breathlessly, no longer concerned with how crazy she sounded.

“Nothing as easy as that,” Mark sighed, “but I am…aware. Of something. I don’t understand what it is, but…I know that I shouldn’t know it. If that makes any sense. Anyway, that doesn’t matter. It can’t tell me much about what I just said. I said what I said because I have known all three of you for my entire life, but until just now I’ve been too much of an idiot to really try to understand you. I don’t need any magic power to tell me who you guys are. I know you.”

No one could think of anything to say in response to that. This wasn’t the silent stranger that had frightened them, but it wasn’t the old Mark either. It was the new Mark, the man who had hit rock bottom and come home, and dedicated every day to demonstrating how serious he was about turning his life around. The Mark who hated what he had been but wouldn’t let it make a slave of who he would become. The Mark who had been humbled, and knew it. Even before that fateful night, they had been adjusting to the dramatic changes in their son’s attitude and priorities.

“I want you to stay,” Mark said again, with conviction, “will you? It would mean a lot to me.”

“I just…I don’t know if I should,” Sarah replied lamely, looking to Mr. and Mrs. Saunders for help.

“Oh, sit down Sarah,” Mr. Saunders said lightly, “he’s right, you’re no stranger to our family. You don’t have to prove yourself to us.”

“I don’t know what to say…” she said, feeling out of breath.

“Who asked you to say anything?” Mark teased. His mouth moved into a smirk that was so familiar to her she could have cried. “You’re here to be my own, personal, captive audience, right? You don’t get to talk.”

“…jackass,” she replied by force of habit. She took her seat without another word. She felt much more comfortable resigning herself to her fate for the second time that night.

Mark gathered his thoughts, and they watched him expectantly. “We got a little lost trying to find Sarah’s car after the movie,” he began, “and when these two punks came out and started yelling at us to give them our money, I thought they were nuts. We were on the sidewalk, out in the open. I told them that they didn’t scare us, and then they pulled the guns. One of them stuck it right up in my face, right on my left eye. ‘Do we scare you now, you little shit?’ he said and spat on me. I didn’t really get a chance to say anything. I think he didn’t mean to do it, but the gun went off. It went off right in my face.”

II

When the gun went off, there was no pain. There wasn’t anything. Not even a feeling like something had changed. Suddenly I thought nothing, I felt nothing, and I was just there, taking up space. Then I heard a voice. “Do you want to feel?”

“Yes.” I just sort of said automatically.

“Even if it means feeling all of the pain?”

“Yes.” I didn’t think about it. I didn’t think.

“I don’t believe you.”

Then…nothing. No explanation.

I said, “What?” I tried to understand what had just happened, but it was like my mind was missing.

“You don’t really want to feel.” Slowly it occurred to me that he might be mocking me.

“Yes I do.”

“You don’t care about anything right now. How could you want something?”

“Look, I told you that I do.” I was starting to feel a little spark of anger against a sea of numbness, “I’m not lying.”

“You don’t know what you want.”

“Yes I do!”

“Yeah? Then tell me what it is. What do you want?” That shut me up. I was having a feeling, it’s true, but my mind still wasn’t really engaged. I had forgotten what we were arguing about—but only because I couldn’t remember anything. “That’s what I thought. You don’t really want anything at all. Have a fun eternity without feeling!”

“Shut up!” I shouted into the void, “Shut up you stupid smarmy prick! I know what I want!”

“Then just tell me what—”

“I WANT TO FEEL!” and then I did. All at once, I got everything back. But what I noticed first was the pain. It was like someone had been trying to cram their entire hand through my eye and into my head. I don’t remember screaming, but I remember finally stopping. The pain began to diminish into a throbbing headache that remained.

“Quite a set of lungs,” said the voice, which now came from a person that I could see standing on thin air a few feet in front of me. It was a man, not much older than me, wearing weird, bronze colored robes. I could tell that he was smaller than me, but he was lean and he was built. If I’d been stupid enough to pick a fight, he probably could have taken my head off.

“What’s going on?”

“Well, you passed the first test,” he told me, grinning with these perfectly white teeth, “congratulations!”

“First…test?”

“Most people don’t even get a first test,” he added unhelpfully, “I guess she hasn’t lost her touch entirely.”

“Who hasn’t lost…what…what the hell are you talking about?” I asked, feeling more than a little irritated.

“Easy now, you ought to be thanking me for going to all this trouble!” He told me tartly, “though I have to hand it to you. You managed to break free before too much damage was done. A little damage is of course unavoidable, maybe even preferable.”

“For the love of – what damage? Broke free of what?”

“Don’t worry about that,” he said, “but you’re not too bright, are you? You died, buddy. Remember?” It sounds weird, but I had forgotten. I remembered then, that I had been shot. That mom and Sarah had been left with those two men.

“I’m dead.” I was amazed by the thought.

“No time for nostalgia,” he said abruptly, “time to put all that behind you! You’ve got work to do, boy, if you want to help your old lady and the girl out.”

“What?”

“Man, you’re slow.” He gave an overly melodramatic sigh, “Lo, mortal, give cheer! The powers that be have decided to give you a chance to walk amongst the living again!”

“The powers that be?”

“Well, more like, some of the powers have stepped in to save you from some other powers that…look, I told you not to worry about all that,” he said, as if chiding a small child, “the point is, you have a chance to go back, but the next test won’t be as easy as the first one.”

I decided to ignore everything that was confusing me about the situation. “When does this test begin?”

“Immediately.”

I was on a hill. I don’t know if he took me there or if we’d been there the whole time, but I was aware of it for the first time right then. It was a brown, pebbled hill and I was only a few feet from the base of it.

“Climb this hill, and you may live again.” He told me, hovering several feet beyond the bottom of the hill.

“That’s it?”

“Well, there’s a catch…” he said with a grin, and suddenly I was holding a boulder. Had that been there for the entire time as well? There’s no way to know.

“I have to roll this boulder to the top of the hill to live again?” I asked to be sure I had understood the task.

“Nope.”

“No?”

“Nope. You have to climb the hill. And you can’t let the boulder fall.”

“How is that different from what I just said?”

“Oh, I think you’ll come to appreciate the difference.”

“And if I let the boulder fall, I stay dead.”

“If you let the boulder fall, I’ll take you back to where I found you,” he said with a sudden seriousness, “and you’ll fade into the shadows without ever knowing what became of your mother or the girl.” When he put it like that, it certainly sounded a lot worse than just staying dead.

“Well, I guess I’ll just…get right to it then,” I said, feeling kind of awkward. Isn’t that weird? I got shot in the face, plucked out of nothingness, and told I needed to push a boulder up a random hill, and all I could feel was awkward. I turned around and started rolling the damn thing up. It wasn’t easy, even in the beginning. I wasn’t any stronger than usual, and my head still hurt like a bitch. The boulder was easily half my weight, and about twice my size. It was pretty much a sphere, which meant it was both easy to move and hard to control. I was terrified of it at first, and rolled at an unsteady pace.

I wasn’t very organized about it, but it was better than what came next. See, after enough time had passed, I got it into my head that this wasn’t so bad. A hill? No problem! At the rate I was going, I could be back in the land of the living in no time. This silly test was probably some kind of formality, they’d already decided they wanted to bring me back. They just had to go through the procedures, you know, like a company or something. This was my interview for the law firm of God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit, or whatever. Piece of cake!

I got some momentum going, and started to pick up the pace. I couldn’t wait to see those asshole’s faces, when I came back after a bullet to the head! I started thinking about what I would do to them, how I would get the jump on them. I started thinking about how startled you guys would be, when I sprung back up. I thought up a bunch of funny routines I could go through, while you all watched with your jaws dropping to the ground. I thought of a lot of things, most of them involving me being the big comedian, or the big hero.

What I didn’t think about was what I was doing at that moment. I slipped on a smooth stone that was partially buried in the hill. I stumbled back a bit, and then my other foot sank into the ground in a particularly soft and muddy spot. I didn’t fall, but I didn’t have to. As I swung backwards, the boulder followed, knocking into me and tearing my foot from the ground. I pushed at it helplessly as it gained speed, and I began to really panic. It suddenly dawned on me that if I fucked this up, this was it. No second chances. Mom and Sarah could be killed, and all because I was too busy daydreaming to push a freaking boulder. I leaned with my shoulder and dug in my heels. I held on for dear life and pushed at the ground, begging the damn thing to stop. It was slowing, but I wasn’t sure that it would stop before we got to the bottom.

By some miracle, it did. Barely. Gasping for breath, my heart pounding in my chest, I suddenly realized that everything hurt. My feet had been horribly abused by the friction, and just about every muscle in my body screamed for mercy. But I didn’t care. I was scared, I was hurt, I was tired, but I was still in the game. “Well that was almost over before it began,” my companion remarked, making his presence known again for the first time since I had started climbing the hill.

“Just…lost my footing,” I said. It was a pretty lame thing to say, now that I think about it.

“Best not do that again, you might not be so lucky next time,” he said.

“Thanks,” I told him in that way that lets a person know they’re not being helpful.

“Well, get back to it, then,” he said with this smug grin on his face, “didn’t I mention that if you stop, I get to knock you off the hill?” I wanted to argue. I wanted to say “can you give me like five freaking minutes”, but I didn’t. It was pointless. I wasn’t setting the rules, and for all this guy cared I could just stay dead. I couldn’t give him an excuse, and I couldn’t screw up again like I just had. I started inching the boulder up, moving slowly because I wanted to be sure of where I was stepping and because I was exhausted. But I kept on moving.

The tracks from where my feet had dragged made me uneasy, so I maneuvered away from them. I inched the boulder forward a bit, tapped my foot down on the spot I intended to step on, and then moved forward. I noticed a lot that I hadn’t before; all the rocks in the ground, the dry dirt and the soft mud, even some patches of dead grass here and there. I took no chances; sometimes I wouldn’t move forward at all until I’d maneuvered to a spot that I felt comfortable walking over.

It felt like this went on for ages. To be honest, I don’t have a clue as to how long I was there or even if time exists in that god forsaken muckhole. Sometimes I felt like I was so close to the top, and then the ground would give and I would be fighting to keep my footing. I was never as reckless as I was during that first push, nor did I ever come as close to the edge. But I would lose a lot of ground on some days. Mostly, the bottom seemed comfortably far but the top seemed impossibly distant.

The guy who put me up to this popped over every once in a while, and he’d prance about easily on the air near me. “This hill isn’t just a random outcropping, you know,” he told me once.

“That’s great.” I really didn’t have much patience for the guy; he was annoying as hell considering what was at stake for me.

“This hill was made by you,” he continued.

“Is this the part where you tell me that the hill represents my life, or something,” I snorted, taking a close look at the ground as I edged forward a little further.

“Maybe,” he said quietly.

“Look, I’m a recovering alcoholic,” I told him, not really thinking that he would care, “I’ve been to about a billion AA meetings. Don’t get me wrong, they’ve been great for me, but…I get really sick of all the metaphors about slippery slopes, and digging your own grave, or getting set in your own grooves, or whatever. So spare me your little…”

Suddenly he was standing on the ground, next to the boulder. “Sick of metaphors, huh?” He said with an intensity he hadn’t shown until that point, “So sorry to inconvenience you, Mr. recovering-alcoholic-who-got-himself-shot, but this isn’t exactly what you’d call an abstraction.” He slammed his hand on the boulder, and it was all I could do to stay in one place.

“Stop it. I’m still going; you don’t have any reason to push me.” I told him angrily.

“When you look at the temperature on a thermometer, do you think ‘I’m so sick of this metaphor for how hot it is’?” He demanded, ignoring what I had said, “When someone tells you that the grass is green, do ask them to stop using that metaphor to describe what the color of the grass is? When the nurse tells you what your pulse is, do you think that’s just a metaphor for what’s going on in your veins?”

“What the hell are you getting at?” I demanded. I had had a lot of time to work on my posture; I was more likely to drag my feet than stumble backwards. But I was still nervous about it, and he wasn’t relenting.

“What I’m getting at,” he said curtly, pushing harder and forcing me back a bit, “is that if something reflects a reality, that doesn’t make it a metaphor. That just means that it responds to a situation, based on certain rules.”

“Who knew that death would be such an education for me,” was my snarky comeback.

“This hill is your life, Mark,” He went on, calling me by my name for the first time since I’d met him, “every time you make a mistake, it creates a flaw in it. Every bad habit you’ve ever had has been etched into it. Every failure you’ve ever lived, every time you’ve died a little on the inside because you knew you were too much of a chickenshit to do what you had to do…it altered the shape of this hill. This hill would be here even if I’d never shown it to you. So don’t worry. There’s no metaphor.” He released the boulder, and I stumbled forward a bit before steadying myself. “So you’ve only got every mistake you’ve ever made to hold you back, how hard can the rest of this test be, really?” He broke out into a huge grin again suddenly, “Have fun! Try not to get too nostalgic.” Once more I was alone.

What he had told me felt like the truth. I fond myself looking at the smooth stones the often clustered together and thinking of a particular binge of partying and drinking I had been on, or a girl I’d dated, or something.

He had told me not to get too nostalgic, so naturally that’s exactly what ended up happening. I relived everything. Just barely getting out of High School with a diploma. Moving up to Boston with Ken, neither one of us ever holding a job down for long. The constant parties, the blur of faces, and the miles of empty beer bottles. You could probably pile up all the empty cans and bottles I’d ever drunk out of, and make a hill twice as high as the one I was walking up. Sometimes I’d wake up with a bottle in my hands, the drink spilled all over myself and the floor, and I would just feel like shit. But Ken would always talk about how we were going to find jobs and make something of ourselves, and everything would seem alright.

I remembered the accident. I thought about it every single day after it happened, but rolling that boulder up that hill, I relived it. The crash, waking up to find that there was nothing wrong with me other than the usual hangover, but Ken…

I remembered coming home to you guys, how hard that had been. I hadn’t kept in touch much but you knew what I’d been doing. You weren’t blind. I felt so exposed and so stupid. I felt like I’d been born with two eyes but acted like a blind person for my entire life. You were disappointed, so disappointed, but you were there for me. And this time, I would change. It wasn’t a matter of what I wanted anymore. It was a matter of what I would do about it.

I think my little tour down memory lane was what did it. What made me decide I had to finish that test, and that I had to come back to you. If Ken could have come back, maybe he could have turned his life around like I have had to. Maybe he could have gone back to his family, and been the son that they deserved. Ken didn’t get that chance. I did. And I didn’t want to throw it away at that moment, any more than when I first started going to those damned AA meetings, or working that construction job, or taking the handful of classes at the community college downtown. I had a chance to get my life back, just like I’d had a chance to turn it around when I was still alive. I was no longer the kind of loser who let chances like that pass him by. I refused to be.

It didn’t seem so bad after that. I don’t know, before I had been careful because I was terrified of failing. Afterwards, I felt like every step forward I could take would be worth it, because passing the test was worth it. I couldn’t know for sure that that lunatic would keep his word to me, but I had no other choice but to trust him. His word was all I had to go on in that strange world of the dead.

This is going to sound kind of tacky, but to me it stopped feeling like a test and started feeling kind of like a quest. Like, my big adventure to the top of the hill of life! Ok, I know that sounds really lame when you say it out loud, but I took what I could get. I needed to cling to little things like that to keep me going. It felt like years went by, and I would have just gone insane if I hadn’t believed with all my heart that it was worth it. I didn’t eat, I didn’t drink, I was exhausted but I didn’t sleep. All I did was push that damned boulder an inch at a time, knowing that one wrong step could screw everything up at any moment.

In fact, the footing was getting worse the further up I went. The rocks were getting larger, smoother, and more frequent, and the earth around them was getting more consistently muddy and slippery. The higher I went, the slower I had to go…it felt like forever. If I had let myself feel depressed or lost hope, that would have been it. Instead, I focused on the sheer tediousness of it, and it kept me from being able to think about anything else most of the time.

Then one day I was certain I had the top in sight. With the dangerous footing it would take a long time to actually get there, but I was encouraged by how close it seemed.

Then that bastard showed up again. I clenched my teeth as he sat himself atop the boulder. “Move,” I told him without thinking.

“Ok,” he said, and leapt off, landing behind it. It seemed strangely easy, I had expected him to be difficult. “I’m going to knock you off the hill now,” he told me conversationally. I didn’t have time to say anything. I felt the force of his blow from the other side of the boulder; it nearly knocked me clear over. I hugged the sides of it as tight as I could, and controlled the fall as best I could. I began taking successively slower steps backwards, forcing the boulder to slow until I regained control of it. “Very nice,” he said, suddenly next to me, “but not good enough.” This time he hit the boulder sideways so I only had one hand against it as it began its descent. I had to run; I turned my back against it and dug my heels in. Once again, I managed to make it stop.

Now, he was facing me from the other side. “You’ve really got this down,” he complimented me, “too bad it’s all going to be for nothing.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I growled, not moving.

“You seem to have stopped, I told you I could throw you off the hill if you did that,” he pointed out. I turned my back to him and started rolling up the hill again. I waited for his next attack. To my surprise, he began to walk next to me. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll hit you if you turn your back to me?” He asked.

“Of course I am!” I shouted, “But I’m not going to give up. I don’t really understand the game you’re playing, but if I lose it, it will be because you’re an arbitrary asshole, not because I’m a quitter.”

“Life is arbitrary,” he said simply, “or maybe death is. In any case, what makes you think I’ll ever let you reach the top? Or if you do, by some miracle, what makes you think I can even bring you back to life?”
“I…don’t,” I admitted, “I don’t know any of that, really. But I can’t think about that right now. What good will it do me? If I’m dead for good, there’s nothing I can do about it. But if I can do something about it, and you get in my way, then I will just have to go through you.”

“Is that a fact?” He asked with obvious amusement. “I guess she really hasn’t lost her touch, then. But just in case…” and then he sprang into the air, reared back his leg, and kicked the boulder with a force that dwarfed the blows he had landed earlier. He gave me a wink and I was alone. The boulder went a ways. I’m lucky he kicked it to the side rather than downwards, but getting to it in time seemed impossible.

In any case I didn’t have any time to think. I ran, the speed dizzying and unfamiliar after so long a time moving at a snail’s pace. I ran faster than I thought possible. Suddenly it seemed I could do the impossible—I could make it there before the boulder passed me! I could head it off!

That was when I realized how very close to the bottom I already was. I didn’t have time for my little digging in the heels routine, it just wouldn’t be good enough. So I grabbed it, I dug in my heels, and then…I got down on my knees, my chest up against the boulder. I concentrated my whole weight into the ground as best I could, and I just…prayed that it would make the difference. As it came to a stop, the boulder rolled up…pushing me back, going over my knees. It came down on top of me with a crushing force, and suddenly I was falling backwards, gripping the rounded thing awkwardly, feeling like it could all go so wrong so easily.

I stopped. It wasn’t even close to the bottom—well, not as close as the first time, anyway, I had been miles from it a few seconds ago, and then I was only a few feet from it—but it was a big enough margin for me. Only problem was, I was crushed underneath the damn boulder and if I moved even a little bit, it was going to slip.

“Having a little nap?” he asked suddenly.

“You wish,” I shot back. I knew I couldn’t stay still for very long, or he’d use it as an excuse to knock me off the hill. Not that he seemed to need an excuse anymore. But all logic was lost to me; I devoted myself to getting back on my feet with a kind of obsessive fanaticism. Even though I felt the pain of a thousand broken bones, I found that I could move around just fine. Death is funny like that, I guess. I sat up very slowly, so the boulder would move along my body in the direction that I wanted it to. It hurt like hell. Especially as it went over my legs. But I did it. And I stood up, and I started to roll the damn thing all over again. I couldn’t help but turn to give him a bit of a smirk.

And then it was over.

I wasn’t on the hill anymore. He was holding me in the air, high above a pond. “Is this…the top of the hill?” I asked him, starting to feel delirious.

“There is no top of the hill,” he said in a sympathetic tone, “this is your reward. You passed the test, Mark. That makes you one of two people in the history of humanity to ever do that.”

“Oh…” I think I must have gone limp; it was the first time in what seemed like forever that I’d been able to relax.

“Take it easy, you’ve earned it,” he told me sincerely, “but I’m afraid I won’t be able to give you very long. We need to finish this up quickly, before someone notices you’re here.”

“Am I going to get to go back? Is it too late to help them?” I asked.

“You’ll get to go back,” he said, “but I need you to listen to me very closely. The water in this pond heals all earthly wounds. Your body has been at the bottom ever since the moment you were shot. All of the physical damage done by the bullet has been erased, but…”

“but what?”

“You were touched by something, remember?” He said slowly, “it’s the reason you were in the state I found you in. In the shadows, there is no sensation, no emotions, no desire.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to. Just know that you were touched by something, and it left its mark on your body. I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do about it,” he sounded so honestly apologetic about it, but I really didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. “I’m going to drop you now. You’ll fall into your body, and then…well, that’s where things get interesting, isn’t it?” He grinned at me with mischief in his eyes, and let go.

I fell, face-first. I went down much faster than I would have, if I’d been sinking in regular water. I only got a glimpse of my face before I crashed into my body, but it was all I needed. The mark that he had spoken of. It couldn’t have been from the bullet, it was just too…neat. Two thin little scars, more like knife-wounds than anything, making a perfect X over my left eye. The eye itself, without any color or a pupil. Yeah, I could see the physical mark that death had left on my face, but I had no idea just how much I would change.

III

I was there again, standing before them. I have no idea how this must have looked to you guys; if I fell to the ground and then suddenly was standing up. If I stood up slowly and turned to look at them. All I remember is being there, on my feet, facing them. They had intended to kill you both to make sure you never described them to a cop or something. I knew that, and I didn’t know how I knew it. I could reach out and scrape the knowledge, like a shadow of the truth grinning at me from a wall. I didn’t give them time to be surprised.

I hit the guy who had shot me in the gut, with a strength I had never known before. I didn’t want to take him out yet. I wanted to save him. He was winded, and crumpled over. The other guy pulled a gun, but he was too slow. I grabbed the gun and crushed it. Crushed it. With my hand. That wasn’t the only weapon on him. Something that I guessed was a knife was in his right pocket. I reached in and pulled it out before he could even piss himself. It was a switchblade. I raised up an elbow, and slammed into the side of his head, knocking him to the ground.

“Is this the mark?” I asked no one, “Is this the mark of death, or the reward for passing the test? Is there any end to this power?” The guy who had shot me was recovering, but I was there before he could blink. I pocketed the knife from his friend, and looked down on the man who had been my murderer. He looked up at me, his gun on the ground a few feet from his grasp, and he turned and ran.

I passed him, but went far enough so that he’d have time to build up some momentum. I reared back and hit him with my right, and I’m not ashamed to admit I took satisfaction in the way his body jerked back, and he crashed to the ground. His friend was just pulling himself to his feet. “Don’t you move a muscle. Don’t even crawl,” I told him. I didn’t shout. But he heard me.

“What…what the fuck are you,” said the little thing on the ground that had put a bullet in my brain.

“What am I?” I really didn’t know, to be honest. I was on such a rush at that moment, and so much had happened to me, I just kind of lost it. “Maybe I’m a zombie! Maybe I’m a God!” I laughed a lot at both of those, and I got really carried away. “Or maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m the drunk you happened to run into after he had taken the time to see a movie with his mother and his neighbor. Maybe you killed me dead, little man, and I made a pact with Lucifer himself so that I could come back and take you to him myself. Maybe I sealed the deal with my left eye, hahahahaha!”

There seemed like no end to the power. I realized that that was probably only because I had only had it for about a minute, but I didn’t care. It felt infinite. It felt immense. I could have killed them in an instant, or I could have tortured them for days without even disarming them, and they would never have had the speed or the stopping power to do any damage to me. I could have crushed them like insects.

And all of a sudden, the buzz was gone. I didn’t want to kill anyone. I realized how easy it would be, and it suddenly didn’t seem cool. It seemed terrifying. This power…it’s awful. I can beat anyone, and I know things…I shouldn’t be able to know. But it comes at a price. It’s like…it’s like a drug. If I don’t know what I’m doing, I could lose control. I had pretty much lost control, if only for a moment.

“Listen to me,” I said quietly, “there is nowhere on this earth that you two can hide from me. Especially you,” and I looked down at the one who had murdered me, “so you just march down to the police station and confess everything you’ve done up until now. Ok? Just tell them you’re doing it to change your wicked ways. And be sure to produce plenty of evidence, so they don’t think you’re just high or something. I’ll know if you don’t do this, so don’t even try to scurry and hide. If you haven’t gone by the time I escort these two ladies home, I will find you and I will kill you. And I won’t be quick about it.”

They sat there, without moving, for just a moment. I could see their shadows twitching and fluctuating in the directions they wanted to go. I had already decided that if they made a move against me or against mom and Sarah, I would kill them. I didn’t think they would do that, though. They didn’t. They did exactly what I told them. Maybe they believed my little bit about making a pact with Lucifer and all that. In any case, they weren’t stupid enough to test me.

As they left, I wondered if I would ever be free of that hill. Was that grinning bastard, and whoever sent him, watching me even then? Were they judging every decision that I made? I wondered if I would be stuck like I was, struggling to get by every day of my life without letting this strange power drive me insane. The speed and the strength were one thing, but my eye…it’s true that it’s gone blind, but it sees so much now. A whole world that I didn’t know existed. A terrible world of truth, devoid of any meaning. More than anything I feared this mark left from the icy fingers of death that I had felt trying to worm their way into the back of my head. Was I even human any more?

And then mom was there, and she was hugging me. She was crying, and she was hugging me. Sarah was there too, looking concerned and more than a little scared.

IV

“So I don't really know what happened to me tonight,” Mark said as his story came to an end, “it was something terrifying, something impossible. All I know for sure is that I was killed, I came back, and I'm different now. I don't know how this happened. I don't even know if I'm human anymore.”

“Don't say that!” Mrs. Saunders exclaimed in a hushed voice that was almost a whisper, worry plain in her tone and on her face. No one else said anything. Mark had seemed distant as he recounted the events, drawn into the memories of a night that to him had seem to last for years. Though he had finished, he still seemed far away. Mark's father had a guarded look; Sarah had seen that look on him many times. Mr. Saunders was in general a very private person; Sarah had seen the same expressionless look on his face whenever he had something of significance on his mind, either very good or very bad. She had once told Mark that his father would make a truly formidable poker player, if he were social enough to play it.

The silence that filled the room was oppressive. Again Sarah found herself completely unsure of what to do next. Mark had finished telling his story, but seemed once again to have wtihdrawn inside of himself, unaware of his surroundings. Mrs. Saunders seemed too upset to say anything. Sarah was about to try and excuse herself again when Mr. Saunders finally spoke.

“Mark, how would you like to go back to College?” he asked. All eyes were suddenly on him.

“What?” Mark asked, finally snapping back to reality.

“I know we told you that we wouldn’t foot the bill after you dropped out,” he continued, “but it’s become increasingly clear to me that you really have done a lot of growing up since you came back. What do you say?” All eyes turned to Mark, who seemed completely baffled by the sudden change in topic.

“Well...I mean, how would I do it?” he asked, “I haven’t been in years. Would they accept me?”

“We can figure out the details,” Mr. Saunders replied easily, “you’ll get in somewhere. If you have to go to community college for a couple of semesters and then transfer somewhere, so be it. But do you want to do it?”

A beat. “Yes,” Mark said finally, “yes. Yes. Yes! I do!” A grin spread across his face as his excitement rose. Mr. Saunders stood up, walked over and slapped his son on the shoulder.

“Fantastic,” he said, “why don’t we all get some rest. We can start talking about our first steps tomorrow. For now I think we all could benefit from a little sleep.”

“I hear that,” Sarah said, feeling a smile come on in spite of herself. Mr. Saunders had somehow managed to turn the grim mood in the room completely around. A little sniffle next to her caught her attention, and she suddenly realized that Mrs. Saunders was crying.

“Oh, Helen!” Mr. Saunders said, realizing it himself and embracing her.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out meekly.

“I’m the one who’s sorry, Helen,” Mr. Saunders said, “you’ve been through a lot tonight, we all have.”

“Don’t worry mom,” Mark said, taking her by the hand, “I’m here now, and this whole mess is over, for now.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” she said, wiping away tears and pulling herself together, “I just need a moment.”

“I think I’d better get going for real this time,” Sarah said softly.

“Yes, as Arthur said I think we all had best get to bed,” Mrs. Saunders agreed, “thank you for your support Sarah.”

“Yes, thank you Sarah,” Mr. Saunders said earnestly, “did you drive or do you need a ride home?”

“No, I drove,” she replied. She wished them a good night, and made her way out. Mark shot her a grateful look as she left. So ended what felt like the longest night of her life.

V

Alvin stared in disbelief at Ben’s unmoving body sprawled on the floor before him. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. It’s true that he’d come because he was pissed, but he’d only meant to chew his friend out--not kill him! Not thinking, Alvin turned and ran out the door as fast as he could.

As he ran mindlessly into the night, he tried to piece together just what the hell had happened.

The two of them had gone for a walk in the woods that afternoon. Well, actually, they had snuck into the woods so they could drink beer far from the prying eyes of their parents. Alvin’s dad always kept the fridge stocked, and if a few Coronas went missing he’d probably assume he drank them himself.

Neither of them had ever really done anything like it before, and Ben had been really fired up about it. He was racing ahead of Alvin, and it was all Alvin could do to keep up with him. Ben had always been the more athletic of the two of them; he’d done everything from Soccer to Football to Lacross since they were little grade-schoolers. Alvin had not. As he raced to catch up to his friend, his foot caught on a tree root. He tumbled over, and fell flat on his face.

He stayed there for maybe a minute, feeling dizzy and out of breath, before he felt a sharp pain in his left hand. He just had enough time to see the snake before his world went dark.

Then...what? Nothing that made sense. Nothingness, then a voice. A grinning old woman who pulled him out somehow. Waking up and finding the dead diamondback in his hand. And...his hand was...

Alvin stopped running for a moment, realizing he had no idea where he was. His left hand was throbbing, though not painfully. He lifted it up for a closer look. It still looked the way it had when he woke up--thick, jet black lines that looked as though they had been carved all over his palm and the back of his hand.

When Alvin had woken up, gripping the dead snake in his altered hand, he realized that night had fallen while he was out. He also realized that he was still in the forest--meaning that Ben had left him for dead and hadn’t even bothered to have anyone come back for his body. This upset Alvin, just a little.

He went straight to Ben’s house to confront him about it. Ben was visibly shaken to see him there, which just made Alvin angrier. He felt so angry. He grabbed Ben by the collar and started yelling at him. Ben had stammered incoherently, which just pissed Alvin off even more. He wanted to wring his former friends’ neck!

And then something had happened, and Ben had dropped to the floor. Alvin had no doubt in his mind that he was dead, though he hadn’t bothered to check. He just knew. And it had something to do with what had happened to him.

None of it made any sense!

And what was more, Alvin had run for who knows how many miles to get wherever he was.

It occurred to him that he wasn't nearly as out of breath as he should be.

The Hunt

2010-06-30T07:13:00.000-07:00

When a group of people decide to put the investment into creating a city, location is one of the most important factors to take into consideration. You’ve got to find the right foundation for your future homes and offices, the right ground for your citizens to walk over. You’ve got to find some place sturdy, preferably flat, though hills work almost as well if they are solid enough. You do not want marshlands, or wetlands, or a frozen wasteland.

Most of all, you do not want a swamp. Swamps are full of dangerous animals and diseases, and create soft, infertile soil that does not create what one would characterize as ideal living quarters.

There are only two conditions that cause a person to believe that building a city over a swamp would be a good idea. The first is the condition of being insane. The second is the condition of being in Florida. The differences between these conditions are subtle, if such differences exist at all.

Still, even if you were a manic citizen of Florida bent on building cities in the worst possible locations, you could pave a nice foundation if you had the money. The wealthy districts and the tourist districts all had nice homes, with clean water and a million-dollar-per-brick guarantee of sturdy grounding.

If there was one thing that could be said about the Punto Diez, a small diner on the outskirts of the city, it certainly was not that it was a wealthy district. It could not even be claimed to be a frequent tourist rest stop. Of course, being Florida, it could not entirely avoid a tourist every now and then. Generally, however, the local regulars could make themselves unwelcoming enough to keep most who came in the hopes of a Kodak moment out of the diner. This was often unnecessary; the building itself looked run-down enough on the outside and seedy enough on the side to keep most strangers away.

Everyone in the little diner knew everyone else’s name, where they worked or went to school, and who their families were. Seedy though it appeared, it bore no difference from most small-town diners except for one important distinction: the swamp. On the fringes of civilization, the Punto Diez’s architects had not been quite as thorough in meeting their safety regulations when designing the place as they could have been. They took their money and left a poorly structured building at best to fend against the fierce oppression of the swamplands.

As a result, no chances could be taken. All water had to be boiled, and perishable food was delivered at the beginning of each week, to avoid keeping it in the presence of the swamp for too long.

Still, they succeeded admirably in overcoming their difficulties. They had a strong enough local client base to be able to afford to take extra measures. Their customers did not complain about the prices that far exceeded the quality of their meals; they understood that the Punto Diez was a place that had special needs, and those needs were a constant consumer of profits. In the end, the Punto Diez was simply a place for people to meet, get some caffeine, maybe an egg, and relax. It straddled the thin line between being a diner and simply being a mess hall.

To say that Edward was new would be misleading. He had been coming to the Punto Diez since he was a small child; he could not remember a time without it. It was only recently that he had begun waiting tables there. Things moved slowly in the lazy diner, and only one waiter was really necessary. His predecessor had trained him with retirement in mind, having served almost a lifetime.

Though Edward had ambitions, and sought means for further education, his family had little money, and many expected that a steady income would bind him from pursuing his ambitions. They saw it all the time; the old waiter retired at an elderly age, and hired a young boy or girl. The young waiter or waitress did not plan to stay long, but ended up unable to gather the means to leave. Until the day came when they, at an old age, would pass the baton to a representative from the next generation.

Edward was certainly intelligent enough to expect a decent education, but his background and financial situation were no different than his predecessors, and the local folk had no reason to believe that he would fare any better.

These things were not currently troubling him, nor was the task at hand of dealing with the customers on his mind. Business was normally slow enough for him to daydream, and on that day, he could not help himself.

“Excuse me,” She said to him, “but I think we’re a little lost.”

He sighed to himself. That woman, he thought dreamily. She had been a tourist, but to have strayed so far out from the safe bounds of the city seemed against the odds. He found himself speculating about destiny.

“Wow,” he commented, half in awe of her beauty, half in awe of her astonishing lack of a sense of direction, “I think you’re more than just a little lost”.

The girls he had grown up with were nice enough, and they certainly were not lacking in appearance. His father had assured him for his entire life that there existed no beauty on Earth greater than the Latina woman. He had never doubted this, but then, he had never really met anyone other than Latina women. Until…

He noted how pale she was, how brightly her green eyes sparkled, and how tense her jaw clenched shut. It was clear that being lost in so seedy an area was making her nervous, though she did an admirable job of hiding it when she spoke. His light-hearted teasing caused her to relax a little. “Yeah, this is my first time driving here. I mean, I’ve been before, but never been the one driving” she sounded almost apologetic.

“Oye, Eduardo!” called a middle-aged customer suddenly, “Pay attention to your customers, mijo! There’s a stranger there who has been waiting for quite a while!” That was the way things worked in the Punto Diez; the regular customers were as much a part of the management as any of Edward’s actual bosses. They had all known his family for generations, and they had watched him grow up. As such, everyone older than him felt somewhat responsible for his well being. It was like having an entire town of parents, or uncles. Edward sometimes wondered whether everyone in Florida wasn’t related to him, somehow.

But what they had said was odd. He looked over and saw, sitting alone, a rather large man he had never seen before. This would be the first time he dealt with a customer from outside of their little community. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed his pencil and pad of paper and approached the stranger.

“Hello, welcome to the Punto Diez,” Edward said, speaking English without any discernable accent, “would you like a drink to start with or are you ready to order?” The stranger did not reply immediately.

He had his hands palm-down on the table, curled slightly so that the tips of his fingers weren’t visible. He wore black gloves that ended before the joints of the fingers, with holes for his knuckles, as well. He had massively large hair, though it did not fall far below his shoulders, instead, it had a great volume around his head. That, along with his large, untrimmed black beard, gave him the appearance of having almost a lion’s mane. Edward couldn’t see his eyes. When the man opened his mouth to talk, he revealed four very prominent canines. “I don’t want anything on your menu. I want information.” He said in a low voice.

“Information?” Edward was completely taken aback by this response, “I’m sorry, sir, you must be in the wrong place. Nothing ever goes on around here that’s worth talking about.”

“You are worth talking to,” the man insisted, “you will know what it is that I’m looking for.”

“How can you be so certain?” Edward asked, growing increasingly nervous in the presence of this strange manner of man, “You have never even seen me before, and it’s not as though you could have heard of me from reputation. I have none. So how do you know that I’ll be of any help to you?”

The man took a sharp intake of breath through his nose. “I know,” he said simply.

“Well, I am afraid that I have other customers to attend to, so I cannot talk to you right now,” Edward said immediately.

“I’ll wait. Get me some tea.”

“We do not serve tea.”

“Then boil me some water to drink.”

“Will that be all?” Edward really wanted this strange man to go away. Even in the presence of familiar faces, he did not feel safe from him. The man nodded, never so much as glancing at Edward. The young waiter hurried to the kitchen.

Night came, and the man had not left. Soon, it was closing time, and, with the exception of the old cook in the kitchen who was cleaning up, only the man and Edward remained. Once he was sure that it would only be them, the man gestured for Edward to take a seat. “You know something that I need you to tell me,” the man said immediately.

“Who are you?” Edward asked, exasperated and on edge. There was a moment’s silence.

“You may call me Stray.” The once nameless man replied contemplatively. Edward stared at him. Stray’s eyes were hidden in the shadow of his hair, and it did not help matters any that the sun was getting lower in the horizon.

“Well, Mister…Stray,” Edward said politely, “what is it that you think I can help you with?”

“I think nothing,” snorted the unkempt man, “I know that you have seen her, and I wish to know where she is.” Edward blinked.

“Forgive me, but…who is this that you speak of?”

“Don’t be a fool, boy. You know who I refer to.”

“But…how could…”

“Do not ask questions. You will be rewarded if you cooperate, but I will get this out of you, one way or another.” Stray interrupted.

“But you can’t possibly expect—” Edward was cut off when Stray’s fist, moving with blurring speed, came down upon the table between them. The table, a solid fiberglass make, split apart and crashed into several pieces. Edward reacted instantly by jumping out of his seat in shock. The cook ran out from the kitchen, shouting and demanding to know what had made the noise. Edward, thinking better of ratting on the larger man, assured his superior that the table had simply been rickety, and had broken accidentally. After some persuasion, the cook returned to the kitchen, swearing in full voice.

“Understand this,” Stray explained in a quiet, menacing tone, “I have searched far and wide for the girl without wings, and I will stop at nothing to find her. I do not wish to cause you harm, but I will break you without hesitation if you get between me and what I desire.”

“We had better talk outside,” Edward said quietly, “I don’t need you causing any more trouble for me here.” Stray did not protest. He stood up, towering over a head taller than Edward. Yet Edward noted that he did not appear to be all that muscular. But then, the long dark green trenchcoat concealed most of his body.

Edward led the way outside, and then immediately turned to face him. “Look, I think that you must be insane, and I must be even more insane to still be talking to you,” he stuttered, “but—how do you know about this girl? And why is she so important to you?”

“I thought we agreed that there would be no questions.” Stray retorted.

“We never agreed to anything! And if you want me to help you, you’re going to tell me what this is about. I don’t care if you hurt me, I’m not going to let just anyone find her unless I think there’s a good reason for it!” Edward shouted, breathing heavily. For the first time, Stray looked him in the eyes. Edward was immediately startled by the unkempt man’s appearance—his right eye was a deep blue, but his left eye was a light green. These dual colors assessed the young waiter with a burning intensity for what felt like an eternity before the strange man bowed his head, and the eyes retreated under the shadow of his hair once more.

“I will let that outburst pass, as it is clear from you passion that you actually saw…her…saw…” he trailed off, as if talking on a subject too sacred for him to tread on.

“Who? What is her name? Why is she so important?” Edward pressed, a little more gently.

“Her name is…or was…Rosetta,” Stray said hesitantly, “and she is the most beautiful of all creatures that walks this degenerate world of man.”

“If she is who I think she is, I would not feel the need to disagree,” the younger man mused, “so how well do you know her?”

“I know of her.”

“You expect me to send a complete stranger after her?” Edward asked in disbelief. Stray emitted a low noise that could only be called a growl.

“You begin to frustrate me, boy,” he snapped, “how well we know one another s none of your concern. I seek only to see her, and I have come too far to be turned away by the likes of you!”

“Please, señor, calm yourself,” Edward said quickly, “I simply want to make sure that I am not sending a criminal or murderer after the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon.”

“I…” Stray said, slowly, “…am not a criminal. But I am not much better.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Edward asked, eyeing the older man’s long, pointed nails which gleamed in the dim moonlight.

“There are many things in this world that you do not understand, boy,” the unkempt man retorted, “and I will not waste my time explaining personal matters to deaf ears.”

“Don’t you write me off!” Edward said angrily, “In my life here, I have known many stranger things than you could ever dream of! I have heard that the owners of this place, dating back over a hundred years, still reside here even in death. I know this, because my family and friends have seen them on many a dark night, and it is common knowledge in our town who they are. I have seen men die in the jaws of a crocodile, and them found them alive and well, the next morning, as though they had never met with any trouble at all. Once a year, for every year that I have been alive, I have been blessed with many gifts from God’s saints. My mother has continued to give me strength and comfort me, even though she’s—” he stopped, his throat tightening, and attempted to control himself. Fighting back the hot water that threatened to flood from his eyes, he clenched his fists and said defiantly, “so don’t you pretend that you know what I will and will not believe. Because you don’t know anything. Nothing at all.”

There was a long and terrible silence. Stray did not convey any outward reaction to this outburst, and Edward stared on, his eyes challenging the older man.

“Very well,” Stray replied, “but be warned; I do not care whether or not you believe what I am about to tell you. Once I have finished, you will tell me what I want to know. I am no crocodile, boy; if you betray me, you will not be found alive and well tomorrow morning.” Edward lost his outward coolness and smiled expectantly. He could not help but be excited. This entire ordeal was new to his life, and he stood, ready to absorb the strange man’s every word.

“I was once a lowly and common thug, in a city far away. My city was not built upon poisonous waters as this one is, but it had its own poisons flowing through it none the less. I made my living doing the dirty deeds of others, and it paid well.”

“But I was an ambitious man, and I could never be satisfied as an underling. Slowly, I accumulated power through alliances and illegal trading. It was not long before I was at the head of my own organization, set up solely for the purpose of expanding my influence.”

“I was an aggressive leader, and demanded nothing short of supremacy within my own realm. My men were constantly slaughtering our competitors. This did not weigh heavily upon my conscience, however, as to me, it seemed nothing more than one group of criminals slaying another group.”

“We were a rapidly growing syndicate, and, at the height of my reign, the largest and most powerful there was.”

“It was on the day I ordered the subjugation of one final group that the course of my life was drastically altered.”

“I had no sooner issued the order for violent action than…than…”

“Than…It…appeared to me.”

“I cannot begin to describe It to you. All I can do is describe the knowledge one has, when in Its presence, that It exists—exists in a way that you and I do not, exists in a more solid, more absolute sense.”

“It spoke—and yet, it had no voice. In my blindness, I attempted to slay it, but before I could so much as move, It had changed everything.”

“I was in a new place, a home, dropped straight into the middle of a family’s life. And yet, I was not there at all. I had no sense of myself—all I knew was this family. All I knew was their warmth, their joy. This was a life that I was completely foreign to. Yet, It molded me into the air they breathed, the blood that pumped through their hearts, the tenderness they shared.”

“I remained in this state for many days. With each day, I grew more in love with father, mother, and little daughter. Without shame, I say that I have never loved any creature as I loved hem, though they were unaware of my presence.”

“But It had not brought me there to keep me there forever. I did not know Its purpose until it was too late. The days I spent with them were held within some unknown window of the past that It had hurled me into. On that last, terrible day, I watched without the power to do a thing as my own men, engaging in territorial warfare with some unseen foe, used the little home as a shield, and butchered the only family I had ever loved in the process without so much as a moment’s hesitation.”

“I saw then the pathetic joke of my empire. This was no war between factions, no swordsmen dying by the sword—this was a blood bath that I had long since lost control over. The word came to me then—Beast. We are nothing but BEASTS!”

“I was fully aware of my self for the first time in weeks, as an empty light emanated from my core.”

“And then It spoke, without speaking—you have seen the fruits of your kingdom, it mocked, now, what do you desire, oh great king? For anything you feel the right to claim, I will grant you.”

“The word came to me again, then. Beast. And…”

“I had myself branded as an animal, no longer completely human. My heart cried for retribution, yet I knew that I was the one solely responsible, and the men I employed were but beasts of burden.”

“Since then, I have lived on the fringes of humanity, and I have seen much, but still I am consumed by loathing. I cannot find any reason to go on, even to seek redemption. This is my curse, and this is how I have lived for a period spanning many life times. I continue to seek a reason to continue on, or a reason to end my miserable existence entirely. Until I find either of these, I can only search.”

The one who named himself Stray fell silent then, and showed no sign of continuing. Edward was completely without a thing to say, and felt ever further out of his depth. Yet he could not help but feel wonder before this strange man, or beast, who lived a life of perpetual self-torment and yet continued on, somehow. There it was, the question he sought an answer to. He had found the words to speak. “But…why? Why then?”

“Why what, child?”

“Why are you going on? And what does that girl have to do with anything?” Edward asked, genuinely interested.

Stray considered the young man again, and paused to regain the ability to speak.

“In my travels, I have heard rumors, of a woman whose beauty surpassed all mortals of the realm, and whose spirit was forged of stronger stuff than any of her peers.”

“But I did not take interest in this until the first time I caught her scent. It was faint; she had not been nearby for a long time. Yet her scent still lingered, and even in its reduced state, it emanated such a presence…such…”

“I pursued the scent relentlessly, as well as information about her. She is the one that was called Rosetta, who soared among the Highest. Her wings were cut by great forces, she has roamed our mortal lands in search for the pure.”

“The pure?” Edward asked cynically, conjuring up images of saints and innocent maidens and other such lofty figures.

“You are ignorant, boy,” Stray replied in a tone gentler than the harshness of his words, “the pure are those who are true to nothing other than their own souls. Most of us give in to outer desires for power, or for lust, or to appear greater or even lesser than what we are—but there are a few, a handful, who are nothing but themselves. These Rosetta seeks, and it is from meeting them and looking after them that she hopes to one day regain her wings.”

“And what do you want with her?” the young waiter asked curiously, “I mean, what’s she got to offer you?”

“if what they say is true…if…” the older man appeared to be exerting a great effort to contain himself, “…any world that harbors such a creature is a world worth living in, no matter how pathetic my own life might be.”

“So you want to see her for your redemption?”

“No…I want to see her because…well, I just want to see her.” Stray said simply. Edward thought about this for a short while.

“Ok,” he said, “I’ll tell you where I gave her directions to go. But I don’t know the exact house, only the street.”

“That will suffice; I will be able to discern the specifics for myself.”

“Hold on, though,” Edward added, “I’ve got a condition.”

“You try my patience, boy.”

“Do you want my help or don’t you?”

“Well, out with it.”

“I want to go with you.”

A small smile formed on the beast’s face, revealing the tips of his top canines.

Edward had not known Stray for even a day, and yet, found the beast’s almost nervous behavior once they reached the townhouse surprising. The unkempt man did not seem the type to let himself be rattled, but then, this was no ordinary circumstance.

The woman who answered the door was exactly as Edward remembered her. With the streetlights lighting up her face, he found himself completely disarmed. She looked at Stray, and, unconcerned by his strange appearance, asked in a friendly, but almost shy tone “May I help you?”

Stray seemed uncertain of what exactly to do. “I am—my name is—around here I am known as—” he attempted unsuccessfully, then swallowed, and composed himself. “Who I am is unimportant. I merely wish to give you this.” He said as calmly as he could, handing her something too small for Edward to see. From the lace that fell around the woman’s hands when Stray dropped the item there, Edward guessed it to be a pendant of some sort.

“Thank…thank you…” she said, uncertain of how to respond. Stray stared down at the pendant. This is all that I can do for you, to honor your memory. I have given the symbol of your family name to the purest spirit in existence.

“It is true what they say,” he murmured, almost too low for her to hear, “you are…most beautiful.”

Without another word, he turned and walked away. He walked towards the heart of the city. Edward stared at the one who had been known as Rosetta. She looked at him, then at the retreating figure.

“Hey!” Edward shouted after the older man, “Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” He ran after him. He walked alongside the larger man. “Where are you going? She’s right back there! You’re going the wrong way!”

“I have done what I came to do,” the beast replied, “I have seen her and have honored my lost family. That is all.”

“Don’t tell me that after finally finding her, you’re just going to go, just like that!” Edward cried, “You’re really very insane, you know?” Stray stopped and stared at the smaller man.

“What would you have me do?” He asked bluntly, “I have seen her. I profane her with my presence by remaining any longer. If I am worthy of being near her, she will seek me out on her own some day. I would not advise you to hold your breath while you wait, however.”

“But..but…I don’t understand…then why’d you come here at all?” Edward stuttered.

“You may yet understand, in time, boy. Now come, we have much to do, and a long journey ahead of us.”

“Wha-what?”

“Don’t tell me that you intended to remain a waiter in the swamps forever. I thought you had more spirit in you than that,” Stray replied cheekily. Without looking back, he continued to walk. Edward stared at the back of his head for a moment.

No, I guess not, he thought. He spared one last glance behind him before catching up with his new companion.

The woman that was once named Rosetta watched the figures retreat, before finally going back into the safe confines of the house, and closing the door.

Journal of the Traveler

2010-06-16T11:55:00.000-07:00

From the blog "Journal of the Traveler"
Post Title: Waking from Uneasy Dreams
Date: 9/20/1999

Twelve days ago I awoke to discover that it was the first day of my Freshman year in high school. Now this probably isn't an alien concept for any of you out there; high school is something that you have either endured or will endure eventually. It is a crucial moment in a young man's life, when he is awkward and largely a pain to spend any time around. Some of us remember those times fondly, some of them would rather forget them entirely, but all of us went through it.

That, dear readers, was precisely my problem--I had gone through this, already! When I went to bed thirteen days ago, my Freshman year was more than ten years in the past. When I woke up the next day, I was living it all over again!

I'm sure that most people, in this bizarre situation, would have been horrified at the notion of having to go through high school all over again. I have to admit that that was not my first reaction. You see, I've made my fair share of mistakes over the years. Nothing catastrophic, but there are certainly no shortage of decisions I made that I'm not proud of. My first though, I must sheepishly confess, was "This is awesome! I can do it right this time!"

Then it began to dawn on me that the situation was slightly more complicated than that, to say the least. I mean, what do you do with knowledge of events ten years into the future? Do you warn people about the terrorist attacks? Do you put money into stocks you know will soar?

Before I made this little leap through time, I was less than a month away from getting married. But I didn't even meet my better half until more than eight years from now. Should I try and get in touch with her now? What if she ends up hating me because I met her in an entirely different way? What if I can't stand the teenage girl version of her? Even if I wait for (an excruciating) eight years, I won't be able to act exactly the same way that I did originally. What if I screw it up this time? This one weighs the heaviest on me, I have to admit. Maybe that's selfish.

Anyway I was (will be?) big into blogging, so it just made sense to me to put this out here. Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow at the right time in my life again. If not, I feel like I should be talking about this and making some predictions, however trivial, that I can point to later as evidence that I'm not completely nuts. I admit that the prospect of gaining fame in this manner both excites and completely terrifies me.

If you want to get in touch with me, e-mail me at ttraveler@hotmail.com. Unfortunately Gmail won't be out for another five years so I'm stuck with crappy old Hotmail.

~ ~ ~

From the blog "Journal of the Traveler"
Post Title: My First Month in the Past
Date: 10/8/1999

I just started this blog and already I'm only updating erratically. I'd make an ironic quip about that, but you wouldn't get it. Just trust me, it's the sort of joke that will make sense in three or four years. Well, if we're talking about when blogs get passé, maybe more like five years. OK, that's it for the future humor, I promise.

I've mostly just been blending in this first month. It's weird because there are some people that go on to become my closest friends, but they're not the people I know yet and I'm not they person they know. The same could be said for my family, too--my brother was just finishing his Junior year in high school, and now all of a sudden he's a little kid again. Not to mention the relationship I've built with my parents over ten years has been completely reset.

Whining aside, there is one thing I realized--school is kind of awesome, if you aren't hung up on all the stupid stuff involved with being a teenager. Well, it's awesome for a nerd like me, anyway. All I have to do is learn stuff. My parents pay all the bills and provide ample amounts of food. For years I've regretted that I didn't see the value of learning math until way late; now I have the chance to make up for that! I can do it without the pressures and responsibilities of life as an adult. With ten years of knowledge about where my interests and talents are, and how my career was going, I feel like I'm in a fantastic position to shape my own future. And that's before you consider that there are a handful of companies I know I can invest in and make a killing. No, don't ask which ones. It'd be stupid for me to tell you rather than just making money off of it myself.

On the other hand, this situation poses some ethical problems I'm not really sure there's an easy answer to. If I were to hook up with someone, would that be considered cheating on my fiancée? Even though I haven't met her yet? Also the idea of getting romantically (or just physically) involved with these high school girls kind of makes me feel like a dirty pedophile. But I'm a high school boy! At least, everyone thinks I am.

More importantly, I still haven't decided what to do about the terrorist attacks that I know are coming in a couple of years. I'm no theoretical physicist--would it tear a hole in space-time if I managed to change such a big event? I'm not sure a physicist would actually know the answer, either. Not like they've ever had to consider the practical difficulties associated with CHANGING HISTORY.

But if I'm really stuck here, I'm going to have to make some hard choices. I don't think I could live with myself if I didn't try and do something about what's coming. I'm just more than a little afraid of what will happen to me if I try--especially if I try and do not succeed.

Well on that cheerful note, I think that's all I have for now.

Oh, what the hell. Don't buy HD DVDs. Buy Blu Ray. You know, when the time comes.

~ ~ ~

From the Fanfiction.net General Forum
Post Title: Greetings from the Future!
Post Author: Great Demon King
Post Date: 10/13/1999

Hello all! I am in a bit of a predicament.

You see, I am not of this time. The person who was inciting flamewars and the like just a couple of months ago was my younger self; I am actually from more than ten years in the future. I am now in the rather embarrassing position of having to live in my fourteen-year-old skin again.

Why am I tell you this? Well, there's some big stuff coming down the line, and I'd like to stop some of it if I can. But to do that I need influence, and before I can have any influence I need attention. Unfortunately, the only potential venues that my fourteen-year-old self had where he might garner any amount of attention online are places like this, where he sports the tacky handle "Great Demon King". Oh well. No offense to you guys, of course. I love little communities like this one and my own writing definitely benefited from the times I dabbled in fanfiction, back in...well, now.

Anyway, I've started a blog, and I hope you guys will come check it out. More than that, I hope you'll spread the word. If you think I'm a nut, as I would in your shoes, then tell your friends there's a lunatic online writing entertaining crazy-person stuff. I'll be making the rounds to the forums I used to frequent to try and drudge up something of a readership.

Thanks for your time, and I apologize for anything ridiculous my teenage self may have said.

Post Title: re: Greetings from the Future!
Post Author: Kirsten
Post Date: 10/13/1999

Is this a joke, or are you actually insane?

Post Title: re: re: Greetings from the Future!
Post Author: Great Demon King
Post Date: 10/13/1999

Whichever answer gets you to tell your friends about my blog!

Post Title: re: re: re: Greetings from the Future!
Post Author: GokuSSJ30
Post Date: 10/13/1999

ok seriously what the fuck is a blog

~ ~ ~

From the New York Times
Article Title: Tale of Twin Towers' Destruction Increases Views for Popular Website
Article Date: 5/25/2000

Across America, internet users are reading a terrifying description of the day the Twin Towers were brought down.

"This was the defining event of my generation," the story begins, "by the time I arrived at class, the first plane had crashed. We thought it was just an accident, horrible, but unintended. It was only when the second plane crashed and both towers were billowing pillars of smoke that we realized this was the result of a conscious, malicious design."

It's enough to pull at the heartstrings of anyone who witnessed that terrible event. Except that no one has--there has been no attack, and the Twin Towers are still perfectly intact. According to the anonymous author of the Journal of the Traveler, a popular website, that's all going to change.

The Journal was started in the fall of last year. Its author, who writes under the pseudonym Traveler, claims to be from the not too distant future. Ten years in the future, to be precise. "When I went to bed thirteen days ago," he wrote, "my Freshman year was more than ten years in the past. When I woke up the next day, I was living it all over again!"

The website has steadily gained a following as the Traveler chronicled his adventures in high school, attempting to fit into a life he had long grown out of. Every so often he drops an obscure prediction to keep his readers' interests piqued.

Two weeks ago, however, he made a prediction that was as straightforward as it was staggering: on September 11, 2001 hijacked airplanes will crash into both of the Twin Towers as well as the Pentagon, resulting in thousands of lost lives. This would be the biggest attack on American soil since Pearl Harbor, and the first attack in continental America since the War of 1812.

Needless to say, if the Journal was popular before this outlandish claim, it was nothing compared to the kind of attention it's drawn since then.

According to some experts, the sheer volume of content that the world wide web makes possible is likely to lead to more and more niche entertainment sources along the lines of the Journal of the Traveler.

"It used to be that you had to make a lot of money just to be published at all," said Clay Shirky, former vice-president of New York chapter of the Electronic Frontier Foundation, "now that anyone can put up anything, you'll see a lot of stuff that wouldn't have made it past the filter, not necessarily because it wasn't good enough but because publishers weren't willing to take a chance on it. The web allows us to indulge in our quirkiest tastes; one of the most popular entertainment sites out there right now just shows pictures of various cats, for example."

Florida attorney and activist Jack Thompson has a less optimistic interpretation. "Websites likes this Traveler's Journal make sensationalist claims just to draw more traffic," Thompson said, "meanwhile they give the wrong kind of person all kinds of bad ideas. If potential terrorists hadn't thought of hijacking airplanes to attack our buildings before, you can bet they're thinking about it now."

When reached for comment, the Traveler, who continues to hide his identity, stated that "This was the most important information" he had brought from the future, and "this is not a gimmick."

~ ~ ~

Email from AlanFedorov@hotmail.com
Sent to ElaineKelley@aol.com
Subject: A Meeting of the Minds
Date: 7/3/2000

Mrs. Kelley,

We've met a few times. I'm your son Patrick's classmate, have known him for a few years now.

I understand that you're an analyst for the CIA. I need to talk to you about something urgent. I've got some information and I've got to get it into the hands of someone who can do something with it. I've been trying to tip the intelligence agencies from the outside but never had much hope that that would work.

I'm not asking you to believe me, just to hear me out. Could I stop by after school one day this week?

Thanks
Alan Fedorov

Email from ElaineKelley@aol.com
Sent to AlanFedorov@hotmail.com
Subject: re: A Meeting of the Minds
Date: 7/5/2000

Alan,

I admit I wasn't really sure what to make of your e-mail. If you're serious about this, you can come by tomorrow and we'll talk it over.

Elaine Kelley

~ ~ ~

From the blog "Journal of the Traveler"
Post Title: Time, Too Much and Too Little of it
Date: 7/16/2000

The parent of a friend was able to get me in touch with someone in the CIA who, at the very least, has listened and asked questions with only a hint of patronizing in his tone. I wish I could remember more details; the only name I remember associated with the attacks is Muhammed Atta, and I don't think that really narrows it down. Of course there's Osama Bin Laden, but they already know all about him. He's been a bad guy for a long time. I'm not sure this is going to make any difference, but I can't just sit around and wait for this to happen. It'll be blood on my hands if I don't try as hard as I can to do something about it. If I could just convince them not to let anyone on the no-fly list step on an airplane on 9/11/01, just make them nervous enough to do that, I'll have done my job. Yeah, I know--if they're on a "no fly" list, then why are they let on the plane in the first place? Trust me, shit hits the fan over that one, big time.

I've been painfully missing my better half lately. It's going to be a long eight years. I know I could see other people in the meantime, but I just don't think I could live with myself. Regardless of the fact that the people "my age" seem like children to me, I remember committing to be with only one person, even if she can't know it yet. It can't be helped. All I can do is wait and try not to wallow in self-pity too much.

In the meantime, I am using the information I've got for some more selfish ends. I got my parents to agree to buy me twenty stocks from a certain company (for which I will eventually pay them back with generous interest) but I want to get more than that, so I've been working at the local Giant, which, let me tell you, sure is intellectually stimulating. But it pays. I want to have at least one hundred stocks from this company before the end of the year. Then, in a few years (I wish I knew how many exactly) another company is going to go public and I need to have all the money I can get to invest in that one.

I just wish that the ways to take action with my information about 9/11 was as straightforward as how to take action with my information about the success of these two companies.

You guys have been doing great. I know that most of you are skeptics, but those of you that have been calling in tips to the CIA, either because you believe it or because you just want to play it safe, every little bit helps. Like I said, we just need to convince them to take their own no-fly list more seriously, we don't need them to catch the perpetrators ahead of time necessarily. Thank you guys for your efforts.

Comments:
Author: For Realz?
Date: 7/16/2000

How the hell did you get some dude at the CIA to listen to your crazy story? Did you just tell your friend's dad that you're from the future? I can see how that would go:

"Oh, you're from the FUTURE? Then I guess we HAVE to listen to you! Let me get the Prez on the phone!"

Author: Traveler
Date: 7/16/2000

No, I knew that would sound crazy. I told them I was speaking on behalf of someone who didn't want to come forward on his own. I also mentioned some specifics, like about Muhammed Atta and such, that seemed to get their attention. Of course they could just suspect that I'm a terrorist, or connected with one in some way...but...I don't have a lot of options.

Author: Kari3000
Date: 7/16/2000

y don't u jus c ur girl now? y wait?

Author: travelerfanboy
Date: 7/16/2000

dood did you see you were in the NYT???

Author: Traveler
Date: 7/16/2000

Kari: I don't want to risk screwing things up by jumping the gun.

fanboy: Yeah, I saw :) exciting, huh? Even if the point of the story was "Traveler is a big fat attention whore", it's good to draw more attention...well, OK, maybe I AM an attention whore, but that's not the reason I've been pushing this stuff about the attack.

~ ~ ~

From the Wikipedia Article "Journal of the Traveler"
Section: Predictions and Controversies

Several accurate predictions were made on the Journal over the years, including the success of Blu-Ray Disc in gaining adoption as the standard for high definition video, the controversy around the 2000 presidential election, the reelection of George W. Bush in 2004, Google's launch of Gmail, and the founding of Facebook. All the predictions were made in such a way as to make them difficult to explain by recourse to anything other than the premise of the blog. Some products, such as Blu-Ray, did not even have their name at the time that the prediction was made. Others, like Facebook, had not even been conceived yet by their founders. Theories abound as to how this is possible.

The greatest controversy surrounds the successful prediction of the 9/11 attacks. More than a year before the attacks, a detailed "retelling" was posted on the Journal. This drew enough attention to increase the Journal's traffic substantially, and most dismissed it as a publicity stunt at the time. After the attacks, a full investigation was started on the background of the Traveler. It was discovered that he had been in close contact with a CIA agent for the year leading up to the attacks, and many have dismissed the prediction as based on extrapolation from insider information. The Traveler has argued that he began to meet with the agent after the initial prediction was made, in order to try and persuade them to do something, but few have taken him seriously.

Almost as controversial was the prediction of the 7 July 2005 London Bombings, although he didn't predict the year, only the day.

~ ~ ~

From the blog "Journal of the Traveler"
Post Title: Graduating Again
Post Date: 6/18/2003

The symbolic significance of this age old rite of passage is sort of lost on me the second time around. Having finished college before, it's more like the third graduation I've attended, actually. Still, I did a lot better on this strange do-over than I did the first time. As I've mentioned a few times here, I was a bit of a screwup. Nothing so bad as getting held back a year or anything like that, but let's just say I didn't graduate with a 3.0 GPA, or even close to one.

This time around I graduated with a 4.0 GPA, and I learned a hell of a lot more. If I keep up the pace, with the AP credits I earned I should be able to finish my BA early. Maybe even think about going to grad school this time around.

Moreover I'm already doing pretty well financially. I paid my parents back for the 20 stocks, and then some. They're still insisting on paying for college, though, and that's fine. I'll use the money I would have paid in tuition to invest in something really big that should be coming up in the next year or two, can't remember exactly. Suffice to say I'm keeping a close eye on one particular company that still isn't publicly traded.

I still regret being unable to stop 9/11 from happening. I like to think that I did everything I could, but even if that's true, it clearly wasn't enough. It's hard to believe that knowledge of the future can only be good for making me rich. No, I'm not really what you'd call "rich" yet, but I'll get there, trust me.

And there's still another five painfully long years before I can see her again. In my weakest hours I contemplate visits to the college she'll be attending to try and meet her by "chance". But I can't risk it. I'd rather lose all the money I've made than lose the woman I love.

Sometimes I think that waiting until the time we originally met is just cowardice. Maybe I'm just putting off connecting with her again because I'm afraid of how it will go. It's certainly true that I'm scared. But I think this is the best way, I really do. And I've been faithful to her these four years. What's another five?

~ ~ ~

From the blog "Engadget"
Post Author: Peter Rojas
Post Title: The Traveler Goes All In on Google
Post Date: 8/23/2004

Alan Fedorov, better known as the blogger of Journal of the Traveler, just spent every last penny he had on Google stock.

You remember Alan, right? He claims to be from the future, and his name became common knowledge after his predicted the 9/11 attacks more than a year before they happened. Over the years he's made some muted references to a couple of companies that he was going to bet his fortune on. Now that he's all in, he's finally announced what those companies were--Apple and Google.

It doesn't seem to me like you need any secret information to know that Google's a good bet right now. Apple is a little more interesting, though. They're still as small in the computer space, relative to Microsoft, as they ever have been. Moreover, when he first invested in them back in 2000 the iPod hadn't even been announced yet.

Alan assures us that there are some "very big things" coming down the line for both companies. One can't deny the guy's track record; whether or not he's from the future he must have a friend of a friend who knows his shit. All I'm saying is, it can't hurt to buy a share or two from either of these companies.

~ ~ ~

From the blog "Journal of the Traveler"
Post Title: Words Fail Me
Post Date: 8/30/2004

OK, so maybe I can't take credit for ALL of the sudden increase in Google and Apple's stock. Google, in particular, just went public, and they're a solid company, so it's to be expected that their stock would rise. Apple's is a little harder to explain otherwise.

I just want to make it clear that I did not come out with which companies I was investing in because I wanted to blow up the stock prices. I know that these stocks are going to increase enormously over the next six years, I don't really need them to jump up in the next week! I was just doing what I normally do; documenting a choice I made based on information about the future so that people would have trouble arguing that I'm a fraud.

It's a little hilarious that people are willing to take me seriously when money is on the line but not when lives are. It's also kind of infuriating. Maybe if I had said that the CIA people themselves were in the crosshairs they would have given a damn enough to do something about 9/11.

But no, that's not fair...if I was them I wouldn't have believed me either. I just can't believe that a bunch of investors do!

~ ~ ~

Email from Alan.Fedorov@gmail.com
Sent to Patrick.Kelley@gmail.com
Subject: I did it
Date: 4/20/2008

I saw her. We "met". I'm going to see her again.

~ ~ ~

Google Chat Transcript
Between Alan.Federov and Patrick.Kelley
In reply to "I did it"
Date: 4/20/2008

Patrick.Kelley: How? Where?
Alan.Fedorov: There's a Starbucks near her apartment. I may have staked it out.
Patrick.Kelley: Well that's not sketchy at all.
Alan.Fedorov: I waited eight long years. Allow me a little sketchy behavior.
Patrick.Kelley: Hey I'm on your side bro. I just don't want you to get overeager and scare her, you know?
Alan.Fedorov: I know, I know. I'm being cool, trust me.
Patrick.Kelley: You wouldn't know "cool" if it was in front of your face.
Alan.Fedorov: Fair point.
Patrick.Kelley: So how did you go about it?
Alan.Fedorov: Awkwardly. But I think I came off as "awkward cute" rather than "awkward creepy".
Patrick.Kelley: It's a fine line, that. But she's seeing you again?
Alan.Fedorov: In a couple of days! For a low-key dinner at a local Chinese place.
Patrick.Kelley: Classy.
Alan.Fedorov: Hence "low-key"
Patrick.Kelley: Does she know about the Journal?
Alan.Fedorov: I'm terrified to ask. If I ask and she didn't already know about it, she might look it up and find out. If I ask and she knew about it, but didn't put two and two together, she might realize who I am.
Patrick.Kelley: It's going to come up eventually.
Alan.Fedorov: Hopefully she loves me by then?
Patrick.Kelley: Look, the second she's halfway interested in you, she's going to Google you.
Alan.Fedorov: Damn Google. If it didn't make me so filthy rich, I'd really hate those guys right now.
Patrick.Kelley: Just take it slow. She's going to find out; prepare yourself for that. Don't lie to her about anything. You guys fell in love once, you'll do it again.
Alan.Fedorov: But what if she doesn't want to be with the crazy man who says he's from the future?
Patrick.Kelley: You convinced me that you weren't crazy, you can convince her when the time comes.
Alan.Fedorov: I wish I hadn't said anything, just kept my head down and lived my life over again quietly.
Patrick.Kelley: No you don't. You would have really gone crazy. You're just scared right now.
Alan.Fedorov: More than a little, yeah.
Patrick.Kelley: Don't worry. It will work out.

~ ~ ~

From the Wikipedia Article "Journal of the Traveler"
Section: Theories

The accuracy of the Traveler's predictions are beyond dispute. As such, numerous theories and speculations have been made as to how he got his information.

There are many theories concerning a leak inside federal intelligence agencies, though these appeared much less credible when the Traveler's identity was revealed in 2001 and it became clear that he was just a high school student. Still, his connection with the CIA prior to 9/11 seem to indicate this may be among the most plausible of the theories. More extreme conspiracy theorists argue that the Traveler was directly behind the 9/11 attacks. These theories form part of the body of the 9/11 Truth Movement, which claims that the Islamic terrorist angle is just a smokescreen for a larger conspiracy.

Another, related theory is that the Traveler has secret industry contacts. This mostly sets out to explain the specific knowledge of product launches that he has displayed.

Some even believe that the Traveler is being honest about his journey through time. Neurologist Robert Burton, making reference to the Traveler, argued that no matter how conclusive and rational the evidence, people would never alter their beliefs dramatically enough to accommodate inexplicable time travel just because of one man.

~ ~ ~

From the blog "Journal of the Traveler"
Post Title: The Light has Gone Out of My Life
Post Date: 2/22/2009

I wasn't going to write anything about this because I was afraid to screw things up, but apparently it's too late for that anyway and I've had a few. So, here goes.

I finally worked up the backbone to "meet" the love of my life again a little less than a year ago. We've been seeing each other since then and it has been going fantastic. It felt like fresh air after eight years of not breathing. The chemistry was still there. I didn't get too nervous or jump the gun or do anything stupid. Or so I thought.

She hadn't heard of this blog. Somehow. By some miracle. Which is probably what gave me these precious months with her. I never asked her, but I know she didn't. How do I know?

Because she talked to her mom about meeting me, and her mom put together who I was.

The last time I saw her she just wanted to confirm it was true. I never lied to her, not once; I may not have come out and told her this stuff but I didn't lie to cover it up. So when she asked me straightforwardly I answered honestly.

It's been almost three weeks since that talk and I haven't heard from her. She doesn't return my calls or e-mails.

So I'm starting to think it really worked out the way I was afraid it would. I made a fortune but lost the only thing that really matters to me. And the worst part is I have no one but myself to blame; if I had never started this stupid blog in the first place I never would have garnered the kind of attention I've had, and her mom wouldn't know who I was. She wouldn't be thinking that I'm just some nut.

Only one year left until I'm back in my "present". Why did this happen to me? Why couldn't I just keep my big mouth shut, when it did?

I don't know if there are going to be any more posts. I don't really care, about this or much of anything at the moment.

~ ~ ~

Email from Patrick.Kelley@gmail.com
Sent to AriGior@gmail.com
Subject: Please Don't be Hasty
Date: 3/5/2009

Arianna,

Why did you suddenly cut Alan out of your life? Do you really think that he's just some nut? You brag all the time about how great a judge of character you are--did you get "nut job" for the almost a year that you two were seeing each other?

Remember when you admitted to me, sheepishly, that you thought Alan was "a real catch"? That you could see yourself with him, pretty much forever? Do you remember that, Ari?

Did all that change just because he's the Traveler?

If so then I owe him an apology. I thought you were better than that.

Email from AriGior@gmail.com
Sent to Patrick.Kelley@gmail.com
Subject: re: Please Don't be Hasty
Date: 3/7/2009

Who the hell do you think you are? What would you know?

Yes, I felt very strongly about Alan. No, that didn't change. But what am I supposed to do? He never told me about any of this. One day I up and find out that he's some guy who claims he's from the future? What am I supposed to make of that?

Email from Patrick.Kelley@gmail.com
Sent to AriGior@gmail.com
Subject: re: re: Please Don't be Hasty
Date: 3/7/2009

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be insulting or unfair. I'm just watching my best friend go through hell and I think it's pointless when you clearly were great together.

He convinced me that he was telling the truth. How about you give me the chance to do the same, for you? Would you be open to meeting up to discuss this in person?

One chance is all I ask. But if you're convinced, then you've got to talk to him again.

Email from AriGior@gmail.com
Sent to Patrick.Kelley@gmail.com
Subject: re: re: re: Please Don't be Hasty
Date: 3/7/2009

Fine. Where/when do you want to meet?

~ ~ ~

SMS Message from the phone of Arianna Giordano
Sent to the phone of Alan Fedorov
Date: 3/10/2009

I'm sorry. Come see me?

SMS Message from the phone of Alan Fedorov
Sent to the phone of Arianna Giordano
Date: 3/10/2009

You have nothing to apologize for. I will be there in five minutes.

~ ~ ~

From the blog "Gawker"
Post Author: Maureen O'Connor
Post Title: Chronicle of a Wedding Foretold
Post Date: 6/19/2010

If you asked Alan Fedorov whether marrying Arianna Giordano was fate, or pre-arranged, he might just tell you that it was, and he might have more reason than most for supposing so.

Fedorov is better known as the blogger of Journal of the Traveler, started more than ten years ago, where he claimed he had been sent back to his own past from, well, now. About three months from now, to be exact. He gained a great deal of notoriety when he predicted, among other things, 9/11 more than a year before it happened. To this day no one has really provided a satisfactory explanation--that is, an explanation that didn't involve implausible conspiracy theories or...well, time traveling.

Giordano was just out of college when she met Fedorov, and they dated for almost a year before she found out who he was.

If her smiling face in the picture is any indication, it seems she's gotten over any questions she had about her fiancée's sanity. It couldn't hurt that he's a millionaire, having invested in Google as soon as it went public and Apple before the iPod (much less iPhone or iPad!)

Fedorov has closed up shop at the Journal of the Traveler, permanently he claims.

"I'm back at where I started, though the journey's gone a little differently this time," he said at a press conference this past Tuesday, "I have nothing more to say about the future. I don't know any more about it than any of you."

So ends one of the most fun and speculated about episodes in blogging history. We may never know the real story behind where Fedorov got his information; he's kept us guessing this long and now he's not going to be feeding us anything new.

So good-bye, Traveler--and congratulations to you both on this happy occasion.

The Invisible Decay

2009-10-17T15:18:00.000-07:00

Two religious sects, the worshipers of Life and the worshipers of Death, exist side by side. Once they had been joined together; the faithful of Life risked all they held dear, so that their children and grandchildren would be born into a better future. Side by side with them were the faithful of Death, who acted against the murderers, the rapists, and the corrupt, so that they might face justice on the other side. Of two minds but one purpose, they had been as one pantheon; acting together in a joint struggle against all the forces of evil.

That was ages ago, and time has driven a wedge between these two peoples. It's doubtful there's any of them left that remember a time when a follower of the house of Life could call a follower of the house of Death his brother.

The vices of their faiths had slowly consumed them, even as they had driven all visible evil from sight. The congregation of Life grew weary of constant struggle, grew sick of endless bloodshed. Their numbers gradually diminished from the battlefield, eventually disappearing altogether. They had no desire to cause any further harm--at least, that was their initial rationale. As all memory of fighting faded, their worship soon turned from a faith in the virtues of the living world, towards a cherishing of their own lives. They grew risk-averse, dreading that they might lose the most valuable commodity of their religion; their existence. Death came to mean not an endpoint, not a close relative of Life, but a demon and a thief; cruelty and unfairness embodied.

Those faithful to Death became arrogant where their former comrades became tired. They spent all of their time dreaming of extinguishing themselves at the height of their own glory; of taking as many of the wicked into the other side as they could in order to pay the toll for their own passage. They watched the house of Life with contempt. At first, it was mere disgust that they would be so weak as to allow evil to spread without lifting a finger. But as generations passed, it grew into a true and virilent hatred. For the house of Death permitted no worldly pleasure; they went into battle and then either left to fight elsewhere, or stayed as a corpse. That the faithful of Life would withdraw from battle, and cling to the joys of the earth, drew an enmity and a righteous fury alike, that poisoned their hearts and consumed their every thought.

The attacks came rarely at first. As they increased in ferocity and frequency, some thought that perhaps something ought to be done. Yet if the berserkers of Death would not be reasoned with, then the only way they could conceivably be stopped would be to meet them in battle. This was something that the gentle people of Life would not do, and for the most part, could not do. Instead, they pretended that the problem did not exist. Some were sincere in their belief that battle would solve nothing, that the problem was really not widespread. Others simply could not conceive of fighting any longer; and would believe anything rather than have to deal with the thought of parting with their lives or even risking it.

Not all were so inclined. A schism occurred, with various sects of Life dedicated to returning to the battlefield. Some sought to defeat the faithful of Death. Some sought to seize control of the house of Life and force all to return to the battlefield, alongside the faithful of Death or without them.

It doesn't matter how many sects there were, or what particular belief any one of them held. They were too scattered, too few, and too late. In the chaos of the schism, the faithful of Death swooped in, like vultures to a stinking carcass, and those who were not killed in the carnage died in the terrible conditions of the aftermath.

Then, themselves not of one mind over what had been done or what ought to happen next, the wolves of Death turned to devouring one another, until all had fallen into the embrace of that which they worshiped.

Yet in that land now populated by corpses, it is rumored that a single wiseman did live a time after. His message to the world is carried on the wind, pleading us to understand.

To understand that a life for life's sake is devoid of meaning, and a death for death's sake is simply repulsive.

The Snark

2009-10-17T15:13:00.000-07:00

A long time ago, before Sarcasm or Wit, there existed a creature known as the Snark.

The Snark was a hilarious little animal that never could quite figure out what species it was supposed to be. It clearly wanted to look like a porcupine, with dangerous, spiny quills, and yet it did not even take a close inspection to discover that the quills were fake. The Snark’s fur was actually quite soft, and when wet, the Snark had a closer resemblance to a black chipmunk, though it lacked the front teeth.

No one quite knew what to make of the Snark, nor did it quite know what to make of itself. Fellow rodents and the occasional canine took passing interest in it, but never for very long. Some feared their quills, until they learned the truth. Some found their fur quite nice, but never nice enough to stay for very long.

You see, the Snark was kind of an annoying little bugger. When it made a joke, one could never really tell whether it was trying to be funny, or insulting, or just teasing. In fact, it was trying to be all of these, because it feared being any one of them. Those who found humor in them would soon suspect that they were being made fun of, and would leave. Those who found them insulting would soon decide that it was light-hearted and forgive them. Those who put up with being teased often decided after a time that it really wasn’t all that funny.

And so it passed, that no one would love the Snark. They did not join, they did not have children, and their numbers greatly diminished. It was not long until there were only two left, a boy, and a girl.

“We should probably settle down and have a family,” he mused, “now that you’re the last girl in the world and all.”

“Well that’s flattering,” she sighed.

“Aw, don’t take me seriously,” he said quickly, “I really like you.”

“Like?”

“Well…maybe…love you?” He murmured, “Y’know, love is blind and all that.”

“What, am I ugly?”

“No way,” He assured her, “you’re the most beautiful girl in the whole world!” This made her smile warmly, but the seriousness of the situation made him greatly uncomfortable. So he added, “not that you’ve got much competition.”

“Ok. That’s it.” She snapped, and turned to storm off.

“Wait! You can’t!” He shouted.

“Why? For the good of the species?” She spat.

“Well…maybe for the good of me a little…” He muttered pathetically. She turned and looked him in his beady little rodent eyes.

“Tell me you love me. Tell me you find me beautiful,” She said quietly, “And mean it. If you can do that, then I might just stay.”

There was a moment then, an opportunity. The fate of this race had not yet been determined, a choice was available. And yet in the end, he found himself unable to make that choice. She waiting through his silence until she was satisfied it would not be broken, and left him forever.
And so the Snark passed into the night; romantic and unromantic, alive and dead, and unable to choose between two of anything up until this very day.