The Second Great Epoch occurred along the ‘Ufrates River‘, and is the earliest recorded civilization.  This three thousand year record, though vague, is fairly well known.  Throughout the world, wandering tribes gathered together, built towns and then cities, planted and tilled crops, herded and domesticated cattle,  and grew in size and power.  Knowledge was gained, then lost, then gained again.  Warfare was discovered and refined.  It moved progressively on to the next .

The Third Great Epoch of Man began with the ascension of the Roman Empire roughly four thousand years ago.  Great strides were made in medicine, warfare, politics, and technology.  For almost two thousand years, in many parts of the world, mankind grew in knowledge and power, only to lose it again for hundreds of years and slowly find (most of) it again.  Great swaths of the planet were involved in brutal wars of conquest that claimed millions of men, women, and children’s lives.  Kings and Prophets led the way through rivers of blood.  Finally an uneasy peace was established, though the fighting never died down completely. This Epoch ended with the creation of the first known electrical motor roughly 1200 years ago.

The Fourth Great Epoch of Man began with great strides in the foundations of free thought, learning, and medicine.  Freedom of the masses let to fantastic growth in Science, Mathematics, Literature, Philosophy, Medicine, Agriculture, Warfare, and every other field of study.  Population exploded into the many billions around the globe.  There were few places that did not know the footsteps and sounds of Man.  The highest peaks to the deepest ocean depths were plumbed and recorded.  Several world-wide conflicts were endured, which only seemed to spur mankind on to even greater cognitive leaps and greatness of spirit.  Weapons of terrible power were developed that threatened to destroy all.  Eventually Mankind seemed to grasp their imminent danger and draw back from their killing madness. .  Air, earth and sea gave up their secrets willingly. At the end of the third century of the Fourth Epoch, mankind even walked upon its celestial neighbor and occupied space! Great expectations were held worldwide by all peoples.

In the 354th year of the Fourth Epoch, mankind’s hopes and dreams were to be dashed.  A small but fervent minority in a small and powerless country developed a sickness beyond anything science had seen so far.  Combining the sturdiness of a bacterial mold with the vicious effectiveness of a virus, it was truly the unstoppable finger of death.  As tends to happen with isolated groups of fervent believers, a charismatic, if arguable insane leader came to the fore.  He led them to condemn all others as evil and unrepentant and prayed for their utter destruction. After a short time, at the maniacal urgings of their ‘prophet’, they each wrote their manifestos, covered themselves with the spores of the sickness, and spread throughout the world in order to facilitate the return of their Deity by the cleansing of “sin“ from the Earth.  They never bothered to create an antidote, believing that they would be protected by their ‘prophet’ and their God.

Since travel at the time was nearly instantaneous, the sickness was everywhere before anyone knew what it was.  It was only after the zealots had died in their tracks and were examined that the leaders of the world knew the true horror they were faced with.  Rushing to the compound of this sect, they found everything destroyed and the ‘Prophet’ sitting in a small shrine, dead of the disease he had set loose upon the world.

The zealots almost got their wish for a world-wide cleansing.  The plague was almost always 100% fatal.  Countries tried closing their borders and isolating their citizens, but it was far too late.  Nothing tried slowed its spread.  Within 35 days from the first reported cases, one fifth of humanity had died, and yet the plague burned on.  Prince and Pauper, Saint and Sinner, all fell to the invisible reaping blade of death.  Scholars of all fields quickly knew that the end of their era was upon them.  When the citizens of the world discovered the truth, madness took hold.  Some still served the common good, but most were lost in the mazes of their own madness.

While most physicians struggled to aid the hordes of dying, most often dying of the disease themselves, a few of their colleagues saw the writing on the wall early  and began, with the aide of the militaries of the day, to archive all of their knowledge and lore in seven great, but hidden centers around the world; one for each major land mass and the many islands of the Far East.  Originally intended for protection from mankind’s seemingly unstoppable aggression, now these subterranean crypts would fulfill another role and shelter love and life.  Finally the hate and war of Mankind’s youth would prove beneficial to the species as a whole.  As well as technology and knowledge, cattle, seeds, great works of art, and medicines (and the secrets for making them) were stored for the future. In these places, the greatest minds and learning of the Epoch , along with enough men and women to run and continue their existence, were to be stored and maintained through the dark years that would soon follow.

Each center was hundreds or thousands of feet underground and completely self-contained.  Each held two or more thousand human souls and would be sealed for many turns of the planet against the invisible enemy and madness that was raging across the land.  The doctors and scientists estimated that the Sinner’s Plague, (which it had now come to be called,) would stay virulent for hundreds of years even without a host.  Due to this, even those inside the Centers would not be able to open the doors until the threat of the plague had fully passed.  People were selected and secreted at a feverish, but analytical pace, and then the doors were shut and locked against opening for those many, many years.  As the sickness burned and billions more were lost, the great Centers in Africa and the Far East were somehow lost to the Plague.  Unable to check on or help them in any case, the other Centers carried on.  Even more billions died.  Untended plants, reactors and energy centers exploded and burned, spreading great clouds of radiation and death across the world.  Much of the water, key to all life, was contaminated and wildlife untold also succumbed to the sickness of Mankind.  There were now whole continents where very little with less than six legs walked or lived under the now clear blue skies.

*Note: It was later found that the Center in Africa had collapsed under its own weight due to faulty construction and an attempt by the left behind military to breach the ceiling and get to safety.  The Center in the Far East  was found to have been lost to the evils of the Sinner’s Plague.  According to logs left behind, and later retrieved, one of the women selected for rescue was already infected and, due to the close quarters inherent in the design of such places, had already infected many of the survivors before discovery.  Although she was the first to die in a Center, she was by no means the last. The Guardians in that Center locked down all of their knowledge, killed all of their animals, and died, hoping that someday others might use what they had been denied.*

Small pockets of survivors in rural areas, quick to take precautions and completely cut themselves off from the outside world, survived.  Not all were successful. Those closer to the great cities fell to the madness that seized the millions of ill and dying. Hard choices, and even harder actions were taken by some and they survived.  Always rural and close to the land, they waited out the madness of the “advanced world” and then went back to their patient tilling of the land and their herds and flocks.  Their children and children’s children were warned away from the great cities and things of the past and mostly obeyed. Those that didn’t, died.  Thus ended the Fourth Great Epoch of Mankind.

As the Fifth Great Epoch of Mankind began, silence reined once more in and under the heavens.  As the world turned, mankind very slowly  began to expand out of these few hidden pockets.  The great cities of the world decayed and fell down.  The seas rose and fell and rain and snow came in their seasons. After three hundred years, the Center doors began to unlock and open.  Even though the land was much the same, the old names for the countries and places no longer held sway.  Shortened or changed through the many days, they became new again under the cleansing sun.

Each Center was in contact with every other, and things there were still mostly based on a system devised by the academics that had founded them.  Many of the great things of the Fourth Epoch of Man were available or could be made, though they were precious and rarely left the Centers.  The great pollution and destruction of the Fourth Epoch world had slowly healed, though a  few scars still remained. After great debate, the Centers decided that they would guide mankind into a kinder and more responsible future.  They would avoid the mistakes of too rapid expansion and the unchecked aggression of the few, but powerful.  Flying vehicles surveyed the world from upon the winds and photos from a few still working ancient sky eyes were studied.  The remaining pockets of mankind were located and analyzed.  Long range plans were laid in, Rules and codes of conduct to be followed, written.

When the Centers were ready, Earth would bloom again under mankind’s hand.

Each Center still maintained a force for their protection and security, and from this force men and women were selected to go forth and manage the people and lands.  These stout souls were taught science, art, mathematics, agriculture, medicine, and the many ways of war.  They were fearsome adversaries.  Few could stand before them in battle, and fewer still challenged their knowledge.  They rode forth from the secret halls of learning with sword and shield, bow and ax, and magical weapons from the previous age. Most of these ancient icons were to be used only at great need, for many of them could not be replaced. (Nor did any at the Centers want to see the knowledge of their creation or use become once more widespread.)

Down through the years these shepherds in Crimson, Black, and Grey tended humanity like herds, steering their growth, laws, and society.  Guiding from the shadows for the most part, killing when deemed necessary, they saw to it that the many mistakes of the past would NOT be repeated.

*************************************

They were formed some time in the far distant past.  Just a legend to many, their existence was known to only a few; those who had seen one or more of them materialize out of the shrouded woodland surrounding some small settlement, defend the rights and lives of the occupants, and then melt back into the fog-cloaked forest.  No one knew exactly where they lived. Or how.  All that was known was that in times of need, they would somehow know, and come.

There were Eleven ‘Watchers’.  All agreed on that fact.  Though no one knew how their numbers were maintained or where they once called home.  They could be identified by their shiny black and crimson armor, though they usually covered themselves from head to black boot-top with thick grey cloaks.  Their horses were said to be majestic animals five hands higher than most anything found in your common town or village.  They carried sword, axe, and bow and were said to be masters of each.  And there was more.

They carried weapons that could kill from a distance with fire, or smoke, or light.  They could reach out with their amazing talismans, it was said, and kill a standing man before that man could hear or see the finger of death that took him.  They could destroy strongholds in thunder and acrid smoke.  They took no pay.  Asked no more than an occasional meal or place to sleep.  They followed some unknown law or code seemingly known only to themselves.  And were to be carefully welcomed wherever they chose to appear.  There had been fakes before, it was said, that tried to take advantage of this or that town, but they disappeared into the night leaving any of their ill-gotten gains in a pile at the outskirts of the town they had duped.  Few tried to impersonate them.

Every Longest Day in the summer at dusk, each home would light a candle in a window to their shadowy protectors’ health, and recite a verse passed down through untold generations:

“Lonely warrior in black and red,
Lacking friend, home, or bed.
Watch over us and keep us safe,
Protect rich man, poor man, thief, and waif!”

This would be followed by a feast by the household, unmatched at any other time of the year.  Bonfires would be lit and families would gather together from great distances to drink to the lonely warriors’ health and well being deep into the night.  Even though some no longer believed in these mythical figures of legend, especially in the larger towns, they still lit the candle and muttered the verse under their breath if nothing else.  Every mother drilled that Four line ward into the hearts and minds of every child so that they would never be without it.

It was also said that when a steading reached a certain size, one of these legends would appear and speak to the Head man in private and leave him with a way to call for help, though no one would say what that might be.  Stories told of wooden tripods set up near troubled homes with something odd on top, but no one would say or really wanted to know what it might be.  After all, their lives were hard, and they were content enough to know that such a thing might exist for their protection.

*****************************************************

Terrace was such a Steading.  Not really big enough to be called a ‘town’, Terrace was made up of a cluster of a dozen or so houses and outbuildings with a population of 43, mostly children.  Add to that the three dozen head of cattle,  some pigs and chickens, and what used to be several score of cats and dogs.  That was the way of things in Oldan these days.  People only lived thirty or so years before they were cut down by accident, infection, or some unknown internal ailment.  So people, like the animals they herded,  had children. Lots of them.  Other steadings had grown into proper towns this way. It was not unheard of.

Summer had been good for the steading. Hotter than normal, the rain had come in abundance and the crops and animals blossomed in abundance as well.  Harvest was heavy and plentiful.  Unlike some years in the recent past, no one would go hungry this winter.  The people celebrated the end of harvest with dancing and home-brewed liquor and actually looked forward to the fall and first freeze.  The men had plenty of time to gather and split firewood and kindling and by the time the first skiffs worked their way down into the valley, all in Terrace had a warm, well-stocked place for the next two seasons.  Morale was high.

But Terrace had a problem.  A very serious one.  Something was hunting the occupants.  It started with a few missing cats.  Then dogs, missed more because they were used to keep wild animals and wandering cutthroats at bay and to warn the steading-folk of things moving in the dark.  At first folks just thought the animals might have just wandered off.  It happened sometimes.  But then the cattle started dying.  Not in the way one with old age might lay down and refuse to get up, but rather by something sneaking into their pens and tearing them to shreds, leaving naught behind but some pieces of hide or chunks of flesh and pools of blood.  One animal was taken every four nights.  Without fail.

The men of Terrace set up patrols and guards.  It was quickly found that the remaining hounds would refuse to leave their pallets after dusk.  If dragged out into the night, they would crawl whimpering against the foundations of whatever building was nearby and refuse to move.  Knowing that the loss of their cattle meant the deaths of their families, the men could not do the same, even if many of them wished to.  Some families had even taken to sleeping with their cattle in the barns.  It made little difference.  Every fourth night another animal suffered the same grisly fate.

Then, about two months into the nightmare, the first steadsman was killed.  Young Bakerson was a father of only three young boys and had only a few head of cattle to his name and a plain, but loyal wife.  He had so little as it was, he could ill afford to lose anything to this beast. Or whatever it was.  Night after night he armed himself with his father’s ancient blade, an earthenware pot of hot drink, and stood watch outside his holding. Then, one morning, he did not come in from his self appointed watch.  His wife, concerned, looked for him, but only found his jug broken near the cattle pen and his sword covered with sticky black blood on the grass.  Not the blood of sheep, goat, cow or man, but something noxious and foul smelling.  Something evil.  The adults and children searched the nearby fields for him, but there was no sign to be found.

It was just after dawn the next day that the Head Man called the other six men left alive into his home.  He sent the women and children out of the single-roomed structure and, when they were gone, pulled a small object out from a small iron-bound chest under his bed.  Wrapped in green cloth, it barely fit in his right hand. He brought it over to his rough-hewn table and gently set it down.

“Last fall, during harvest, I was alone in the north pasture checking on the new lambs near sunfall when I noticed a dark figure standing just inside the tree line.  I approached and asked what he was doing waiting out in the cold when fire and food waited so close.  He said nothing until I was almost within arms’ reach.  Then he threw back his dark cloak and revealed his armor and sword.  The chain-mail gleamed red and black in the setting sun.  On his hip was the finest sword I had ever seen.  This man moved with the grace of a deer on the run!
There were gasps and exclamations at this revelation, but the headman continued, “He asked the number in our steading, to which I replied truthfully.  He seemed to think on something for a few moments and then he reached into a pouch on his belt and took out this!”

With that, the headman uncovered the object with a flourish.  It was a cube, a hands-span wide and tall, grey on the sides and glossy black with faint tan lines on the top.
“He told me that if there were ever anything beyond our strength, beyond our knowledge, or illness that took more than a quarter of us, that I was to mount this on a tripod of six tall poles in a place that caught the sun all day.  He said if I did this help would come.  It might take time, but it would come. “
Almost as afterthought, the headman added, “ He also warned me about using it for any other purpose.  He said each steading was given only one and I was only to reveal it to another only in utmost need or when my own life was in doubt.  These deaths, I think, fit what he said.”

After answering their many questions and describing the stranger again, he silenced the others and sent them into the nearby forest to cut down six tall, thin pine trees.  They returned a short time later, two to a pair.  These were taken slightly out from the buildings and sunk into the earth with their tops bound together.  The strange grey box was fixed to the top with a piece of red cloth, left long to wave in the wind.

All they could do now was wait….

———————————————————————–

Kairn stood in the drizzling rain watching the guttering torches on either side of a building across the muddy street.  The rickety staircase over his head did little to protect him from the wind-blown moisture, but the shadow of it made him nearly invisible.  Just back from the boardwalk of the street, the stair ran up next to a long, dark alley.
“At least I didn’t have to hide in the mud under the boardwalk.” he thought as his ear caught the sound of an approaching carriage.
The shiny covered conveyance pulled up to a stop in front of the torches and the horses stood, steaming, as a fat merchant, two women, and three burly men got out onto the slick wood boards in front of the lit door.  The fat man laughed coarsely and unlocked the door while the men scanned the street up and down and the two ‘ladies’ made crude advances towards the merchant.  Finally, the fat man got the door open and went inside, followed by the two prostitutes and one broad-shouldered guard.  The two remaining guards took their places on either side of the doorway silently, their looks saying everything that needed to be said.  After a few moments, a light began glowing from a second story window.
Kairn watched the living statues for fifteen or twenty minutes, then slid his hand silently down into his belt and removed two small dark tubes.  These he brought to his lips and blew forcefully.  The darts hit the two guards just above their mail shirts, at the base of their necks.  They looked at each other for a comic second, then slumped to the walkway.  Kairn crossed the muddy street and climbed the stairs on the opposite side.  After removing the darts, he grabbed each man, rolled him off the boardwalk, and slid him up underneath its boards out of sight.  He then went silently back up the steps and slipped silently through the unlocked door, shutting it without a sound behind him..
Standing still just inside the entryway, he listened carefully for a few moments while the water dripped off his dark grey cloak onto the floor.  He then removed another tube from somewhere on his belt and started up a flight of stairs at the back of an adjoining hall.  He stopped near the top and produced a small mirror that he slowly lifted above his head until it gave him a view of the hallway above.  It was three meters in length and ended at another closed door with a guard in front of it.
He thought for a second, took a canteen off his belt and lobbed it down the stairs.  When the guard appeared at the top of the stairs, he too was darted and left crumpled up on the landing.  Once again, outside the closed door, Kairn waited patiently.  Laughter and giggling, along with a large amount of suggestive talk was coming from under the dimly-lit door.
Sighing inwardly, Kairn turned the brass handle and flowed across the room.  Inside he discovered a lavishly apportioned suite with a sumptuous bed currently occupied by two face-up beauties and one face-down merchant.  The girls laughter ceased when Kairn’s sword leapt like a snake’s strike out of his sheath and prodded the merchant none too gently on his exposed flank.  The merchant reached back with his hand and felt the tip of the sword, then slowly lifted and turned his head.  Taking in the crimson and black armor and the long grey cloak, as well as the exquisite blade nearly skewering him, and turned very pale.
“Put something on and come with me.” Kairn said quietly, lifting his blade.
As the merchant went to the door now wrapped in a thick robe, Kairn turned his helmed head towards the ladies and said, “A word of advice, ladies.  Get paid before.”  With that he followed the fat man into the hall while the two ladies merely laid looking at each other.
A few steps down the hall, near the body of his guard, the merchant turned.  Regaining some of his arrogance, he said, “What is all of this about? Interrupting an honest merchant at his rest!”  At ‘honest’ Kairn grunted.  His blade flashed forward and gently stilled the fat man’s moving chin.
“It has come to our attention that you have taken over the accounts of Landsvin, Earthroot, and Pineglen.  It seems that over the past 12 months, there has been a discrepancy about the value of their crops and what you sell them for here in the city.”  At discrepancy, the fat man moved back slightly and said in a petulant voice, “I can’t help it if they send me rotting crops!”
Kairn’s sword retook its place under the merchant’s now sweating chin as he continued as if nothing had been said.
“Last week I watched as 400 full bushel loads of grain were loaded in Pineglen. I accompanied this shipment here to Lunin, and watched as it was unloaded on the wharf and sold for Seven-stone five a half bushel..  I intercepted your message to the landsmen of Pinecove telling them that half of their crop was foul and that you were only able to get Three-stone four so would be paying them half of that amount for only 230 bushels.”
Kairn stopped speaking and began poking the now ashen-faced merchant on his amble belly, thighs and chest.
“Wha-what are you doing?” the merchant asked in a quavering voice.
“Deciding if even your portly frame has enough flesh to take that much larceny from.  I suppose if I take my time, though…” With that Kairn brought his sword back over his left shoulder in anticipation of the first trimming stroke.
“WA-WAIT!” the fat man cried out, holding his hands out in front of himself and falling to his knees.
“I’ll pay it all back. I promise!!  Every stone of it!!” he cried out.
“All four hundred bushels?” Kairn said quietly.
“Absolutely!!” gushed the merchant.
“And all of the other shipments as well?” Kairn asked.

At this the merchant seemed to balk a bit, but when the sword moved back another inch he merely nodded in terror.

“See that you do.  You have 14 days.”

With that, Kairn kicked the fat man out of his way and started for the stairs.  On the top step he turned, sword still in his right hand.

In a quiet voice he said, almost as an afterthought, “And don’t EVER make me have to come back here…”

With that he went silently but quickly down the stairs, picked up his canteen, and flowed out into the pouring darkness leaving only girls upstairs and the weeping merchant and his crumpled guards as evidence he had ever been there at all.

Slowly but surely, rumor of the visit spread.  Like ripples on a still pond, they reached out wider and wider until it became almost common knowledge.  For a short time, the ‘honesty’ of Lonin’s merchants and civil servants was above approach.  Confessions and re-payments were common.  Burglaries and pickpocketing nearly ceased.  No one wanted to be the cause of another visit from one of Them….

____________________________________________________

_________________________________________

One of my favorite songs has the line
“If I cannot Give you Comfort, then at least I give you hope…”
Hope.
Isn’t that the only ’real’ thing we all really have?
Hope that we will be better off financially…
Hope we will somehow get ‘better’ physically…
Hope those we love will stay close and safe….
Hope….

This year has really put me through the ringer.  I had my hopes up and was a hair’s breadth away from getting employed again after a decade.  This was something that I had hoped for and feared for a very long time.  I could almost taste it!  The fear?  That I would NOT be able to do it after all!

Turns out I have been secretly sick for some time.  So sick that the doctors had no real hope that I would make it to Thanksgiving.  Or Christmas.  Yet I persist.  Knowing the hurt my being gone would cause those I so dearly love, I hang on every single day.

Not that I get to ‘choose’ my passing, mind you.  But I do all of the things the doctors recommend to stick around.  For the most part, I get the feeling they are , themselves, just guessing.  But I persist.  Every day.

Through the pain, the heartache, the dull routine of breathing and heart beating, though I haven’t yet figured out all of the reasons to do so.  After all, there are 6 BILLION other souls on this mud ball.  Each and every one believing they are some kind of “special snowflake”.  When, in reality, we are all VERY much the same.  We hope. We dream. We hurt. We cry. We give and receive solace. Love. Pleasure.

Perhaps, though, that’s all I really have to do, persist.  Hang on hopefully for some sort of miracle or change in circumstances that will free me from my poverty or pain or health issues.  Persist in the belief in and the love I share with my Most Needed Person.

Some days, that has to be enough, I guess.

He came in the door looking at charts, tests, and notes.
“Hmmm.” He said.
“I see.” He intoned.
Never once looking in my direction.

When he finally did look up,
He said those words that over the years
I have learned to fear,
“For your own good…”

I patiently explained why cutting my pain relief
Was NOT a good option.
(Especially considering that the tests show
The things we are doing have absolved the problem.)

He appeared to listen,
All the while going over his golf handicap
Or the latest score of his favorite team.
“Just in case.” he said.

I reminded him of the walking corpse
That made it to my first appointment with him.
I discussed quality of life or lack thereof.
He nodded and agreed.

Then he mumbled a few more choice oaths like,
“Just letting you know…”
He then re-assured me that there wouldn’t be any changes
Until the first of the year at the earliest.

He swore.
He said not to worry about it.
It probably wouldn’t happen anyway.
Have a nice day!

…

I got the letter less than two weeks later…
Same words, Same reasons,
Less pain relief.
“For your own good.”

I H.A.T.E. Those four F&*^#NG words!

_____________________

As some of you know, I went into the hospital on Oct 8th with severe pneumonia. At the time, it was so severe they didn’t think that there was any way I would survive to see Sunday, much less several weeks! (We have such a great God!!)

Whilst in the hospital, they found that my doctor(s) had missed a few minor health problem I had apparently developed over the past ?year? or two; namely Congestive Heart Failure, Full blown Type 2 Diabetes, Polycythemia, A Severely enlarged heart, and various other less important issues. These were all related, to a greater or lesser degree, to the fact that my daily diuretic had failed. Over time, water had built up and water-logged my tissues preventing my meds from working, and making it nearly impossible for my heart to push O2 through my system. Of course smoking like a chimney for 20 years didn’t help.

So I’m sick. Very. (Though I feel better than I have in months.) If I make it the next month or so, we can look at trying to fix some of the major issues. Until I finish getting all of the water out/off my system, there is no real point in starting anything else.  One of the doctors gave me slightly better than 50/50 odds of making it to November 15th due to stored chemicals in my tissues, the size and weakness of the walls in my heart, and underlying other issues.  That was kind of a shock and hard to hear.

As you can probably tell, Shawna and I are and will be facing some scary issues over the next few months.  I’m sorry if we have been out of touch, or haven’t spoken to some of you in private, but it is all we can do to face each day without crying.

Shawna has been GREAT. But trying to go on like everything is ‘honkey-dory’ is tiring and difficult on the best of days. (And there have been few ‘best’ days of late.) It doesn’t help that we are facing some of the leanest times financially that we have had over the past 10 or so years. Every penny is taken before it arrives, That on top of the medical exams and tests on my poart, and the college classes and learning on Shawna’s, has us pretty well exhausted well before it is time to go to bed every day…

Also, thank you all for your individual and group offers of sympathy and help. Right now, other than money for bills (which no one has in this economy) mostly what we need are your prayers. And kind thoughts. Please continue to keep us in your prayers this fall as we battle whatever comes up. Like the Apostle Paul, to lose (my life) is gain, ’cause I know where I am going and what awaits me when I get there. (I WIN!!)

______________________________________________

I’ll put up more when I find the time and energy….

-Dave-

I’m not going to go into many details, don’t worry.

Aparently after arriving he began to undergo hazing from the regulars.  Not the “Ha ha, you have a sign on your back!” kind of hazing.  More like the broken ribs, broken wrist, black eye, split lip, bruised, tell-everyone-that-you-fell-from-a-truck kind of hazing.  They repeatedly beat and humiliated him at every opportunity.  They hurt him.  Not just physically (which is bad enough) but emotionally.

One early example:  On his 3rd day, several of the “men” gave him a cup of coffee.  He thought they were being nice.  They weren’t.  It was laced with exlax.  When he went to sleep (before it took effect) they plastic wrapped him to his bunk and placed him out in front of his tent for the next five or so hours. While he shat himself.  And they laughed.  They finally cut him loose and let him wash, then punished him for being late to formation.  It just got worse from there…

He asked me,” How could these guys do that to me?  They were supposed t o be my brothers.  Instead they….” and his voice dropped off as he began to weep. Again.

All I can do is hold him and cry.

And inside my heart a fire burns hot and hard.

(The War Crimes part coming up soon…)

The very first thing I noticed was a searing pain in my left side when I drew my first conscious breath.  I reached to feel it and discovered that apparently someone had broken all of the fingers on my right hand in my sleep.  And my left as well.

Sometimes being numb can be a blessing.  I almost wished for a moment that I couldn’t feel them at all.  It was all I could do to press against my balled fists of agony to roll myself out of bed and onto feet apparently embedded with shards of glass.

The day was NOT starting well.

I had crashed around 10pm, and awoken around 1:30 am.  Pretty standard stuff.  My Lovely awakened at around 3:30am with a pinched nerve in her shoulder, and so we spent around 45 minutes getting that back under control so she could finally rest.  She went to bed.

I stayed up for a while.

Eldest son had a chance a a new construction/roofing job starting at 7am, so I stayed awake long enough to make sure he would be able to do so.  It’s amazing how entertaining old action movies can be at 5am.

Around 6:15am I crashed again, knowing that I had to be up around 9:30am to get ready to drive Middle Daughter to meetings at 10:30am and Noon.  This worked out okay because I was due for meds around then anyway.

The real problem is that I am short of meds. Again. (Andagainandagainandagainandagain.)
Two weeks ago I over-used my meds to maintain a schedule that was, for me at least, VERY demanding.  Activities and hours of driving each day followed by meetings, BBQ’s, and dinners.  WAY more than I am used to.  So I ‘boosted’.  Repeatedly.

I came into this week with enough standing meds. (60mg Morphine ER every 8 hours.) But I was totally lacking the breakthrough meds. (30mg Morphine IR on demand.)  Naturally, I planned a week of light movement and LOTS of naps.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!1!

R-i-g-h-t.

Somehow the rest of the world didn’t get the memo.  I have driven for no less than an hour and up to three hours a day.  And cooked. And went to a concert. And washed. And stayed nice.  And listened. And encouraged. And advised. And reminded. And……

God.  Some days I feel like a hollow wooden shell of what everyone else sees.  I look out with my dead eyes and just want to get in Guinevere (my Buick) and DRIVE.  No destination. No speed limit.  No planning.  Just my Most Needed Person and I.  Driving.  With the sunroof and windows wide open, tunes blaring from my high def car stereo.

But every time I think I am just going to drive past the driveway and keep going until I run out of money, gas, or road, I hit the brakes and pull in.  I sit there with my hands trembling in the dark and wonder what it used to feel like to be young, pain-free, and alive…..

Then I shut off the car, painfully climb out of the cockpit, and stagger inside; remembering to paste a plastic smile on my face for the family before I make it through the second door.  

After all, can’t go letting them think I might actually be handicapped, can I?

*sigh*

Days and nights flow like water;
Cold, thick, discolored streams
Wrapping their icy tendrils around my
Throat, wrists, and eyes.

I’m blinded to the warmth and
Brightness around me.
Plunged into my own private hell
Of guilt, pain, and cracked memories.

Like a broken glass figurine filled with sand,
I watch the essence of my dreams
Leak through the shattered fingers
Of my half dead hands.

And I weep.

Every ounce of who I am,
What I dreamed for and
Broke mind and body towards
Is now almost within my grasp.

And yet…..

I hesitate.
I stammer and delay.
Somehow unable or unwilling
To reach out and grasp
That which I have so longed for.

What is wrong with me?
Over a decade spent in the silent dark,
And here I am on the freezing edge of sunlight,
Unable to step across the line into the warmth.

My hands sweat with the
Anticipation of controlling something
In this realm of broken dreams and
Shattered hopes.

My legs shake with the adrenalin rush
Of leaping forward to seize what is rightfully mine.

Perhaps I dream too big?
Perhaps this is all just some cruel trick
Designed to torment me yet again,
Screaming out my worthlessness and fail.

And so I wait…
For a signal, a sign.
Some indication that this is the right thing to do.
Some way of knowing it is all not just some
Cruel, Cruel masquerade.

That fiery orb of blame that
Merely exposes my weakness and inability to everyone
Still willing to be near me everyday.

The sky is a bright, clean blue…..

Which works to highlight
How sloppy and unkempt I normally am
And how difficult it is to be
That snappy young stylist I once was.

There is a soft, breeze blowing….

Carrying my stench of fear
And utter failure across the lit landscape.
Warning everyone that I am nearby so they can hide.

The grass is green and the trees are in flower….

Reminding me that I have survived
Another black winter of pain and agony
Without finding a way to fix it or the strength to end it.

Children and small animals laugh and play nearby….

Oblivious to the spectre of death and pain
Seated morosely in their midst.
If only they saw past the mask, they would hide and scream.

I sit in a wooden chair on the first day of Spring….