Wanderer's Journal #37

      Two weeks passed and the escalating state of things left us facing the point of no return. My grandfather had developed doubts, but not enough to try and fix things on his own. Marie-Lynn refused to talk to me most days, and when we did speak, it would be about how I should do something. This is the end of our story.

      The last decade we spent together was in her world, the night before I murdered her. When I had gone to bed that night, cradling my grandfather's sheathed blade, I expected darkness and then another miserable morning. But instead I opened my eyes to find the beautiful Marie-Lynn standing over me, her tears hitting my face.

      “I thought you didn't want me here.” I grumbled as I sat up and looked around. Everything was grey except for Marie-Lynn and I. All of the life and color that once overflowed from Marie-Lynn was gone, washed away by sorrow and fear.

      “Of course I wanted you here!” She replied between heavy sobs. “I just thought that you loved me enough to try and save us! I don't want to die as a victim of association! I wanted to grow old with you! But now, that feels impossible...”

      At that moment, I had been the closest I had ever been to trying to save the two of us. But even then I was too afraid to admit fault, to take the all too necessary risk. I never ended up replying to Marie-Lynn's words. After a long paused filled by wet sobbing, I got to my feet, took Marie-Lynn's hand, and reintroduced her to the Wanderer. Our final decade was one spent wandering together, one last time.

      “Do you know why I wander?” I asked near the end of the first year. She shook her head. I looked to the cloudy sky and lost myself within the answer. “Some people read books to find answers. Some experiment. I wander. It helps me think, but it also teaches me the world, and allows me to search it.”

      “Then why are we wandering now? What answer do you think this worlds still holds?” She questioned, much to my pleasure. I stopped and turned to face her. I ran a hand through her flaming auburn hair and caressed her face.

      “Before I met you, I was by no means a wanderer. All of the answers I sought could be obtained by meditation. But then you came along and ignited something within me. You became the spark in my chest, the one that lights the dark path ahead of me. When you left, all I could do is search for you. You were the answer I was looking for. But once I found you, or rather once you found me, I realized that you are a complete mystery. We're wandering now because you are the most profound, most important, question that I have ever known.”

      “And you want us to figure me out together?” Marie-Lynn continued.

      I shook my head. “No, I want to get lost in your infinities with you.” That was the last sweet thing I ever said to her.

      Morning came upon us like a falling bomb. We felt rushed, afraid, and overcame with grief. Something within us knew that it was the end. Perhaps it was the high nerves that led me to do as I did, but there are more likely influences. That day, we ate breakfast with my grandfather. He noticed his sheathed blade attached to my belt. He looked up from its hilt, met my gaze, and then returned to his meal in silence. Marie-Lynn nudged me in an attempt to get me to speak to him. I excused myself and went into the garden in search of solace. The flowers were wilted, withered, and lifeless. I tried to lift a rose's head, only to have its petals fall away in silent death. A cold breeze chilled me to my pounding heart. Footsteps approached.

      “You can't run from this forever. Soon it will catch you... and me, and that will be the end of us. Please listen to reason.” Marie-Lynn began her final plead. I touched another flower. Its petals fell away. “The three of us are like those flowers. We can be saved, but it is a choice that must be made. The slightest touch in the wrong direction and we will fall apart. Please don't do this to us...” She trailed off. For all the energy she had invested in trying to convince me, she was running out of strength. But there was one final reserve she was willing to use and I saw it on the verge of being unleashed.

      I spoke first. “These flowers can't be saved. It's been too long. Their time is spent.”

      She slapped me hard as tears began to well up in her eyes, slowly slipping away one by one. There was a silent stand-off. And then it all came out, the final burst. “You know what? I'm sick of your cowardice! You say you love me often enough that it almost seems true, but your actions, or lack of, make me think otherwise!”

      I couldn't stand the accusations. My knees grew weak and my mind turned feral. She kept going and every time she claimed that I didn't love her brought me closer and closer to the edge. In an instant, I drew the blade and thrust forward.

      “You don't love-” Marie-Lynn had been screaming as her life became fleeting.

      “Shut up!” I howled in agony as the two of us fell to the ground, one dead, the other dead inside.

      “Jesse! What have you done?” My grandfather cried out as he found us in the gardens.

      My vision was blurry as I caressed her face one last time, drew the blade from her chest, and ran.

      The story ends here. Now I can finally bid goodbye to this wretched world I have created. Now I may lie in my grave and greet Death like a saviour. Marie-Lynn, I am truly sorry. Perhaps in another world we may have our happy ending. But now, I go to eternal Death.

THE END

-Zero

   

Wanderer's Journal #36

      I thought I was trapped within Marie-Lynn's subconscious, and I hated to admit it. So, when she asked why I couldn't return, I lied. The next few nights in reality were dreamless for me. I did not want to return to the horror that was her subconscious. But for all the horror that I could have experienced in a lifetime, I could never find myself tormented as she lay beside me peacefully. On those nights that I could not sleep, and Marie-Lynn did, I contented myself with her soft presence. There was something about having her beside me that made all the problems of life seem so insignificant. Death didn't matter anymore. Its power was nothing in comparison to the occasional mumbling of Marie-Lynn. If she hadn't been there, I would have wandered about through the darkness alone. Instead, I found myself unwilling to leave her side. All the wandering in the world could never give me nearly as much solace as lying beside her did in those few nights. But it was destined to end.

      The morning after those three sleepless nights, Marie-Lynn found me in the gardens. It was with worried curiosity that she asked, “where'd you go, Jesse? I don't feel your presence in my world anymore.” She paused. “I know we don't talk much, but I still miss you.”

      I almost told her the truth right there, but fear held me back. “I haven't been sleeping well. I'm afraid of dreams.” I hadn't lied yet. She questioned why. My lie followed. “I'm afraid of losing grip on reality.”

      The conversation ended with these words, spoken by Marie-Lynn. “I miss you. Come back.”

      It was then that I started to question whether or not I could go back. What could I have gone back to? One final moment? One final kiss? Was it worth it? The correct answer was “yes”. One moment with Marie-Lynn is worth an eternity of suffering.

      Our second to last decade together began with a hesitant entry. I feared the imaged that had woken me last and expected to find it staring me down upon my arrival. But, as I learned that night, the subconscious is a place without restraint, without borders, and without a set state of being. When I entered her world, I was greeted by the image of a vast forest. From its canopy, a great maple tree stuck out to the sky. The forest looked vibrant and exuberant, but I was afraid of what might lay within. I looked at my surroundings. The wall was gone and the Great Expanse stretched out behind me. I thought about Marie-Lynn's words, and then entered the lush forest.

      It was like entering into a parallel universe, one of gods and a war between the forces of creation and destruction. My movements no longer felt my own as I wandered through Marie-Lynn's woods of apparent sanctuary. Perhaps in one version of our lives we have a happy ending. Maybe in her subconscious' projection we might have survived. I followed an old broken sidewalk until it finished mysteriously before a thick underbrush. I pushed through it and found myself in a meadow with waist-high grass. It was then that I saw her in the distance, watching from behind a tree.

      “Marie-Lynn?” I called out as I went towards her. Her hazel eyes flashed with fire, and the forest was turned to ash. It became almost impossible to see, but I pressed on. As the ash settled, she came into view. She wore a long green flowing dress and her auburn hair went down to her belly button. Marie-Lynn's face was empty of emotion. All of her passion, her ferocity, and her affection, seemed to be drained from her. My oldest friend was becoming a stranger to me.

      “Marie-Lynn?” I repeated. She didn't react. I moved towards her in a slow careful manner. I reached out for her and touched her face. She jumped back and horror came over her.

      “Beware the child of fire! The wanderer! The coward! He will flee his responsibilities and lead you to your death! For all the power he has been given, the coward holds his blade!” her words sounded prophetic and true. A part of me already understood what would happen. I took a step back in shock, and then a blade, much like the one my grandfather had given me, pierced her chest and ended her life. Marie-Lynn fell to the ground and my mirror image stood behind her with tears on his cheeks. He burst into flames and I ran. I dove into the Great Expanse and swam until the other world rescued me.

      Marie-Lynn, my Marie-Lynn, stood on the shore and watched me as I approached. She greeted me with a worried smile. “You look terrified. What did you see?”

      “Myself.” I answered as I turned to face the Great Expanse that had become protection from the uncontrollable. She pressed me for more answers, but I couldn't give them. Eventually she gave up and left me to stare across the rescuing ocean.

      When reality took us again, we were forced into each other's presences. “Things are getting worse here...” She muttered as she stared at the image of impending war on the television. Her hazel eyes drifted to meet my cowardly gaze. “Please talk to your grandfather, Jesse. It's the only chance we've got at a happy ending.”

      “My love,” I said softly as I fought my boiling frustration, “there is no such thing as a happy ending in this world. We're doomed to death, to isolation, to the loneliness of our finitude.”

      Her first reaction to my hopeless words was a slap, followed by strong words. “No wonder your world is closed off. You've lost sight of the imagination that allowed you to see the world as it truly is. You've been blinded by your own fear...”

      “You want to know what I saw?” I screamed with teary eyes. “I saw myself kill you! I stood and watched as my grandfather's blade pierced your heart! I saw you fall over, revealing my bloody hands! If this is the way the world looks, then I'd much rather be blind!”

      I had stirred Marie-Lynn's fiery passion. “It's exactly what the world will look like, Jesse! You will be my murderer unless you do something!”

      “I love you... Please stop asking me to do this. I can't. Let's just hide in your unreality! We could still have centuries together that way!”

      But nothing I could have said would have convinced her to forget our precarious situation in reality. We were reaching our end. She knew it, and so did I. An idea occurred to her, one that should have convinced me to act.

      “No!” She yelled defiantly. “My world is no longer open to you! Get out of mine and stay out! Reality is your new home!”

-Zero

Your Pacing (Poem)

This piece was actually written roughly three years ago in my high school's art room. I remembered it and found myself writing a poem to accompany the idea of the original, but I realized that the original had not been shared. So I typed it up and then figured that I might as well rewrite it. The original was titled "The Black Door"/"The Dark Door", but I chose to change it to "Your Pacing" to accommodate the changes. The second poem will be posted at a later date and goes by the name of "The Question at the Door". Well that will be enough. Enjoy, take care, and until next time!

-------------------

My door opens,

And you're the first to go by.

You're the second,

And the third.

Or maybe you're not.

Maybe I can't see anyone else.

You always peer in,

But just keep walking.

I wonder if you can see

My hands as they tremble,

Pen in hand,

Trying to make sense of us.

I want you here with me,

But something holds you back,

And the fire in my heart hates it,

Burning with insatiable love.

Can't you come in?

My world is open to you.

But I know:

Things won't change,

Unless you and I challenge it,

And enter the darkness.

We won't recognize each other,

Only our matching flames.

The world is a storm,

Blowing and raining on us,

Almost trying to put us out,

Which is why we have to burn!

If we falter,

Then we may vanish completely.

So won't you come in,

Out of the storm,

If only for a moment?

Let our prides fade away,

We are all one,

Separate but united.

But still you pace,

Back and forth,

Undecided...

And fearful.

The door stays open for you,

And I'll be right here for you.

-Zero

Wanderer's Journal #35

        Truth is a terrifying thing, especially when it is the truth that all things one holds dear will be destroyed. Sometimes the best option is to go before they do. But sometimes fear realizes itself. My fear of losing Marie-Lynn did. Our story is almost over and I dread these final moments.

        Reality crumbled around us. Marie-Lynn and I started receiving death threats in the mail. They were mostly empty threats, but occasionally some rebels would attack our home, not to kill, but to scare. We moved a few times and hired guards, but that didn't stop the mild attacks. They wore us out. We felt forced to seek further protection. We ended up at my grandfather's heavily guarded home outside of the city. There we found peace, but the fear had been inflicted. Marie-Lynn had found further justification for her demands, and I was all the more afraid to act. 

        Her world was a tempest. The little house that we had built together was torn apart. The earth trembled at all times, and the sky was always dark. The wind blew mercilessly. Endless rain washed everything away into the depths of the Great Expanse. I watched it all pour away and become nothing. Decade after decade I watched Marie-Lynn's once graceful and beautiful world slowly become a barren and flooded landscape. The elements raged on its blank surface. We never spoke about it. We barely spoke at all.

        Eventually, in one of the last decades in unreality we would share together, I was carried away by a rushing current. But I did not swim back into Marie-Lynn's rage. Instead, I swam beyond, to the world unknown. It took some time, but I thought I had all the time I could possess. When I washed up onto its rocky shores, I was amazed. Jagged rocks stuck out from the white waters and reached for the sky. But they were dwarfed in comparison to the great wall of solid stone that seemed to surround the whole land. Even the highest flying birds could not pass over it, and so, I had no concept in how to scale it. It seemed that even Marie-Lynn would have been stuck outside of it, as that part of her world was out of her conscious control. I began to wander, following the wall in search for an entrance. Its power overthrew my pride. Its magnificence and awful height reminded me that the consciousness is but an ant to the leviathan of the subconscious. How I could I slay such a beast? How could I tame a being more powerful than I? But soon I realized that it was not defeating the leviathan that I intended to do. Rather, I wanted to submit to it. The subconscious controls the conscious, even though its influence seems invisible. I wonder what my subconscious looked like in those days. Regardless, I accepted its power and, in doing so, I found the gate.

        It stood above me much like the wall itself. I could not see where it ended, so I assumed that it was the entire height of the sky. I almost opened it without thought, but then I realized that if I could open it, I might not be able to close it. What if the wall had not been built to keep people out, but to keep it all in? I was threatening Marie-Lynn's consciousness with that gate. Everything meant to be kept secret might pour out upon its opening. Marie-Lynn's mind might have been lost with the opening of one little box of unknown terrors. But like all fools, I was too curious to resist the urge. I thought maybe I could make sense of the grand mystery that I had devoted my life to. So, with that idea in mind, I pushed the gate open.

        Nothing came pouring out. The massive gates stood in eerie suspense. For a moment, all I could see was darkness. Fearlessly I entered into the vault of secrets. Then the doors shut behind me. I was trapped within Marie-Lynn's subconscious. I realized this immediately. So, I did as I always did. I wandered without conception of what surrounded me. I searched the dark infinite for answers, signs, whatever they might have held. Then, after a long while of walking through endless darkness, I noticed the flickering of a fire on the horizon. I wondered if it was my flame, stashed away deep inside of Marie-Lynn. I blindly ran towards it. But as I did, more became visible. It was a pyre of sacrifice. Shooting forth from the flames was a crucifix, upon which a burning man was nailed. His screams filled the empty darkness and struck fear into my heart. But my curiosity pushed me forward. Why did Marie-Lynn have such suffering on display? I could not make sense of it until his face came into view. The man was not a character from some religious story. He was not suffering for some greater cause. He was a fool being burned at the stake for his idiocy. He was me.

        The immediate terror shocked me awake. It was six in the morning. Our luxurious room was glowing with the first gleam of the morning sun. I knew that In almost no time at all Marie-Lynn would be awake and she would have questions. I went for a walk around the walled grounds. My grandfather did all he could to make the plants flourish, although he had begun to slip away from those duties due to the revolution. He was a gardener at heart with a powerful hate for weeds. He just wanted to make the country more beautiful. But maintaining a country is not the same as maintaining a garden. In a garden, one can discriminate against weeds and kill them without negative consequence. It's a common and encouraged practice. But people cannot be removed so easily. Their roots are intertwined, and so, in removing some, one disturbs many. Plants, as far as we know, have no social networks which provide their lives with meaning and power. We require each other to survive, and so when some of us are threatened, we are all threatened. That was my grandfather's deadly mistake.

        When I returned, four or so hours had passed and I was beginning to get hungry. For the most part, I had cleansed my mind of the horror of the night before, but Marie-Lynn forced me to remember.

        “Where did you go?” She asked, her eyes peering into me.

        “Your waters carried me beyond the Great Expanse.” I lied.

        “Find your way back.”

        “I'm not sure if I can.”

-Zero

The Crash (In Memory of Manon Aubin and Richard Filion)

    Not long ago, I posted a piece titled "Dear Neighbour" which spoke about how life is filled with goodbyes, whether permanent or temporary. On the thirteenth of May, my family and I (along with a great deal of other people) were forced to say goodbye to Manon Aubin, my aunt, and Richard Filion, my uncle. But, unlike my grandfather's departure two years ago, they did not go willingly into the arms of Death. It was an accident along the highway 148, a head-on collision that left two people dead and one in critical condition. My aunt and uncle were on their way to work when it happened. It was most likely a daily routine for all the people involved. As far as I can remember, my uncle has been taking that same route to work everyday, but all those years of safety can be compromised by a single moment. For their twenty five years together, all it would take is a simple moment to put an end to their lives.

       I guess, in some astronomical and historical sense, all of our lives are just moments. Aren't we all not much bigger than specs on this planet? Yet, for specs we do change quite a bit about this planet. Richard Filion was my uncle and the owner of the pharmacy in Shawville, some 45 minutes away from home. He, like the rest of us, was just a spec on this planet, and yet he managed to touch the lives of so many people and change them for the better. On top of serving the people of Shawville, he also served those in Quyon and even in his home itself, often delivering the packages himself. The wide range of people that he touched positively only serves to prove that even a spec can change the whole. After all, isn't that what humans have been doing almost their whole existence? Haven't we been changing the world, even though we are so small in comparison? And even though Richard has been embraced by Death, all that he has done remains. The people who's lives have been changed will never truly return to a time before him. But my uncle wasn't the only one who spent his life helping others.

      My aunt (as far as I can remember, at least) worked as a teacher for elementary schools. I remember seeing her substituting at my own school once and being completely confused as to why my aunt, Manon Aubin, was there. But beyond that, I remember her telling me a story about this first grader that she had named Noah. This was only a few years ago, while I was in high school. As long as I have been able to walk, I have walked on the front of my feet when not wearing shoes. My heels rarely get close to the ground. Apparently, this little Noah boy would walk the same way all the time and, being the responsible adult that she was, she would tell him "feet down, Noah!" Inevitably Noah left her class, but the story remained. In fact, she had gotten into the habit of telling me the same thing when I walked that way, name and all! I never really listened, but it was always an amusing time. It's a little harder to see how my aunt has really changed the world unless we consider that she was a teacher and a mother. There is a bit of a tendency sometimes to disregard the sheer value of teachers in a child's life. For most children in our society, they see their professors more than their parents, which usually means that the way in which they are taught and treated can have astronomical effects on their lives. However, it is often hard for children to recognize how they have grown due to their teachers. But Manon was an elementary teacher, so she taught and helped them develop their most basic of abilities, such as mathematics, reading, writing, and social abilities. At an older age, it's easy to take these sort of things for granted, considering that just about everyone (in our society) can read and write and do basic math. But if it wasn't for our teachers, our second set of parents, we might not have learned to do those things at all, or not as well as we did under them (as our parents would still have to work and wouldn't have nearly as much time to invest into us as the teachers do). And although my aunt's time is over, those that she taught continue to live with the skills that she has taught them. For all we know, we may depend on them one day to do the same.

      But enough of that. There is something that has been on my mind since no longer than two hours after I heard of the accident. You see, I was informed rather late due to the fact that I was asleep at the time and I tend to sleep well into the day. Essentially what I ended up doing was meeting up with the rest of the family at the hospital, and then got into a car with my parents and brother before heading over to my aunt and uncle's house. More family showed up and there was a great deal of sorrow and crying. Some snacks were put out, and some music put on, and everyone was left to deal with the sudden loss. I took a seat on the couch and waited. I considered all the consequences of the crash. There would be no more "feet down, Noah!", nor will there be anymore trips on their boat. But for all the things that I was losing, an aunt and an uncle that my family were close with, my cousins were losing their parents. This overtook me not long into the whole event. For a long time I have considered that it could happen to me, that one day somebody might call and deliver the news that I am an orphan. I never thought it would happen to them. But it did, and I'm not sure I could ever understand how they feel. Officially, they're all adults, but adults or not, that doesn't mean that they weren't close with their parents, that they didn't still live at home, that they didn't lose main pillars of their lives. Their home will likely remain theirs, but how terrible it must be to live in it after losing their parents. Every nook and cranny of the house, every toy, and every pot and pan, belonged once to their parents and bears their mark. Everything, from the stairs to the front door, from the shed in the backyard to the car in the driveway, serves as a reminder of what has been lost. I can only imagine how terrible it must be to suddenly find the house empty every time they return from school or work when their parents would otherwise be there. I can only imagine how lost they must feel now that their parents are gone, no longer there to guide and help them through the complication that is life. They have each other, and they have us, but nothing and no one could ever replace their parents. It is their loss that touches me the most out of this whole event. When I am brought to tears by it, it's not because I miss my aunt and uncle or am sad because I lost them, it is because of how I imagine them to feel, fully knowing that it is probably a fraction of the true grief.

        So, as I sat there in their living room, the same room that we had celebrated Christmas and New Years together for as long as I can remember, I grew restless and horribly frustrated. My aunt and uncle truly lived their lives. They traveled to all sorts of places, from Venice to Paris, to Jamaica and New York. They saw far more of the world than anyone else in the family has and they loved to travel. What made me frustrated was not the sudden and unfair nature of the whole accident, but the fact that I had wasted time the night before pursuing mindless entertainment. For those that know me, it might be clear that I am terrified of mediocrity ("A Fear Greater Than Death") and the sheer idea of giving myself up in order to live an unfulfilling life. Their deaths only reminded me that I had been wasting my time, that I had been wasting my life (not in whole), and that I needed to change it. I hated myself for allowing myself to fall so far. Perhaps it is due to this that I grew so horribly restless on that couch. I tried writing there, but even that was not enough. I needed to leave the abyss of sorrow and feel the world. Death, for me, inspires further creation. When my grandfather died, I needed to create, so I wrote poems (see bottom half) and a blog post. But these deaths required more processing. I did not see Death float over them and speak to me, as I describe in the blog post about my grandfather. No, instead it all happened away from me, and so I could not write about Death itself, but its effects. I kept myself occupied with other actions, though, knowing that the moment I would write this post, it would all come out, and I believe it has.

        If there is any positive thing that could come out of such a terrible loss, it is the renewal and strengthening of my resolve to live my life and not just survive. It is the strength that will carry me through every day, learning with each step, searching for the answers I don't expect to find. It is the resolve that drives my pen across the paper and causes my fingers to fly across the keyboard. It is the resolve that provides me with a reason to live, and a meaning to my life. So, until next time,

-Zero

Wanderer's Journal #34

        Marie-Lynn and I resisted the unrest of the reality we knew for as long as we could. In her world, we worked away the days. On the plateau that our home rested upon, we built a firepit and an accompanying wood shed. Some nights, I would tend to a little fire. The smoke always went towards the Great Expanse. It drifted towards the mysterious unknown, taking with it my desire for the uncontrollable. Occasionally I wondered what would happen if I jumped into the flames. Would I become smoke and fly away? Or would I be unmoved, rooted to that unreality?

        As for Marie-Lynn, she often spent her nights in unnecessary rest. In the waking hours of her days, she did drawings on the cliff. She say precariously on the edge, occasionally dropping her pencil to the rocks below. But no fear of falling could have come over Marie-Lynn in her own world. Still, I wondered why she chose that location. She never told me. Her drawings were basic like a child's at first, and for some time this infuriated her. My flames devoured many early sketches. On rainy days, the fire was left to die, and a cavern would open up in the cliff for Marie-Lynn to take refuge in. I spent those days discovering my bad handiwork on the roof, while Marie-Lynn disappeared to practice.

        It took a thunderstorm for me to go see her. That decade in her world had been quiet. The two of us contented ourselves with individual work. Sometimes from my pit I would look over at her and want to join, but I held myself back. The thunderstorm, however, threatened to drown the towering plateau. Storms in unreality are strange like that. Drenched, I sprinted to the cavern, although I did not know the path. I guessed as best I could, and came across a slippery ledge along the cliff wall. I started on it without fear. Surely enough, I found Marie-Lynn looking across the Great Expanse. The cavern was deep and lit by Marie-Lynn's demand. The rock walls were covered in papers. Each paper seemed to be a different variation of the same drawing, but before I could get too close, Marie-Lynn stepped into my path. Her flaming hair brushed the ground when she walked.

        “I thought that might get you down here.” She caressed my face and then wiped the water on her pants. “You're soaked. I'm afraid I can't let you in until you dry off.” She grinned playfully.

        “Well I'm going to need a towel then. You'll do.” I snatched her and embraced her with all my being. At first she squirmed as if it was a game of catch, but after a bit she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed the air out of me.

        “Okay! Fine! You can come in! But wipe your feet!” She cried out as she pulled away from me. She twirled away, disappearing into the cavern. I did as she asked and chased after her.

        The sketches grew visible and almost understandable as I got closer. On every paper, there was an ever-progressing tree in some mysterious woods. From one to another, nothing seemed to changed, but fifty drawings later it seemed to be another tree entirely. I followed them and watched the tree grow old and incredibly large. At the end, at the final drawing, only the base of the tree could be seen, with a little sapling beside it.

        “These have incredible detail! You've been working hard. It has paid off, but why a tree?”

        “Don't you think we're getting a bit old? Maybe one day we'll be this tree, living in happy peace.” I had known that she was trying to suggest something beyond old retirement, but I pushed it out of my mind.

        “Not with the way things are going in reality right now. That tree is bound to get chopped down long before its time.”

        “Not if you talked to your grandfather! You could stop this, Jesse! You could make it so that the sapling can grow under the careful watch of that old tree! He respects your opinion! You could save our home and our lives!” This was the beginning of her pestering me. This was the beginning of the end. The worst is that she was right.

        “Marie-Lynn, we don't know anything about politics. Our input would be uneducated and could bring more harm than not. As much as I hate our position in reality, it's best if we just stay out of it. Let's stay in unreality and ignore the occasional day in reality.” I pleaded, but she hated my words.

        “You're an infuriating coward, Jesse! Here you are, completely capable of saving your home, your family, your love, and yourself, and yet you refuse to do it! Isn't it worth the risk?” The correct answer was 'yes'.

        “I don't want to make things worse! I couldn't bear to lose you to the spectre of death! I love you too much to say goodbye!” My words were filled with passion, but Marie-Lynn knew the truth better.

        “I will die if you don't do this! As part of his family, you're an enemy unless you act against him! He can't win this fight, and when he loses, both of us are dead! Don't you understand this?” I didn't reply. Instead I joined the storm and tried to hide myself from the truth.

        But, as I've shown, I could only avoid the truth for so long.

-Zero

  

The Journey Of April (Update)

     As many of you already know, in April I undertook in a writing challenge known as Camp NaNoWriMo, in which I wrote 100,000 words of several novels of mine, completing two, continuing a third, and rewriting the fourth. The two that were completed were "A Plead to Iris", a story told by an old poet retelling the romance of his past, and "Kuna Zero: A Wanderer's Tale", the prelude to "The Beginning of the End". The novel that found itself continued (although not for much longer than a couple days of regular NaNoWriMo) was "The Daughter of Athena", which tells the story of Olympia, the daughter of Athena, as she deals with the false ideas of love and beauty as placed in the society by the jealous Aphrodite. The rewrite was "Love: A Chaotic Insanity", which is my first NaNo-novel and has been in the editing process for some time now. I managed to win, despite the overwhelming pressure I felt just prior to beginning the challenge, and despite the multitude of other things I was required to write (exams, further edits for class, papers often exceeding seven or eight pages, and so on), as well as the departure from my room in residence.
       Over the course of April, a world seemed to change within me. My main series ("The Autobiographies of a Fictional Character" as I like to call it) found itself completed in a first draft form, as well as partially rewritten and reworked throughout the month. On top of that I finished "A Plead to Iris", which had not been such a main project of mine, but I had taken some time outside of NaNoWriMo to continue it, and it is something incredible to have it done. Lastly, with the change of residence, I bid goodbye to a great deal of friends, some of which I will never see again, and most of which I will likely never spend quite as much time with in the future. It was yet another end, and I could see yet another beginning on the horizon. We shall see.
     Anyways, I believe I ought to get to work. For the past week, I have been recovering from the intense month that April turned out to be, with all things considered. But I grow restless with no work being done, and so I feel the need to pursue more meaningful work. The world is filled with work that is far from meaningful, as many have observed so far. But I am rambling. Until next time,

-Zero