Flashes

As a child, my father had high hopes for me in following his footsteps. And truth to be told, I nearly did. Somewhere along the way however, he made a mistake. Something that shook me awake from reality and into a dream. From that day on, life was different, changed. I began to watch, to listen, to feel and the world started to develop infront of me. Three years of seclusion and learning to listen and to see before speaking. I changed.

However, things came to a head a year and a half ago. I could still remember, that day on the hilltop where the wind could not reach. Where I gathered, faced with a battle I had not intended to fight. That corny speech he gave before the fall of the hammer, oh I remembered that too. For a moment there, I nearly swore to myself I'd rip his head off for saying those things. Words which at that time, I was sure he did not understand. Honor, friendship, loyalty. Bullshit. He fought not for those, but pride. He's different now though. No longer the same. Changed. And for him, I hope it's for the better. The last time I saw him, his eyes were different and his aura was calm. So different.

We cannot hold a torch to light another's path without brightening our own. ~Ben Sweetland

Still, the truth was, on that day roughly one year and sixth months ago, he was me. Or at least, everything I could have been. Proud, determined, smart, handsome, and sporty, everything my father wanted me to be. My polar opposite. I don't know about others but watching my mirror image before me was more frightening than anything I've ever faced. Looking back now I don't think I was fighting merely to ease the girl's suffering. And definitely not to help my friend with his troubles. I think I went to that hill, with full knowledge of the possible punishments and consequences of my actions, so that I could see this perfect persona of me at his fullest.

I remembered thinking, We were so similar. Fighting on our emotions and doing anything to keep our beliefs. As he threw the first punch, I realized how easy it was to beat him into a bloody pulp, as I had done with others on occasions long ago. Than the names Leon, Cedric and Dominic flowed into my mind and an emotion that was oh-so familiar filled my heart. Hatred. In that single cumulative moment, without me knowing it, I had won. Even though I had to endure the constant beating, I did not fight back. I took on every hit without fighting back and upon further pondering now, it seemed that it ended with me being the bigger man, or so to speak.

The first human who hurled an insult instead of a stone was the founder of civilization. ~Sigmund Freud

When I was in primary school, I was told that all skills could do good. Didn't really make sense to me until recently. I was told by a teacher that my greatest ability was my uncanny skills to manipulate people. Back then, I thought that meant I was a sneaky conniving bastard who pulled people as puppets. On that day however, it become clear to me it was something more. Mood and emotions, they were my strength. Having conquered them as a child, I find myself able to change the mood of a situation just by playing a part. As I left the hilltop with mocking laughter at my back, I knew that even though I bested him as a man, the situation would continue to worsen. So what did I do? The only thing I could. I went back, and fought again. I laughed through the whole episode. For some reason, the mood lifted. As if pure laughter and light heartedness changed their views, even in the heat of a fight.

He'll always try to be the hero, even though he's not. That was what my teacher said about me. Personally, I would have prefered if she had just called me an idiot and expelled me. Hero. I've grown a disliking of that word when used on me. Be it a wannabe or for real, I don't think I ever want to be a hero. So the whole ordeal was over, and things quietened down for awhile. At what price though I wondered. She blamed herself for what happened, and he continued with his possesive nature. Things only came to a full stop when my teacher stepped in and the entire drama was finally over. Sadly though, the damage was already done.

The hero is the one who kindles a great light in the world, who sets up blazing torches in the dark streets of life for men to see by. The saint is the man who walks through the dark paths of the world, himself a light. ~Felix Adler

Broken hearts and torn friendship was hard to mend. And once again, in an attempt to douse the flames, I threw away another chance at happiness. You didn't need a heart, you needed a hand. It takes 37 muscles to frown, 22 to smile. But only 4 for proper trigger pull. It wasn't the first time that death had so warmly opened its arms in welcome of my eternal slumber. But it was a first for me for I had been on death's door, knocking with a blade on my wrist. Cold steel. Tempting. Didn't do it.

I didn't asked for much. Just a smile. A simple smile would have sufficed to all the thanks that was given. A single punch would have been easier to handle than a frown. I watched from afar, a silent guardian, fallen angel and rejected devil. Grey. A smile, that was all I wanted you to have. But I wasn't able to give it. A dream, that was the happiness I held for a fraction of a second. Yes, the answer to a question which I was never able to ask. To be more precise, didn't allow myself to ask. Memories, the only things remaining, from a time where dreams were true. But such is the outcome of walking my chosen path, a road where the light and darkness of neither twilight nor dawn could touch.

True, I could have chosen the path everyone has taken. But what then? I would just become another one of them, a clone to an endless army of who someone wants you to be. No, even if the cost is pain and suffering, my road is as clear as it has ever been - which of course, is shrouded in grey. For it is my path to open, and my fog to wade into. The scene behind the mist will be shown clear when I have accomplished what I had set out to do and who I had left behind and became.