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Another Moment of Early Morning Silence – By: mOUNTbRENDON

Here’s a short story I wrote last year. It’s rather lengthy, but hopefully worth the time it takes to read. I will be posting short stories regularly throughout the month of June and hopefully the summer. I finally have the time to write as much as I want to and hopefully as much as I possibly can stand.

Enjoy.

Another Moment of Early Morning Silence

I feel the icy breeze slide along my face as it leaks through the thin cabin wall next to my makeshift bed. Even with my torn-up sleeping bag, it’s difficult to stay warm with the fall, Alaskan air becoming progressively colder through each passing night. I have spent nearly four months out here, surviving through the aid of my two older brothers, Mason and Jeremy. It’s been tough, but I’m beginning to get accustomed to the cold and the hunger. I see now that survival can be rather enjoyable when it’s all you have to focus on. It’s definitely tough, but it’s quite the adventure. I’m almost able to see why some cultures fought colonialism so hard.

As I lay, thinking about life as a Blackfoot in the 1700’s, there is a squeaking of what’s left of the floorboards in the doorway. It’s Anne. She normally crawls in bed with me in the middle of the night as the temperature drops. I say hi with a smile. She answers with a smile of her own as I help her squirm inside the sleeping bag with me. I tell her that I’m glad she found us and that I don’t know how I would make it through the cold nights without her. She gives another smile of contentment and grabs my arm, wrapping it over her shoulder.

- – -

The sleeping bag almost immediately begins to warm from the heat of her presence. I grab her hand. Her ring is cold against my finger. We were planning on getting married as soon as we got home. If this is our home though, I told her not to worry about it. That we are already married. Without her here, I doubt I would ever be able embrace this situation, whatever it even is. I remember the beginning, before the cold was so severe and before Anne was here. I was excited and equally scared.

“Why are we in Fairbanks?” Jeremy asked as we drove into Fairbanks, Alaska. “Fairbanks is not at all near Anchorage.”

“Don’t worry fellas,” Mason said as if he was anticipating the objection. “I found a different place that is going to be a lot better.”

“Great,” Jeremy muttered. “Nice of you to keep us up to date.”

I wasn’t any more pleased with the news. Before I left, I made arrangements with Anne. She was going to meet us out here for the last two weeks of our stay.

“Twenty-eight miles south of Anchorage,” I told her, pointing to the map of Alaska we had on the table in front of us. “Then walk thirty degrees west from the little camping area for about ten miles until you come across a large canyon. From there, we would be in a cabin a few miles south, along the mouth of the canyon.”

“And don’t worry about Anne, Will,” Mason said as he turned his head toward the back seat. “I took care of it.”

Of course he did. He always did. But, for some reason I trusted him like no one else. And he probably put more planning and enthusiasm into this trip than Frank Lee Morris and John Clarence Anglin did for their escape from Alcatrez. He definitely brought an overload of supplies – or so I thought at the time.

“It’s always good to be prepared,” he said.

After a few more hours of driving, Mason finally pulled off to the side of the dirt road and got out of the car.

“Alright guys,” he said with a brimming smile. “You ready for a hike?” He had told us shortly after Fairbanks that we had a twenty mile hike ahead of us. “It’ll probably take a few days to get out there,” he said. “But it’ll be totally worth it.”

“What, w-w-we…just leave the car here for the whole s-s-summer?” Jeremy asked. I could tell the annoyance was building. His stutter always surfaced when he was upset in some way.

“Yeah, but don’t worry about it. I’ve got it worked out.” If I hadn’t grown up with Mason, those two sentences would have already become unbearable He had always had that mentality about things. Always care-free. I don’t know how he did it. But I trusted him. I trusted him with my life.

- – -

I wake up to the bright morning sun and crawl out of bed, careful not to wake Anne. Mason is already outside chopping wood. He’s been leading us in building a new cabin lately. A cabin with thicker walls that won’t threaten destruction with every strong gust of wind. One that is better suited for the winter. The cabin we are currently using is pretty old. It must have been built at least twenty or thirty years ago and I’m sure it wasn’t even in the best condition then either. I can’t imagine why someone would want to build a cabin this far in the middle of nowhere. But I guess it doesn’t matter now.

“Hey there, Will!” Mason says with his patented grin as I walk toward the pile of wood lying next to him. “Go saw down a tree, will ya? It’s getting colder and colder every night so we better speed up the process.”

I grab the handsaw and walk into the trees surrounding the cabins. As I get further into the trees, I finally settle on a spot to cut. I see a group of wolf tracks just a few feet away while I line up my saw. Another reason for a sturdier cabin: a bit of security from the wildlife. The sweat starts beading across my forehead as I cut. I never knew how much effort it took to bring down a tree until a few months ago.

- – -

A loud crack of a gun echoes in the distance. It must be Jeremy. He’s been hunting on his own lately. Unfortunately, he’s not very good yet, so he hardly ever comes back with anything. It’s only been a few weeks since he started going on his own. Before that, he would tag along with Mason. But they don’t get along well enough anymore. Not since Jeremy discovered the ruined cell phones.

“You piece of…of…of shit!” Jeremy yelled. I could hear him clearly, even from outside the cabin and over the splatter of my urine on the ground in front of me. “You b…ba…ba…bastard! You planned this the whole t-t-time, didn’t you? You wanted this to hap…happen!” I rush to the open doorway where Jeremy and Mason are standing.

“Oh, come on Jeremy,” Mason said calmly. “I did you guys a favor. We found a way out. We don’t have to worry about the rest of the world now. It’s just us, living the life.”

“Living the l-l-life? What does that even mean? I didn’t want this! I had a career I was working toward. I had friends. I had a…a l-li – a life.”

“Bullshit, Jer. You were miserable. Will was miserable. We were all miserable in that world. That culture. You just didn’t want to admit it.”

“Because it wasn’t true. None of that was true. I knew this was a miss…mistake!” I didn’t understand what Jeremy was talking about, but I had never seen him so angry. His whole face was twitching. “Will was a semester away from graduating college. He was going to propose soon to his g-g-g-girlfriend,” he said. Mason looked at me and then back at Jeremy.

“Will likes it out here. He accepts it,” Mason said. Accepts what? I wondered.

“He burned the cell phones, Will,” Jeremy said, turning his eyes toward me with some ashy remains of one of the cell phones in his hand. “And the GPS and the m–m-m-maps. Everything. He planned this whole thing. He trapped us he-he…he trapped us here.” I didn’t really know what to say. They were both staring at me, waiting for me to react. The cell phones were the only form of outside communication we had. Service was terrible here, but there was higher ground to be made.

I looked at Mason with astonishment and asked why.

“Because I love you guys,” Mason said. His face was a serious as I ever remember it. “Everyone is always looking for a way out. Well, I found ours.” The corner of Jeremy’s mouth was twitching violently as Mason spoke. He opened his mouth but no words came out, so he walked outside and disappeared in the trees. Since then, things have been different.

“Look at you!” Mason says with a large grin as Jeremy emerges from the trees holding a rabbit and carrying the gun on his shoulder. The sun is beginning to set and fresh meat couldn’t sound better, even it if is a fourth of a rabbit. I’ve been helping Mason with the new cabin since I woke up. I have been thinking a lot about the cell phone incident lately. I remember the next few days after it happened.

- – -

I wondered how he could possibly do something like that. I trusted him and he betrayed that trust. He betrayed me and he betrayed Jeremy. When I finally talked with Mason about it, he told me that he wanted to make up for his and others’ failures with us growing up. He said that we deserved better than what we got and that he knew we were both struggling to get through things and that the modern society wasn’t right for us.

“It always ate me up inside,” he said. “How I wasn’t there for you two growing up and how I missed so many opportunities to help you deal with everything. You guys needed me and I was too selfish to see it. I never did anything back then. But I’m doing something now.”

I couldn’t understand how he was so confident in this whole thing. He had never once shown any sign of doubt in his actions concerning this “trip” as we called it. So, I asked him where he got his confidence.

“Let me tell you something,” he said as he put down his ax. “Life is all about confidence. How do think American colonies defeated the British back in the day? It’s confidence, Will. It’s all about confidence. Even when you have no idea what you are doing, if you have confidence, it’ll work out. People believe you and you start to believe in yourself.” Although he was trying to comfort me in his own strange way, it left me deeply troubled. I felt even more deceived then before.

Since then I’ve had some time to digest his words though. I think I understand his motivations and I’ve come to the conclusion that he knows what he is doing. There is no way he is planning on keeping us out here forever. I’ve been studying him closely lately and I’ve seen no sign of doubt in him. He knows what he is doing, so I’m just going to enjoy the time we have out here and make the most of it. We doubted him on the hike and he came through then and found this cabin, even if it is poorly constructed. He’ll come through again.

We stopped for a water break and the only sound was our heavy breathing until Jeremy spoke.

“Are you sure you know where we are…we are, w-w-w-we’re at?” he said over his breath.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it, Jer. I know exactly where we are. I’d say we have about six or seven miles to the east. We’ll be able to make it by this evening.”

Jeremy shot me a doubtful look. I could tell that he was frustrated. I didn’t know what to think. If it turned out that Mason was lost, then we were in serious trouble with my poor sense of direction and Jeremy’s lack of wilderness experience; not to mention the fact that Mason was the only one who had even a vague understanding of our location. He was the only one who knew what he was doing out here.

After we had a few more small drinks of our water – Mason was having us conserve what we could for the time being – Jeremy and I looked at Mason. He was looking up at the sky as he kept turning around, looking in different directions. Then his face lit up and he said, “Yep, this way,” and motioned us to follow him as he started off in his brisk pace.

“I don’t think…think that he knows what he’s doing,” Jeremy said quietly to me. I told him that I was sure he did and that we needed to just trust him. Jeremy looked forward with a sense of reluctance. I told him not to worry.

“I’ll follow him,” he said. “But I will worry. I’ll definitely wor-worry.”

We continue working on the new cabin as Jeremy walks through the trees holding up a rabbit. Mason drops what he is doing and runs over to Jeremy.

“Yeah you did!” Mason exclaims and gives Jeremy a brotherly shoulder punch. I can see a slight, crooked smile subtly appear on Jeremy’s face through his scraggly beard. I’m sure it is the first smile his face has conjured up in weeks.

“It’s only a rabbit,” he says. “Only a small rabbit.”

“Nonsense,” Mason says as he begins to pick up what he was working on before. “It’s just the kind of thing we need. You know how to skin it and everything, right?”

- – -

Mason and I continue to work on the cabin as Jeremy works on preparing the rabbit. Pretty soon, he nearly has it skinned and is sitting by the campfire, finishing up. I can’t wait to scarf that meat down. Anne will be so excited when she sees Jeremy’s rabbit sizzling over the campfire like a small roasted pig. Last time Mason shot a deer she jumped up and down like a six year old girl who just received a pink pony for her birthday. She gets so excited about things. That’s one of the traits I love most about her. I don’t know how I would be taking all of this if she hadn’t somehow found us. I remember when I saw her emerge from the trees.

It was a few days after the cell phone incident and we had been out here for what had to have been nearly two months. I had been feeling particularly lonely and fairly depressed so it was perfect timing. Mason was gathering firewood and Jeremy was attempting to hunt when she arrived. They hardly spoke anymore; at least Jeremy. Mason always tried to act normal but Jeremy either ignored him or walked away.

When she emerged from the trees I was chopping wood. I dropped my ax in amazement. It was the most beautifully astounding sight I had ever seen, far greater than the Alaskan night sky, or the mountain-filled backdrops, or anything else that nature could have provided. Her smile filled her entire face as she ran toward me, giving me the tightest and warmest hug I had ever had. I felt like I had just been rebirthed and was seeing the world with brand new eyes for the first time. Her make-up was flawless, like she had just stepped out of a dressing room on the set of a movie. She was so beautiful; she always is. When I asked her how she found us she just smiled and said that Mason gave some pretty darn good directions.

That was a turning point for me. I didn’t have to deal with Mason and Jeremy’s tension as much anymore. I had someone else to talk to. Someone else to escape to. I had a motive for surviving and a motive for embracing the wilderness. From that point on, I haven’t cared as much about my brothers’ frustrations. I have been able to just work on the cabin silently alongside them, enjoying the wilderness and then retreating to my bed with Anne. She was all I ever really needed anyway.

I run inside to tell Anne about the rabbit and she lights up like the sun. She expresses her worries about food and then gives me a big hug. Despite the fact that we haven’t eaten meat in over a week and have all been pretty hungry, she had never once complained. I’m never ceased to be amazed by her.

Once the sun goes down, we go out and sit around the campfire and eat our portions of the rabbit. It doesn’t take us long to scarf it down so Mason pours us each a cup of hot water. I’m definitely glad Mason brought the kettle. You’ll never know how good a cup of hot spring water tastes at night in the Alaskan wilderness until you’ve experienced what we have.

“Mom would be proud of us,” Mason says smiling after he sits back down on a log across from me.

“Don’t talk about mom,” Jeremy says. “She would be any…anything but p-p-proud of what you’ve d-d-done.” His stutter is becoming more constant.

“Don’t worry, Will,” I remember Mason telling me in the car as we were heading to our new home at the Wilson’s for the first time. “I’ll take care of you. We’ll make it. Don’t worry about it.”

- – -

I came home from school that day to find several police officers crowding our home. Jeremy was sitting silently on the curb as one of the police officers was trying to talk to him.

“Are you William?” an officer asked me. I’ll never forget the look on his face as he told me that mom had died. His eyes seemed glazed over and his breaths were shortened. Everything turned into a daze. The few days afterward are a blur. I only really remember the night after the funeral.

“Alright kids,” Mrs. Wilson said. I could still hear the pity in her voice. It annoyed me. “I made some hot chocolate for you.” We were sitting in the living room of their large six bedroom house. They didn’t have any kids of their own. We drank our hot chocolate as we sat and pretended to watch The Lion King. I hated Disney movies. We all did.

I couldn’t sleep that night, so I went into Mason’s room. Jeremy was already there, sitting on the floor against the wall.

“We were just about to come get you,” Mason said as I approached his bed.

“I-I-I h-h-hate the Wilsons,” Jeremy said. That was the first time I had heard him speak since she died. It was the first time I had heard his stutter.

“We can’t live here,” Mason said. “We need to run away.” I saw something different in his eyes that night as the light of the lamp next to his bed left his face shadowed and his eyes glimmering. “They don’t understand us. They can try all they want. And this house sucks. It’s way too big and expensive and fancy and…” his voice trailed off with his thoughts. Jeremy and I sat there in silence until Mason dropped the bomb on me.

“Mom killed herself, Will,” he spouted. The daze hit me again, much like the one just days prior. “I know that no one has told you. They probably think you’re too young to know. But it’s the truth and I think you should know.” I looked at Jeremy. Tears were sliding down his face as he stared at the floor in front of him. I was unable to say anything as Mason studied me from just a few feet away.

“She doesn’t deserve to raise us,” Mason said. “She’s a coward. We can take care of ourselves. Let’s run away.”

- – -

The rest of the night escapes my memory aside from Mason continually insisting that we needed to run away and Jeremy shaking his head. The next several nights were similar. Two weeks later, Mason had developed a plan of escape. I don’t remember too many details, but I remember that it scared me to death. He couldn’t convince Jeremy to come. I was too scared.

“This is j-j-just l-l-like when we were…we were kids,” Jeremy says a certain amount of intensity that only he could play off as mild. “You r-r-ran then, except you w-w-were s-s-smart enough to…to leave th-th-the two of us be-behind.”

“If you two would have come with me in the first place, things would have been different,” Mason says. “It would have worked and none of us would have had to stay with the Wilsons and their house maids.” I begin to walk away. I’ve had enough of their arguments. The times where I am actually able to enjoy being out here are the times when I’m alone or with Anne. Never when I’m with the other two. Not anymore.

As I begin to near the cabin, I hear Mason yell something directed at me so I turn around. They’re both staring at me.

“Where are you going?” Mason says.

I look at him confused and tell him that I’m going for a walk.

“Come back over here,” he says. “I want to know what you think.”

I shake my head and continue to walk away. I don’t want any part in their argument. As I walk inside the cabin, I see Anne sitting in my bed, staring at the floor. Mason’s yelling something at me, but I don’t pay attention. He has never liked Anne. Not since the first time I introduced them back in Washington.

- – -

“I don’t understand what you see in her, Will,” he said after I dropped Anne off. We had all gone to dinner since it was the first time Mason had visited me at college. I was excited for the two to meet. I thought for sure they would hit it off.

“You’re too good for her,” he said as he rolled down the window and lit a cigarette.

I asked him what he meant by “too good.”

“She seems so materialistic,” he said. “Everything she said was so self-centered. She has changed you.”

I didn’t even really know how to respond to that, so I just shook my head and continued driving.

“See,” he said as he let out the cigarette smoke. “You need to fight for yourself. She has weakened you. I can’t stand to see my little bro be influenced like this.”

I told him not to worry. I had control of my life and if he gave Anne a chance, he would see that she was not who he thought she was.

He wouldn’t let it go the rest of the night, no matter what I did to try and kill the conversation. That was the only time I ever remember yelling at him. He was going on and on about how I had changed since we were kids and that I was putting too much of myself into my relationship with Anne. The next day he left without saying a word. The next time we talked was when he pitched the idea to come here for the summer. He said we needed to escape the American culture for a while.

- – -

I could tell that Anne wasn’t too excited about it when I brought it up with her the next day, but she still said that I should go.

“I’d really like to shoot one of those wolves,” Jeremy says, clutching the gun as we hear some wolves howling in the distance. “One of these days I’m going to figure this whole h—hunting thing out.”

I smile and ask him how he’s doing with this whole thing; how he is really doing.

“I think that M-M-Mason is a s-s-s-sleazy piece of, of shit,” he says as casually as his stutter will allow.

I tell him that I’m sorry that things happened the way they did and that Mason is going to give up on it soon. I assure him that he will lead us back.

“I don’t know,” he says as he rubs the nozzle of the gun with his sleeve. “He seems pretty de-de-determined.” He points his face up toward the sky and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “As much as I do enjoy the fresh air,” he says as stands up, using the gun as a crutch. “I would r-r-rather d-d-die than spend much longer out h-h-here alone. It’s too c-c-c-cold.”

- – -

There have already been a few snow flurries; nothing heavy but enough to leave a light blanket on the ground. We can sense that it won’t be long before it comes down with a vengeance. We’ve all been working hard on the new cabin, but we’ve still got a lot of work to do to get ready for winter. Jeremy and Mason continue their mutual silence aside from the occasional yelling match. I’m so glad that I have Anne to talk to at night and give me someone else to spend my time with. She has always been comforting in rough times. Always has the right thing to say.

After the sun goes down, we eat some berries around the campfire. No one seems to feel like talking much. Just the sound of wind swiping against the back of our ears and the crackling of the fire fills the empty space.

“I-I-I’m leaving,” Jeremy finally says to break the silence. “Tomorrow mor-morning.” I don’t even look up from the campfire. I have assumed that it was bound to happen sooner or later. Mason begins an attempt to reason with Jeremy but it has no effect. Jeremy gets up and heads toward the cabin and Mason follows, continuing his attempt despite its obvious ineffectiveness. I look at Anne and she sends back a look of pity. We’re both thinking the same thing. Jeremy’s going to die if he leaves. There’s no way he’ll find his way alone and Mason is too stubborn to lead him in the right direction.

I put the fire out and Anne and I head to bed. We can hear Mason continue to talk to Jeremy. Soon after, we can hear him give up and go to his own bed.

An hour later, I walk into Jeremy’s room and toward his bed. The dirt covered floorboards creek as I walk through the door but stop creaking when the floorboards stop as I get further inside the room and the bare, forest floor begins. He looks up at me as if he was expecting my arrival. “I c-can’t do…it,” he says. “I would r-r-rather die than stay here w-w-with h-h-h-im.” I remind him of our failed attempt to leave a few weeks previous.

“Wh-wh-which way is east?” Jeremy asked as we stopped; the trees above us roaring. I said that I had no idea and looked at Anne who shrugged her shoulders. The trees were too thick where we were so I couldn’t even see where the sun was.

Jeremy let out a loud grunt of frustration and picked up a large rock and threw it at a tree. “W-w-w-we’re lost! What are we supposed to…to do?”

I told Jeremy to settle down. I didn’t want him to upset Anne. He picked up the rifle and fired it into the air. “Yell for Mason,” he said with defeat. “We c-c-can’t do this.”

I tell Jeremy to just have patience; that Mason is bound to give up on this sooner or later.

“No,” Jeremy says. “He w-w-w-won’t. H-h-he’s cr-cr-crazy, Will. He wants us to…to bond. H-h-he told me that w-w-we need to be-be-become b-b-brothers again.”

I tell him that we could fake it until we get out.

“I’m s-sorry, but I c-c-can’t d-d-do that,” he says. “I’m a terrible actor.”

- – -

“Congratulations,” Mason said over the phone. It was a few days after he first told me about his plan and I had just told him that I was going to propose to Anne.

“You sure you want to do that though?” he questioned.

I told him that I had never been so sure about anything in my life. I had been talking with Anne about the trip to Alaska. It wasn’t for sure yet, but I was starting to look forward to it anyway. She mentioned that it would be cool if she came out to see us for the last week or so.

“Just to make sure you are all alive,” she joked. I was going to do it then, after she met up with us.

“Alright, well we better make sure that this trip happens then,” Mason said after I told him my idea.

“Have you told Jeremy?” Mason asked. I said that I hadn’t, but I was going to write him an e-mail with the headline, “I got married,” so that maybe he reads it at the very least.

A couple days went by and then Jeremy finally called me.

“Y-y-you got m-m-married?” he said without saying hello. “What were you thinking?”

I laughed and told him that I wasn’t really married. Then I told him about my plans to propose.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, congratulations then. I h-h-hope things go well for you.” I reminded him about Mason’s plan and he said it sounded stupid. I told him about my plan if we do make it out there, but the conversation never really went anywhere. It never does with Jeremy.

A few weeks later, Mason contacted me with a detailed plan for the summer. He had a list of things to pack, a map and about everything else. I told him that if he could get Jeremy to agree to it, then we should go for it.

Two weeks later, Mason showed up at my apartment.

“He agreed,” he said as soon as I opened the door.

I asked how he convinced him.

“I’m just a very persuasive person,” he said. “You better start getting things together. We’re leaving in two weeks.

- – -

Scattered snowflakes are softly floating down the white forest floor. I can’t look up at the flakes for very long because of the brightness of the sun. The only sound I hear is the soft crunch of my footsteps. It has snowed off and on the past couple of weeks, but no kind of blizzard or anything, at least not yet. I really thought that we would be buried in snow by now. I switch the saw from my right hand to my left. The metal of the handle gets too cold to hold in one hand for very long and I forgot my gloves back at the cabin. I should be cutting down a tree right now, but I would rather just take a walk.

As I come to a bit of a clearing, I see a bald eagle silently fly overhead. It looks so free and triumphant. It has no restrictions. If it gets lost, it can fly high enough to find its sense of direction again. Do eagles even get lost? Probably not. It’s in their instincts. And that’s all they need to survive, their God given instincts.

A small gust of wind causes a brushing sound in the trees behind me. Maybe we could make it out here for the rest of our lives. Where else can you take a walk for only minutes and see a prestigious bald eagle? We may not have the instincts of a bald eagle, but maybe we can develop them. We can learn by experience, by watching the wildlife. We have done a pretty good job so far. I think we could be happy. I could take care of Anne. She could be happy. She’s all I really need to be happy anyway.

There is a man’s yell in the distance. It’s Jeremy. I drop the saw and take off running back through the trees. It feels more brisk in the shadows, but as I run, the sweat accumulating on my forehead tells me that the cold is not an issue. The snow is beginning to thicken. All I can hear is the wind brush my ears as I run. All other sounds seem to have disappeared.

As I emerge from the trees and into the clearing where the cabins are, I see Mason running out of the old cabin with one of the makeshift blankets. His face is filled with urgency. I rush over the woodpile and see Jeremy lying there with blood leaking from his leg. The ax is on the ground next to him; the tip coated in blood.

“It’s alright, Jer,” Mason says as he begins to wrap the blanket around the wound as a bandage. Jeremy rips the blanket from Mason’s hands.

“I’ll d-d-do…it,” he snarls as best as he can manage. Every time Mason tries to help with the wound, Jeremy pushes his hand away and grumbles something neither of us can understand. He stands up as best he can and limps into the cabin. Before he walks in the door, I can hear him stutter something about dying out here and having “enough of it.”

“He was chopping fire wood and the ax ricocheted off the wood and into his leg. It’s a pretty deep wound, but he’ll be alright,” Mason says and then walks over and picks up the ax. “Just hope it doesn’t get infected.” He wipes the blood off with his shirt and begins to chop.

“Where’s the saw?” he says to me between swings.

I’ll get it later.

The rifle is leaning against the woodpile, so I grab it and take it in to the cabin to give to Jeremy. I lean the gun against the wall by his bed and tell him to let me know if he needs anything.

“He t-t-took our l-l-lives, W-W-Will,” he says through his teeth. “W-w-we didn’t ask…for…for th-th-this.” I turn around and walk outside.

The next morning I wake up to the sound of yelling. I look at Anne. She’s obviously been up for awhile listening. Her face is extremely troubled. I crawl out of the sleeping bag and run to the front of the cabin. Jeremy is pointing the gun at Mason.

“I’ve had e-e-enough of th-th-this sh-sh-sh-sh-it. Just take…l-l-l-lead us home. Please.” I can see Jeremy’s eyes starting to water, his voice filled with desperation. Mason takes a step backward.

“What do you have to go back to?” he in a calm but shaky voice. “You were wasting your life away back there.”

“M-m-m-my l-l-life is w-w-wasting away here,” Jeremy is able to choke out.

Anne walks up from behind me and leans up against my side. I put my arm around her but continue to look at Mason and Jeremy.

“T-t-take u-u-us b-b-back,” Jeremy says.

“Jeremy, just stop. Put the gun down and here me out.”

My ears are ringing from the blast as I stand in the doorway. Everything seems still as if frozen in time. My surroundings seem to be filling with mist as if part of a dream.

Another blast.

The air is still and the blanket of snow is turning red just ten yards in front of me.

I turn to look at Anne. She’s not there. It’s silent. My arm is still held out as if around her, but there is only empty air. The earth has stopped spinning. My heart is pounding like the inside of my chest is the head of a kick drum. Otherwise, I feel numb. Not cold, not warm, not scared, not angry. Nothing. I feel empty. Everything around me feels empty. The world is empty.

The sky has turned a blend of orange, pink, red, and blue. A cold shiver takes over my body as I stand alone above their still bodies. I can hear a wolf’s howl from close by. My hand starts shaking violently. Hours have passed. The smell is indescribable, causing vomit to fill my mouth and explode onto the ground. I don’t know where to go from here. There is no breeze against my ears. No cold against my skin. No feeling inside. Maybe the lack of feeling is a feeling within itself. Even the smell is gone now, along with the taste of vomit. I feel completely empty. And where does one go in a world that is empty? I have been abandoned, just like I abandoned my normal life.

There is some shuffling in the trees nearby. I bend down and pick up the gun lying next to what was Jeremy. It feels heavy. I raise the nozzle to my chin and slowly pull the trigger. Nothing. Only a click. A small pack of wolves emerges from the trees, sniffing the air in front of them. Another click.

The gun is out of bullets.

 

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A Simultaneous Farewell to the Murrow College and Resonate Church– By: Charles Westerman

This past semester I’ve had the privilege to work as a communication intern with my college church of four years in order to fulfill my six-credit Murrow College internship requirement. It was a “two birds with one stone” experience and I’m so grateful for how God used these two entities to shape me into who I am today: someone who has a relationship with Jesus and knows that his purpose in that relationship is to write for His glory.

Here is an excerpt from my final paper — neigh final assignment — in college. This assignment asked me to write a 12-15 page report on my entire intern experience. The final question in the paper guidelines was this: Analyze how your internship site performs in regard to social responsibility. And below were the sub-questions to that question

            –What is the purpose of your agency in society?

            –Did your site measure up in an ethical sense?

            –What is its contribution to society?

            — Was your time spent there of educational value?

             — Would you do it again?

            — Is the internship a fitting capstone to your university experience?

Here is my answer to these questions and my thank you to Resonate. Without them, I honestly don’t think I would have graduated college:

Unlike many churches in 21st century America, Resonate is not only socially responsible, but socially competent as well.  From our Lead Pastor Keith Wieser, down to the people in charge of setting up and tearing down for services; it is a well-organized, hard working, practical and visionary organization. They absolutely know what their purpose in society is and the fact that they have 700+ in attendance at their two services every Sunday is a testament to that.  Resonate seeks to give students an ‘authentic community’ to be a part of throughout their college experience.

Resonate’s model for building authentic community is a successful one, and I feel qualified to say that because it was the model I personally experienced.  The Resonate model for authentic community consists of three parts. Obviously, the Sunday service is one of the parts, however they constantly stress that Sunday gatherings aren’t more important than the others. In fact, if anything, they’d say it’s the least.  It is the second and third components of the model that has made Resonate so successful in their purpose.  In just five years Resonate has gone from their first service of less than 200 people, to a church of over 700+ in attendance every week. Not only have do they have a quantity of members, but a majority of the members they have are quality. I don’t mean this in the sense that they are perfect people who never do anything wrong, I mean it in the sense of how seriously members take their role in helping Resonate fulfill their purpose.  This is evidenced by the participation in the second and third components of Resonate: Village and Ethos groups.

Village is Resonate’s version of a Bible Study, but it’s different than any Bible Study I’ve been to, and I grew up in a strong Christian home. Every week, groups of 12-20 people gather in a Village Leaders home. The members take turns making meals each week and the first hour of Village is spent breaking bread and just getting to know each other.  There’s almost no better way to build community than to have people eat a meal together.  After that, everyone gathers in the living room and the Leaders facilitate a conversation about Sunday’s sermon.  This does two things: it gives people different viewpoints and exposes them to different opinions on all kinds of topics. From forgiveness, to social justice, to personal identity, to sexual relationships; people who regularly attend a Village get a chance to talk and listen to conversations about some of the most important aspects of life.  The second thing the Village conversation accomplishes is making the message on Sunday sink in, feel relevant, and ultimately be effective. Being reminded of the essence of the message in the middle of the week prevents it from having the “in one ear and out the other” effect.

The third component of Resonate is Ethos groups. The Sunday service unites the entire body with one message and one commonality: The resurrection of Jesus Christ.  Villages give members a more intimate community and a chance to process the message with multiple perspectives in mind. Ethos is where the next level of intimacy comes in.  Ethos groups are made of two-three members of the same sex. It is this group where members have a chance to be free to share the deepest desires and fears of their heart.  It is a group that stresses unfiltered honesty, complete vulnerability, true accountability, unending encouragement, and ultimately, friendship that defines brotherly and sisterly love.

I would absolutely do my internship with Resonate again. What I’m about to say is no slight to the Murrow College, but a testament to Resonate: I have learned as much about good communication from them as I have in school.  Because good communication is the only explanation for how an original staff of three guys from Texas and their families could come to the most un-churched region in the country, to a college town of a very un-churched generation and grow in both the quality and quantity they have in the last five years.  I would go to my grave saying that Pullman is a better place with Resonate than without it.  Student’s who attend Resonate faithfully will ultimately have their character shaped for the better. That’s not to say other organizations can’t have a similar affect, but this was the one that affected me and I’m eternally grateful it did.  My internship with Resonate was a fitting capstone to my university experience, but my four years being a member of it turned out to be the foundation of that experience.

 

“Go Crazy” A short story – By: mOUNTbRENDON

Here’s a strange little short story I wrote the other week. I was in a weird mood, unable to write a paper I was intending to work on and, like it often does, a story equally weird was the antidote. 

Go Crazy

He was willing. Something interrupted his thoughts. Perhaps more thought. But he was willing.

To go crazy.

If everyone sacrificed themselves for the world, sacrifice would no longer be necessary.

He must sacrifice.

“You sound like a kid”, she told him.

“You smell like baby powder,” he told her.

The corncob on his plate looked like a hairy sea cucumber to him. He was no longer hungry, but he scarfed the cob down, core and all like it was an ice cream cone soon to melt.

Go crazy.

There was music in his head. Not sure how to articulate it, he hums something that only resembled something he’d heard before. What was in his head, stayed in his head. He was frustrated by this.

“Let’s get a knife,” he said.

Go crazy.

With steady hand, he made a backward incision in his mirror. Yeah, it’s painful, but as they say, “No gain, no pain.”

It looked like a melon wrapped in breaded bologna. It was oozing hot sauce. I need to stop talking about food, he thinks.

As he walks the streets, his head hanging open, the people are scared. Or confused. Probably more confused than scared. Therefore, equally scared.

The wide smile on his face leaves a deeper impression. It tries to pass through their eyes. It tries to work its way up to the cranium, to mirror the knife he used on himself. But it’s always covered up. Distracted. Engulfed with more pleasant images. Mostly of smooth, bare skin or tightly arranged colors and paraphrases.

“You look like a monster,” she tells him.

“You look like a goddess,” he says. She looks flattered, but he doesn’t understand why.

“A cartoon,” he says. She rolls her eyes.

You don’t create what’s around you. You create yourself and that creates what’s around you. A symphony of perception. A paradox.

He begins to walk with his hands in his pockets, prepared to fall, but not prepared to catch himself.

Those sitting around him don’t like sitting around him, especially when his mouth leaks with words that stick.

“Stop that,” they say. “I would like to remain dry, you asshole.”

He never says anything in response. He never does anything differently. But he only does things differently. He likes to think about himself as a character in a novel, growing with either good or evil with every turning page. He’s not entirely sure which. Or even which he would prefer.

The life of the lonely.

A sacrifice.

Gone crazy.

 

The Perfect Game (My last sports column for the Daily Evergreen)– By: Charles Westerman

I’ve written sports for the Evergreen since my freshman year. I’ve had a column for three. It was very surreal and sentimental to think I was writing my last one as I sat down at my computer on Monday… I wanted to write something that was truly from the heart and that gave people an idea as to why I think sports are more than just a game, but one of God’s greatest metaphors for life. Enjoy.  

For my last full-length column as an Evergreen sports writer, I’ve decided to go close to home. But going close to home for me requires you as a reader to journey with me a little over a thousand miles to Chugwater, Wyoming; a no-stoplight town off of I-25 with a population of 244 and an elevation of 5,288.

I grew up five minutes outside this town on a cattle ranch half a mile from the interstate. I’m sure there have been a few kids on long family vacations that were staring out the window and happened to notice an irregularity in one of the great iconic American images.

The basketball hoop in the driveway they were used to seeing, but they might have had a momentary escape from their boredom as they pondered why there was a five-foot tall ninety-five pound ranch kid hanging on the rim like he’s LeBron James.

Then they’d squint a little more and solve the mystery.

“Hey! That little cheater is using a trampoline to play basketball!”

This was the world of sports I grew up in. The great broadcast voices of my childhood were Dave Walsh (Wyoming Cowboys), Jeff Kingery (Colorado Rockies), and Mick Westerman (The 46 Blue Rock Road Trampoline Basketball Association).

Mick is my older brother by three years. He hit puberty by the time most kids loose their first tooth. Me on the other hand, I went to my first homecoming dance before I had hair in my armpits.

But unlike normal basketball, our size differences weren’t quite as drastic on mankind’s middle finger to gravity: The trampoline.

This variation of hoops I could at least compete with that adolescent behemoth I called my older brother. I was never quick or big, but by the time my trampoline basketball career ended, it was almost impossible to block my shot on a normal court. Because when you got your shot blocked on the tramp, the integrity of the game called upon you to shamefully go barefoot through the rough prairie grass and retrieve your sphere of rejection.

We spent most of our childhood on that little black-patch of heaven. We invented dozens of games on it, but none was more popular than trampoline basketball.

It was so powerful in our imaginations that despite the fact that our biggest crowd in the history of our league was a few bored people at my sister’s graduation party, the glory of victory was of Iliad-like proportions.

After our afterschool school snack, Mick and I would go to our room, select from our large selection of basketball jerseys, grab the boom box and head out to the tramp.

We’d plug in Third Eye Blind or Box Car Racer to our garage outlet, start the music, then start our warm-ups. I’m not joshing you when I tell you we had strict pre-game rituals we’d go through as Mick introduced the “listeners” to the big-game.

I could almost always compete with Mick, but I never beat him. Twenty-five percent of the time I’d be a little prick about losing. Twenty-five he’d be a big prick about winning. Another quarter of the time we’d both be pricks, and the remaining fourth we’d go to the freezer and grab a push-pop and talk about how much fun we’d just had.

But one-fateful day it all came together for me. I finally played the only way I had a chance to ever beat Mick in a game of tramp-basketball: perfectly. I played a perfect game and still barely beat him.

My celebration was similar to Macaulay Culkin’s in “Home Alone” when he realizes he made his family disappear.

Then something happened that was one of the biggest moments in one of the most important relationships of my life.

Mick got off the tramp, walked up to me, and instead of punching me in the kidneys like I thought he was going to, tasseled my hair and said the three sweetest words in sports, “Good game bro.”

I’d like to dedicate this column to Mick, who has supported my writing dreams with the same passion and challenge he always brought when we took the trampoline for a game of epic proportions.

 

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Some Thoughts on Restriction and the Freedoms it Has Provided For Me – By: mOUNTbRENDON

I had an amazing conversation tonight (and in conversation I mean mostly relying on the others’ conversation) about loneliness. For some silly reason, I think that loneliness is my biggest strengths. Here’s my last writing assignment for the semester for my Nonfiction class. It explains why that is. Enjoy.

Assignment # 13: Develop a braided essay that weaves together your thoughts on three abstract concepts (such as time, travel, distance, language, memory history, etc.)

Some Thoughts on Restriction and the Freedoms it Has Provided For Me

A human is not a book. Growing up, I thought that, to be a good person, I had to form myself in the shape of a book and write the letters, B-I-B-L-E on my chest. I had to look like all the other walking, talking, and preaching books that surrounded me. At times, I tried to inch my way out of the pages, the box shape, that I had placed myself in and to allow the ink and the thin leafed pages to escape from the leather binding that became my skin. But each time I tried this, I was met with a subtly severe backlashing from the other books, so I climbed back in and I chose not to think about it. When you’re shaped like a book, you can’t help but feel extremely restricted, so you have to choose not to think about it.

All the while, a steady ticking sounded all around me as I rode a large swinging pendulum topped by stiffly printed Roman Numerals, watching me like attentive prison guards. The two large black hands constantly circling my consciousness always found a way to fill my mind with a panicking sense of claustrophobia. This feeling resurfaces nearly every day, but when I remind myself about the subtle beauty of those Roman Numerals, keeping me safe from free falling down into some kind of meaningless abyss, the claustrophobia goes away.

I feel a claustrophobia in language as well, but this never really goes away. I wonder what it would be like to live outside of language and to release the cog in the portion of my brain that translates signifier into verbal signified. It has forced an anxiety that I seem to carry with me in my every day life. But then I think about the passion this anxiety has created and how reliant my passion has been on the claustrophobia of language. A reliance that I have slowly come to embrace with open, but still rather restricted arms.

This embrace was made easier thanks to my arms reemerging from their former leather bookbinding. I learned to walk without a waddle, which seems simple, but when you’ve lived in the shape of a book for so many years, it takes practice. I was free to evaluate myself and to open up my own pages inside where I learned that no one should live in the shape of any kind of physical book. Instead, everyone should take his or her own shape and let the pages roam free on their own accord, because if you allow yourself to become shaped like a book, religion can be awfully restricting.

It can seem equally restricting to have to constantly stare at those pesky Roman Numerals guards as you try to fit your ever growing list of to dos and desires in that circular setting within the clock. But I’ve recently learned to find the beauty in this setting that has been forced upon us, because the things in life you love the most can be met with a much higher sense of importance and gratitude as you are forced to organize and prioritize around them.

Language is always there, always to be prioritized. It can form isolation, but is yet our greatest tool for community and relationship. As anxious as its restrictions make me, its uses are also my greatest motivators, my greatest passions. Without its restrictions, there would be no need for poetry, which I believe to be any attempt to reach beyond the constrictions of language, yet within its very words. Language and its restrictions are necessary, for without it, I would not be writing this very essay, and I would not find the joy in writing that I do. Because language, like life, is what you make of it.


 

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Bon Iver Meets the Grammies – By: mOUNTbRENDON

Here’s another writing assignment I did for my Nonfiction class. The assignment was…

Pick an emerging celebrity on whom to focus. Depict the present cultural moment by describing this person’s rise.

Enjoy.

 

Grammies

 Four years ago, in 2008, some guy named Justin Vernon, along with his band called Bon Iver, secluded themselves in a cabin in Wisconsin and independently recorded, produced, and released their first full-length album titled For Emma, Forever Ago. With help from the Internet, the album was circulated slowly until a small, independent record company called Jagjaguwar Records signed the band and rereleased the album as a more complete physical copy. It got some nice reviews from the likes of Pitchfork and Spin Magazine, but many of the reviews said that the recording quality was poor and the words were too difficult to understand.

 

- – -

 

“I would get up there and be like, ‘This is for my parents, because they supported me,’ because I know they would think it would be stupid for me not to get up there,” Justin Vernon told the New York Times in 2011 upon finding out that Bon Iver was in line to be nominated for four Grammies, including “Best New Artist”, for their 2011 release of their second album, Bon Iver. “But I kinda feel like going up there and being like: ‘Everyone should go home, this is ridiculous. You should not be doing this. We should not be gathering in a big room and looking at each other and pretending this is important.

 

- – -

 

Meanwhile, a man somewhere in the Midwest turned to his friend while browsing the Internet on his laptop.

“Who are the Baha Men?” he asked.

“Not sure,” his friend replied.

“Must be worth checking out. They won a Grammy.”

 

- – -

 

“We wanted to play our music,” Vernon told Billboard after Bon Iver was offered to perform at the 2012 Grammies. “But we were told that we couldn’t play. We had to do a collaboration with someone else…Rock n’ Roll should not be decided by people who have that job. Rock n’ Roll should be the fucking people with a guitar around their backs. And their friends. And their managers.”

 

- – -

 

Thousands of other independent artists quietly cheered Vernon on as he accepted the award for “Best New Artist” on National Television during the 2012 Grammies. However, they did not applaud the award itself, or him even being there, though it was certainly an encouragement to many. It was more his reaction that found their respect and admiration.

“It’s really hard to accept this award,” Justin Vernon said in his acceptance speech. “There’s so much talent out here, on this stage, and a lot of talent that’s not here tonight. It’s also hard to accept because when I started to make songs I did it for the inherent reward of making songs. I’m a little bit uncomfortable up here, but with that discomfort I also have a sense of gratitude to all the nominees, all the non-nominees, that have never been here and never will be here…”

 

- – -

 

“Bon Iver? Really? Over J Cole? Who are u? Wait, I know, a 25 year old wit a comb over…FOH!” someone posted on twitter.

“Who is the bon iver guy?” another post read, not unlike countless others. “He looks like a homeless guy.”

“Who the hell just won Best New Artist..bonnie blue, bonnie bear, scooby doo , yogi bear like who is this baldin white man w a combover.”

 

- – -

 

Months later, Bon Iver once again disappeared into the shadows of popular culture, perhaps to cabin in Wisconsin, or maybe to quietly go about touring the U.S. Perhaps both. One can only speculate at this time.

 

 

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We All Have a Voice – By: mOUNTbRENDON

I wrote this the other day while planning on writing a paper. I didn’t start on the paper, but I think it was worth it. The plan was to edit and revise it, but now the paper, along with another paper, have caught up to me, so I’m just going to post it as is. Uncut and uncensored…and unedited. You got me at my most vulnerable. 

Quick note. We have an opportunity that has never been presented in the history of mankind. Let’s take advantage of it…

 

I read an article for class last week that talked about how television does not report news, it creates news. This is becoming more apparent to me with every passing day. Obviously it’s more of a complex issue than I make it sound, but I am a hypocrite and don’t want to bore you with the details…

I have come to admire and respect public figures who strive for a simple life. The Henry David Thoreaus, Sufjan Stevens, G.K. Chesterton, etc. These people detect the fakeness that can come from technology. Everything is a representation. Relationships are built off of a series of pictures and short status updates. They realize a life truly experienced is a life away from technology, immersed in the reality of our world. But to live and experience the reality of our world, one must be aware of and immersed in technology. It cannot be ignored.

It is an extremely difficult balance to embrace technology and fear its influence at the same time. Technology is not evil. The internet is not evil. But it most certainly can be and allows for evil a booming voice.

For the last two or three years, I took a hiatus from popular television. Not fully, of course. But I have tried to avoid it as much as possible. I couldn’t put it to words, but I detected that something was broken. Sure, I watched the occasional episodes of various sitcoms and other shows on Netflix, and still do. But, other than weekend visits to my parents’ home in Cheyenne, local and national news stations were invisible to me. I even let SportsCenter drift away from my consciousness (something I spent hours watching every day in high school).

So, if the theory I read about television creating news instead of reporting news is accurate, the media has to be the single most influential aspect of our culture. It forms the way we think. If we surround ourselves with media centered around sex and booze, we will find ourselves almost literally molesting each other at the local bar or club, which will lead to bigger things. We will find ourselves holding onto unhealthy relationships because of the sex, or just the idea of being in a relationship; or going to the bar for an easy hook-up, a quick fix to one’s loneliness; or idealizing celebrities and their glorious lifestyles and finding ourselves spending money we don’t have as a result of our desire to live like them.

I have news for you. Happiness is not found in wealth or sex. Fulfillment cannot be instant.

Though I may be criticizing right now, that is not my intent with this post. It turns out I have been encouraged by technology lately.

Why?

Because it gives everyone a voice and everyone an opportunity to be heard.

If we allow it to be, we can use it to undermine those who are trying to control us with their advertisements and their celebrity. We can turn this world around on its head.

Thanks to the internet, music, movies, art, and subcultures that otherwise would never have been realized are finding homes all around the world. Musicians can record on their own, without being forced into a product by record labels; independent movies without sufficient funds can find a passionate and loyal fan base with the will to sacrifice their own money for its continued production; sports has found the importance of the fearless role player – the one without the big shoe contract and without the big billboards.

There is a ton of deception and artificiality found on the internet, but there is equally as much passion, genuine spirit, love, and hope. We have an incredible opportunity, because we can decide what succeeds. We can decide what we are influenced by.

We can recreate this world.

 

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Lazy Saturday Poetry: Easy Company (For my Daddo)– By: Charlie Westerman

This is a poem about my Grandfather. He was a paratrooper in WWII and dropped into Normandy on D-Day as well as Holland. He wasn’t in Easy Company, but he told me that Band of Brothers is as close as you can get to experiencing what he experienced. In Normandy, he actually ended up being dropped on the wrong side of enemy lines and was trapped in a foxhole for days.

On one of his jumps he got shot in the toe. It always blows my mind that had that soldier that fired that bullet aimed one-one hundredth of a millimeter the other way, it might have hit him in a more fatal spot, and he and my Grandmother wouldn’t have adopted my mom, which means I wouldn’t be here. I tried to work some of these stories of his life into the work.

The similes used in the poem are built to work in relation to both the line before and after it. That is something I’ve never done before and really enjoyed the challenge of it.

I found out last week that the cancer Daddo (what we call my Grandfather) had last fall has come back. This time in his liver. He has elected to forego chemo and radiation and live out his last days on his terms. I respect him tremendously for that. The poem is about how even when we survive life-and-death situations, it is only delaying the inevitable. Someday we will all have to look back and reflect on our lives and what we see in our reflection will be how we choose face our death– either in fear or peace.

My first instinct was to choose a different poem to post for this week because I thought this one might seem a little heavy. But then I remembered that the purpose of Lazy Saturday poetry was to try and display how poetry is not just a hobby, it’s a way in which some of us (the poets of the world) can process and understand life.  I also think this is a poem a lot of people can somewhat relate to, not to mention I think our culture needs to value deep (dare I say even heavy) thinking more than it does.

 

Easy Company

like a boy with a bow and arrow

in the tree patch huntin’ Satan

he missed

and hit a sparrow

a special providence warns of scarecrows

 

like the flooded cells in my Grandfathers liver

the Nazis couldn’t gun him down

still

the hospice check delivers

a sense of inescapable shivers

 

like the pain that comes from smoking in the cold

i puff and ponder him at War all the time

dangling in the sky

pleading God to grow old

a chance slim as the splinter from a soul

 

like a bullet in the toe but not in the head

ballistic logistics only God could have scripted

cheating death

or buying breaths

 

a feeling of debt he cannot express

like a blackjack addict with dementia

the right choices he forgot to make

firing blanks

in the middle of a minefield

 

a purpose in life he cannot place a bet on

like soldiers casting lots on Friday

Father forgive him

a good man

that saw bad days

 

a company as easy as the grave

 
1 Comment

Posted by on April 14, 2012 in Poetics

 

The Pamphlet – By: mOUNTbRENDON

This is one of my writing assignments for my Nonfiction class. The prompt was:

Present an intriguing, eccentric person as an embodiment of common human traits, such as tendencies toward obsession, paranoia, megalomania, etc.

The Pamphlet

“Follow me,” is what I tell everyone I meet. “I know the way to your salvation.”

Yeah, I get flack for what I say and do. I get a lot of flack, but so did the founding fathers, Martin Luther King, Jesus, and even Bob Dylan. But you don’t see anyone criticizing any of them now days. I’m looking toward the future, and not just my future, your future too.

“Take this pamphlet,” I tell people. “It has all the answers you need. The answers to all your pain and suffering and doubts and insecurities are all in there. Just read it and be cured.”

People tell me that I can’t be serious. “You can’t really believe in all of this,” they say. But I believe in every word I say. And I care about it too. I care about it just like I care about you.

I ask people on the street, “Do you wonder how you can feel confident and secure about your life? I can guarantee that you can feel and be secure if you listen and believe. That’s all it takes. Just listen to what I have to say and believe it with all your being.”

“Just listen to this song,” I’ve been trying to say. “It’s the only song you’ll ever need, the only song on the radio. Watch this movie and read this magazine. And they all come with a free pamphlet.”

You know how it is though, when you take a stand for something you truly believe in. People will cast you out, they’ll yell at you, shut the door in your face; criticize everything you stand for, every fiber of your being. But you can’t let that stop you when you’re dealing with something bigger than yourself.

If you listen and believe though, you won’t have to worry about it as much as me. Step one is “Listen to the experts.” I can recite the pamphlet by heart.  We’re the experts for a reason. We can be trusted and that’s why we have the power and expertise that we do.

Step two is, “Simplify.” Life is only hard if you make it hard and that means life is only easy if you make it easy. Listen to people like me and we’ll make your life as simple as possible.

Step three is the most important. “Believe.” If you believe with everything you have then you will have the ability to live a life you never thought possible. Believe, believe, believe.

Step four, “Beware of false prophets.” This is the toughest one, but again only if you make it tough.

“What is a false prophet” people ask me. A false prophet will tell you lies. They are built around deception and complication. That’s the biggest way to notice them. Yeah, I’ve been called a false prophet before, but that was by a false prophet, so it didn’t bother me much.

I believe in these steps more than I believe in my own existence and for me not to sacrifice the way I sacrifice and to share this with as many people as I possibly can, it would be cheating not only myself, but you and everyone around me. This what I live for and what I care most about, my calling if you will.

 

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Pills and how to swallow them – By David Landrus

Song: Forget Me Not – The Civil Wars

Post:

When making a tough decision you really only have two options. Shakespeare put it this way, “To be or not to be, that is the question.” When your asked to do something by a person who has authority in the situation you also have two decisions, to obey or disobey. However clearcut this may seem, when in the “moment” these truths are hard ones to swallow. Maybe you have self interests involved, maybe your heart is on the line, and maybe your just feeling rebellious. Either way, one thing can be concluded; the decision not to make a decision does not solve the situation or clear you of responsibility.

The past months of my life, the last week in particular, has been a season of much tribulation in my life. Situations have presented themselves to me and decisions have been made. But, as a Christian, each situation is governed by obedience or disobedience. I don’t think I have obeyed in every situation, which has caused confusion, but I know that I have on the ones that have counted. Some of the hardest decisions have been made through sadness, anguish and healthy sized tears, but I believe that these have been the ones that I have shown the most obedience in. When we truely let our heart and gut get involved in the tough situations it often is a sobering and uncomfortable thing. The sadness we have and the tears we shed are ones that are worth remembering.

Often times I console myself saying that “God has a plan for my life.” But what I really mean is, “God loves me, so he must have a plan full of serendipity and things that are easy to swallow.” The truth though is that Jesus died on the cross and bore my sin and shame for my fullness of joy, not my happiness. This is a truth that was made for me to cling to, especially in the rough times.

So I leave you with these words,

Proverbs 3:5

Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.

Had any other condition been BETTER for you than the one in which you find yourself, divine Love WOULD have placed you there.

-Charles Spurgeon

 

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