Post by Eternity on Dec 20, 2013 2:53:14 GMT
Faith.
What do you have it in, if indeed you have it in anything at all? What do you believe in? Suppose I were to tell you all the things I believe in, I believe my mommy is an Angel who is at this very moment dancing in Heaven with my daddy and occasionally they look down on me and smile.
I know they do, because I can feel it, sometimes, in the cold and dead of night, I can even hear them as they speak to me. Whispers in the dark, carried on starlight. It is why I sleep with my window open, if indeed I sleep at all. I can hear them, I can hear them clearly but so many cannot.
So many tell me I'm crazy. So many try to convince me that the voices I hear aren't really there, and that they aren't really my mommy or my daddy talking to me. So many of these are the smartest men and women in society, they're opinions are accepted and respected because they have doctorates.
Apparently, I'm insane and they're not, they have the papers to prove it neatly framed and mounted on the walls of their fancy little offices, and apparently their papers give them the right to police and probe my thoughts and to tell me that everything I know is wrong and everything they know is right. Excuse me if I have a hard time believing someone who doesn't believe me.
These people waste around eight years of their lives chasing bits of paper and seeking personal validation through social stature and yet, they insist that I am the crazy one and not them. These same people go home to their beautiful wives and pretty little kids and convince them to believe in all manner of things. Things which are cute to believe in when you are five, but if you still believe in them twenty five years later, well then, you've just crossed the line from being cute to being crazy.
These people perpetuate lies every time a tooth falls out and every spring when they go hunting for eggs, and of course the biggest and most elaborate lie of all comes every December the 24th. All throughout the year, these people foster certain beliefs in their children and insist that mine are crazy.
I was six and I lost a tooth and it was okay to believe in a magical fairy who would flutter her wings through my open window, take my tooth from under my pillow and leave a chocolaty treat in its place, no doubt to encourage me to lose more and keep her lucrative if not slightly strange business going.
I was seven and found chocolate eggs in my back garden and it was still okay to believe in a giant generous bunny rabbit with a plentiful wicker basket who had left them there for me and my cousins.
I was ten before my daddy told me I was getting a bit too old to still believe in such things. It isn't crazy to believe in an immortal jolly fat man in a red suit who sneaks down your chimney and leaves you presents under a tree and makes his getaway on a sleigh powered by magical flying reindeer if you're nine and its Christmas Eve, but if its any other day of the year and you're ten, then its a bit peculiar. At twenty nine, its down right crazy.
Apparently, its cute to be crazy for the first nine years of your life, I bet your mommy and daddy told you the same, didn't they? They all do. Tell me by what definition is it considered perfectly sane to encourage a certain belief system in your child and then take it away? Maybe I'm not the crazy one, maybe I'm sane, yet they will try and tell you that is in itself is insane.
So what do you think, my love?
Am I crazy or am I sane?
It doesn't matter to me which you choose to believe. I am not my father. I will not take away your belief in Santa and insist you believe in God. Why must it be one or the other? Believe in both or believe in neither, I will never call you crazy because I know all too well what that's like. You have your beliefs and I have mine, and we have never judged each other for them, that's why we work so well. I talk and you listen.
But please, if you must believe I am crazy then I will insist that I am only crazy for you...
With that, you watch Hector and I leave and you are left once again to contemplate the table full of a little girl's Christmas wishes that never came true...
What do you have it in, if indeed you have it in anything at all? What do you believe in? Suppose I were to tell you all the things I believe in, I believe my mommy is an Angel who is at this very moment dancing in Heaven with my daddy and occasionally they look down on me and smile.
I know they do, because I can feel it, sometimes, in the cold and dead of night, I can even hear them as they speak to me. Whispers in the dark, carried on starlight. It is why I sleep with my window open, if indeed I sleep at all. I can hear them, I can hear them clearly but so many cannot.
So many tell me I'm crazy. So many try to convince me that the voices I hear aren't really there, and that they aren't really my mommy or my daddy talking to me. So many of these are the smartest men and women in society, they're opinions are accepted and respected because they have doctorates.
Apparently, I'm insane and they're not, they have the papers to prove it neatly framed and mounted on the walls of their fancy little offices, and apparently their papers give them the right to police and probe my thoughts and to tell me that everything I know is wrong and everything they know is right. Excuse me if I have a hard time believing someone who doesn't believe me.
These people waste around eight years of their lives chasing bits of paper and seeking personal validation through social stature and yet, they insist that I am the crazy one and not them. These same people go home to their beautiful wives and pretty little kids and convince them to believe in all manner of things. Things which are cute to believe in when you are five, but if you still believe in them twenty five years later, well then, you've just crossed the line from being cute to being crazy.
These people perpetuate lies every time a tooth falls out and every spring when they go hunting for eggs, and of course the biggest and most elaborate lie of all comes every December the 24th. All throughout the year, these people foster certain beliefs in their children and insist that mine are crazy.
I was six and I lost a tooth and it was okay to believe in a magical fairy who would flutter her wings through my open window, take my tooth from under my pillow and leave a chocolaty treat in its place, no doubt to encourage me to lose more and keep her lucrative if not slightly strange business going.
I was seven and found chocolate eggs in my back garden and it was still okay to believe in a giant generous bunny rabbit with a plentiful wicker basket who had left them there for me and my cousins.
I was ten before my daddy told me I was getting a bit too old to still believe in such things. It isn't crazy to believe in an immortal jolly fat man in a red suit who sneaks down your chimney and leaves you presents under a tree and makes his getaway on a sleigh powered by magical flying reindeer if you're nine and its Christmas Eve, but if its any other day of the year and you're ten, then its a bit peculiar. At twenty nine, its down right crazy.
Apparently, its cute to be crazy for the first nine years of your life, I bet your mommy and daddy told you the same, didn't they? They all do. Tell me by what definition is it considered perfectly sane to encourage a certain belief system in your child and then take it away? Maybe I'm not the crazy one, maybe I'm sane, yet they will try and tell you that is in itself is insane.
So what do you think, my love?
Am I crazy or am I sane?
It doesn't matter to me which you choose to believe. I am not my father. I will not take away your belief in Santa and insist you believe in God. Why must it be one or the other? Believe in both or believe in neither, I will never call you crazy because I know all too well what that's like. You have your beliefs and I have mine, and we have never judged each other for them, that's why we work so well. I talk and you listen.
But please, if you must believe I am crazy then I will insist that I am only crazy for you...
~~~
A simple wooden table. In the centre of which sits a picture in a silver frame. A plate of cookies and plate of carrots to the left, and a slowly burning wax candle to the right, providing what little light there is in the room. Propped up against the photo is a letter.
You read it.
Dear Santa.
Daddy says I shouldn't believe in you any more, but I still do. I know you're very busy this time of year, but I've been very good this year. I don't want you to come to my house this year. You can give my Christmas present to another good little girl and my birthday present too if they have the same birthday as me.
It's been a very long and very sad year for me. Daddy says the Angels took Mommy home and one day we will all be together again, but I cannot wait that long. Christmas is a time for family and I want my family to be together for Christmas again. Just once. Just this year. Can you please fly your reindeer up to Heaven and bring Mommy back? Just for Christmas. I just want to see her again.
If you do this for me, I promise I will not ask for anything else for Christmas as long as I live.
You're probably wondering who I am and I really wish I could say, but the truth is I haven't been myself for the longest time now. The only thing I can tell you for sure is that I'm just a lost little girl who misses her mommy very much...
Suddenly a black clad figure who you guess is me has her back to you as she steps up to the table, with head bowed. The figure picks up the silver framed photograph and as she turns around with it in both her hands, you get a good look at the black and white photo of the young woman.
You read it.
Dear Santa.
Daddy says I shouldn't believe in you any more, but I still do. I know you're very busy this time of year, but I've been very good this year. I don't want you to come to my house this year. You can give my Christmas present to another good little girl and my birthday present too if they have the same birthday as me.
It's been a very long and very sad year for me. Daddy says the Angels took Mommy home and one day we will all be together again, but I cannot wait that long. Christmas is a time for family and I want my family to be together for Christmas again. Just once. Just this year. Can you please fly your reindeer up to Heaven and bring Mommy back? Just for Christmas. I just want to see her again.
If you do this for me, I promise I will not ask for anything else for Christmas as long as I live.
You're probably wondering who I am and I really wish I could say, but the truth is I haven't been myself for the longest time now. The only thing I can tell you for sure is that I'm just a lost little girl who misses her mommy very much...
Suddenly a black clad figure who you guess is me has her back to you as she steps up to the table, with head bowed. The figure picks up the silver framed photograph and as she turns around with it in both her hands, you get a good look at the black and white photo of the young woman.
Your assumptions are validated when you recognise my voice as I speak to you without raising either my head or my voice.
Beautiful, isn't she? This was always one of daddy's favourite photographs. He always told me that I looked so much like her, so much like mommy. After she died, daddy took me by the hand and lead me into his study, his little hideaway when the world got too much and things got a little too crazy, and showed me this photograph for the first time.
He told me that this was how he'd choose to always remember her, and he gave the photo to me to keep always by my bedside so I'd never be alone knowing that she was still watching over me. By choosing to remember mommy just like daddy, I remember both of them.
I see her but once a year. One day a year I find myself and mommy is always glad to see me again. She always says the same thing too. That I wear too much make up, and that I should let my real beauty shine through so for one day a year, for my mommy and to see her pretty smile, that is what I do. For one day a year I can be myself. For one day a year I am no more crazy than those who believe in the impossible and in miracles and magic and encourage those crazy beliefs in others and their children.
For one day a year, I am not crazy.
For one day a year I feel at home.
But that day my love, is not today...
You see me then carefully place the photograph back on the table and then turn and raise my head, a black veil obscuring my face.
Beautiful, isn't she? This was always one of daddy's favourite photographs. He always told me that I looked so much like her, so much like mommy. After she died, daddy took me by the hand and lead me into his study, his little hideaway when the world got too much and things got a little too crazy, and showed me this photograph for the first time.
He told me that this was how he'd choose to always remember her, and he gave the photo to me to keep always by my bedside so I'd never be alone knowing that she was still watching over me. By choosing to remember mommy just like daddy, I remember both of them.
I see her but once a year. One day a year I find myself and mommy is always glad to see me again. She always says the same thing too. That I wear too much make up, and that I should let my real beauty shine through so for one day a year, for my mommy and to see her pretty smile, that is what I do. For one day a year I can be myself. For one day a year I am no more crazy than those who believe in the impossible and in miracles and magic and encourage those crazy beliefs in others and their children.
For one day a year, I am not crazy.
For one day a year I feel at home.
But that day my love, is not today...
You see me then carefully place the photograph back on the table and then turn and raise my head, a black veil obscuring my face.
~~~
You see me whip off my black hand and twirl it above my head in my hand as if it were a propeller.
WOOP! WOOP!
THAT'S THE SOUND OF THE POLICE!
And it is a sound Cyrus Daniels, Attack The Block and now Avery McCullen know all too well.
You see me toss the hat away with a grin.
You know its funny, I thought the sound of the police was much more soulful than that, after all don't they watch every breath you take and every move you make? That's all they seem to do, well that and tell Roxanne not too put on the red light, whoever she is, she's wasting police time with such trivial matters. You know if they concentrated more on arresting criminals rather than making sure Roxanne's red light didn't clash with their red and blue sirens, I wouldn't have to deal with the convict who assaulted me.
You know for such a dangerous ex-con you sure are a whiny little bitch, Avery. I thought you were supposed to be some tough Irishwoman who had seen the horrors of the world and who was made of far sterner stuff, but one little chair shot, a few losses and suddenly you can't take it anymore. Suddenly it's all my fault. Suddenly I get all the blame. Suddenly it is all...
"Wah, wah, wah, Eternity cost me the match!"
"Wah, wah, wah, Eternity's so mean!"
Oh grow up you big baby! It's not my fault that you sucked at trying to be a real life Lara Croft enough to then decide to be a wrestler, and it isn't ny fault that you now realise you suck at that too! Better luck at your next career I guess, whatever that is, I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to carefully consider your next move after I'm done stuffing your lifeless husk into a body bag for them to carry away and stuff into the back of yet another emergency vehicle with flashing lights and blaring sirens.
WOOP! WOOP!
That's the sound of da police.
NEE-NAW! NEE-NAW!
That's the sound of da ambulance - admittedly its not quite as catchy but then I'll be the first to admit that my gangsta rap stylie could use some work.
You see me shake my hands in front of my chest.
BRAP! BRAP! BO! WEST SIDE REPRESENTIN'!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHUHUHUHUHUHUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
It may not sound like much now, but I promise you Avery, a kickin' beat, a catchy chorus and a few insane clowns, a posse if you will and I could be a huge rap star! The difference between woop woop and nee-naw nee-naw may not seem all that great but there is world of pain between them and it is a world you Avery will know more intimately than any other before this year is out if you insist on exploring the depths of your vengeance against me.
You've been down this road once already Avery, you had me one on one, you had your chance to exact revenge and you failed. Now you want to try again, and you feel all brave and ready because you have the backing and support of Katherine Lockheart. You need to win this match as much as she needs you to win it for her. I need nothing. I'm not fighting for Simon or the division. I'm not stuffing you in and zipping you up for the future of the company.
I'm doing it because it will be fun.
I'm doing it because I want to.
I'm doing it because if you insist on playing games with me Avery, then it is games we will play. I love to play games. Last week I played referee and then I played Simon Says and at Diamonds Are Forever, we will play the lesser known game of Irish Potatoes after I stuff you in a sack. A simple game I think you'll agree, but one we're all looking forward to playing...
Suddenly a squeak interrupts and you see the little furry head of a white mouse pop up in the pocket of my trench coat. You see me reach in and gently the mouse in hand.
Aren't we Hector?
You see me then raise the mouse to my lips and kiss it on its nose. The mouse squeaks in response.
What's that, Hector? No, no, its not time for Avery to go to sleep yet...
The mouse squeaks again.
Soon, very soon, and then when she is asleep and all tucked up comfy and cozy, you can nibble on her ear like I promised.
The mouse squeaks again.
No, I don't know if she tastes cheesy, but she sounds like it sometimes and most of her threats are hollow and full of holes.
Some more squeaks.
What? You'd love to fill her holes, explore her hills and valleys and you wonder if she would like to send you a few sexy selfies? Oh Hector, I had no idea you liked her that much. It's her accent, isn't it?
The mouse squeaks in response as you see me smile.
Ooooohhh I knew it! You love rat, you! Still, all this makes me remember the last time I saw my mommy, you know, before they zipped her up and took her away, she looked so peaceful. She looked like all the burns, they didn't hurt anymore. That's what Avery needs, to be at peace, to be put to rest and for all the pain of her useless career so far not to hurt anymore. Nothing lasts forever Hector. Avery's wick has been lit, and now it burns, not hot enough to make her a diamond, but still hot enough to burn herself down...
Ashes to ashes.
Dust to dust.
WOOP! WOOP!
THAT'S THE SOUND OF THE POLICE!
And it is a sound Cyrus Daniels, Attack The Block and now Avery McCullen know all too well.
You see me toss the hat away with a grin.
You know its funny, I thought the sound of the police was much more soulful than that, after all don't they watch every breath you take and every move you make? That's all they seem to do, well that and tell Roxanne not too put on the red light, whoever she is, she's wasting police time with such trivial matters. You know if they concentrated more on arresting criminals rather than making sure Roxanne's red light didn't clash with their red and blue sirens, I wouldn't have to deal with the convict who assaulted me.
You know for such a dangerous ex-con you sure are a whiny little bitch, Avery. I thought you were supposed to be some tough Irishwoman who had seen the horrors of the world and who was made of far sterner stuff, but one little chair shot, a few losses and suddenly you can't take it anymore. Suddenly it's all my fault. Suddenly I get all the blame. Suddenly it is all...
"Wah, wah, wah, Eternity cost me the match!"
"Wah, wah, wah, Eternity's so mean!"
Oh grow up you big baby! It's not my fault that you sucked at trying to be a real life Lara Croft enough to then decide to be a wrestler, and it isn't ny fault that you now realise you suck at that too! Better luck at your next career I guess, whatever that is, I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to carefully consider your next move after I'm done stuffing your lifeless husk into a body bag for them to carry away and stuff into the back of yet another emergency vehicle with flashing lights and blaring sirens.
WOOP! WOOP!
That's the sound of da police.
NEE-NAW! NEE-NAW!
That's the sound of da ambulance - admittedly its not quite as catchy but then I'll be the first to admit that my gangsta rap stylie could use some work.
You see me shake my hands in front of my chest.
BRAP! BRAP! BO! WEST SIDE REPRESENTIN'!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHUHUHUHUHUHUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
It may not sound like much now, but I promise you Avery, a kickin' beat, a catchy chorus and a few insane clowns, a posse if you will and I could be a huge rap star! The difference between woop woop and nee-naw nee-naw may not seem all that great but there is world of pain between them and it is a world you Avery will know more intimately than any other before this year is out if you insist on exploring the depths of your vengeance against me.
You've been down this road once already Avery, you had me one on one, you had your chance to exact revenge and you failed. Now you want to try again, and you feel all brave and ready because you have the backing and support of Katherine Lockheart. You need to win this match as much as she needs you to win it for her. I need nothing. I'm not fighting for Simon or the division. I'm not stuffing you in and zipping you up for the future of the company.
I'm doing it because it will be fun.
I'm doing it because I want to.
I'm doing it because if you insist on playing games with me Avery, then it is games we will play. I love to play games. Last week I played referee and then I played Simon Says and at Diamonds Are Forever, we will play the lesser known game of Irish Potatoes after I stuff you in a sack. A simple game I think you'll agree, but one we're all looking forward to playing...
Suddenly a squeak interrupts and you see the little furry head of a white mouse pop up in the pocket of my trench coat. You see me reach in and gently the mouse in hand.
Aren't we Hector?
You see me then raise the mouse to my lips and kiss it on its nose. The mouse squeaks in response.
What's that, Hector? No, no, its not time for Avery to go to sleep yet...
The mouse squeaks again.
Soon, very soon, and then when she is asleep and all tucked up comfy and cozy, you can nibble on her ear like I promised.
The mouse squeaks again.
No, I don't know if she tastes cheesy, but she sounds like it sometimes and most of her threats are hollow and full of holes.
Some more squeaks.
What? You'd love to fill her holes, explore her hills and valleys and you wonder if she would like to send you a few sexy selfies? Oh Hector, I had no idea you liked her that much. It's her accent, isn't it?
The mouse squeaks in response as you see me smile.
Ooooohhh I knew it! You love rat, you! Still, all this makes me remember the last time I saw my mommy, you know, before they zipped her up and took her away, she looked so peaceful. She looked like all the burns, they didn't hurt anymore. That's what Avery needs, to be at peace, to be put to rest and for all the pain of her useless career so far not to hurt anymore. Nothing lasts forever Hector. Avery's wick has been lit, and now it burns, not hot enough to make her a diamond, but still hot enough to burn herself down...
Ashes to ashes.
Dust to dust.
With that, you watch Hector and I leave and you are left once again to contemplate the table full of a little girl's Christmas wishes that never came true...
Well howdy there pardner.