Sanctuary

My day started when Jack slapped down a bottle of yellow pills in front of me. I stared at them, blindly. She gave only a word response, "Anti-Psychotics". I tore open the bottle, and started dry swallowing them like it was air. "How many until it stops being FUCKED UP?!" I garbled through the self-medication.


"About seven." She answered, benignly.

She talked for a while. I didn't like what I heard, nor did I want to hear any more after a while. It didn't make any sense, no matter how much Jack tried to explain it.

You can talk until you're blue in the face about aether or heuristic connections or whatever. All I understood was 'Bring three items together to get this shitkicker back on his feet.'

I do not understand it, and I don't think I ever will, but lo and behold she had three items of mine. A jade elephant, a jade dragon, and...well, guess.

A piece of shit katana, good as new.

Skeptically, I looked over at her. "Someone took the time to actually forge a new blade for my piece of shit sword." I held it in my hand. It felt weird, like it was a different weight, or just...different. You ever pick something up and just get a sensation that something had changed? Back in the day, I could tell when someone had handled my dice in my absence. You could go on about how there's nothing to it, that its all just part of a misconception to assume such things as auras or willpower are real, and years ago I'd believe you. Today, given the fact that I am very much NOT a rotting husk, I might be inclined to disagree with you.

Jack sat straddling a chair, she was getting annoyed with me, or belabored. I didn't really care, either way. In an exhausted tone, she answered, "Fixed actually, by Amalgamation Sage." I looked back to her, then aside before I responded, "Oh I remember that name. Strange guy, did some shit with Redlight, said a lot of things I never understood."  And then my words took heat, "Third of the Three Sages." Why'd anyone ever listen to the idea of titles and roles? Why would they keep that up after what happened to me? It was all horse shit, the idea that anyone was destined for anything. Damn it, I had invested so much in the stupid idea that my life was something special, that I was bound for some great thing. Enough that I listened to a lot of people who I shouldn't have, things that took advantage of me.

I realized about now that she was still talking, and I wasn't paying attention. "What?" I said simply. She knew I trailed off, and she gave me a put-upon look. "He fixed it, magicked it up. Then it was handed off to Konaa, Konaa gave it up eventually..."  I waved my hand, interrupting, "Wait, so my sword's been passed around like a trophy? Why would you all do that?"

Jack sat up straighter, and there was a harder edge to her tone. "Yeah, yeah we did. Because once upon a time, there was a bit of hope out there, alright? We all knew what happened. And yeah I fucking get it, you did some shit. Well, we ALL did some shit, alright? Hell, I still do it. We used that sword as a reminder that we can believe in something." She stood up, and gestured at me, "You spend ten thousand years wallowing in your own guilt over what? Thirteen people? Ten Thousand years...and you're still pissed about being tricked?  Maybe you should just get the fuck over yourself already."

With that, she left me alone.

Was I really out of the loop for that long? Ten thousand years?  It felt like an eternity, several eternities to be sure.I walked, and I walked, and I walked. I know that time works different there. Here it was only eight years, but...ten thousand?  There's no way that's right, but this is all without context regardless. What does it matter if I was dead for a year or fifty thousand years? I knew that I had to put my past behind me finally, that I had another chance, and maybe this time I'd do some good.

I can't just say, 'I'm over it.', but maybe I can try to look forward a bit more, instead of looking behind. I needed to put myself back together, a task that you can't just will yourself into doing. So instead, I took a few steps in the right direction. I cleaned myself up. I took off my hoodie and managed a long look into the mirror.

I had lost weight. A lot of weight. I had always been a bit portly before all this, and I lost most of it during 'the incident'. Eight years after all that, and an infinity of miles under my feet...well, that did its part too.

Gingerly, I unslung my left arm, and braced myself to see what I had wrought. Entirely numb, I fumbled to get disrobed enough to see it. A long bloody scar on the outside of my arm was present. It wobbled a bit too much for my taste, making me nauseous.  I wrapped it up with some bandages for some support, more for my comfort than anything.

I cleaned up, and decided to step outside.

Before I did so, I looked out at Alabama. We were in some rural area, and I was comfortable with that. I grew up in rural Indiana myself, so there was bound to be some similarities. There were at least a dozen people within eyesight, a veritable, active community out there, sitting, chatting, working on laundry.

And I was sitting here with a black hoodie with neon 'Hollow Man' signs all over it, and a monster mask.

And yet it was so hard to take those things off. This was whom I was.

I slowly swapped my clothing with some cargo shorts and a simple blue tee that were left, and took to the street. The sword was strapped to my shorts, and probably made me look real stupid, but I wasn't about to give up everything just yet. It was weird not wearing the mask again. I felt like my identity was lost. Maduin always talked about that, said that masks were a layer of protection against the unnatural. I get the concept. If I wore the mask, then there was a second personality layer I had. Whatever decided it had to creep inside my skull would first have to go through that before it got to me. Honestly, I'm surprised I ever had to be told that.

There's so many times in life that we put on masks, or otherwise obscure our faces in order to tap into something else. There's always that primate brain just beneath the conscious surface, perhaps wearing masks help invoke that. Think about it. Halloween is just one example of drawing into that darker, primal nature that masks bring out in you. There's a reason Devil's Night is so dangerous, after all. It could just be that sense of anonymity that is in play, and with it, the liberation to do what you really want to do. The lack of repercussion, of punishment, of justice. Maybe thats what it is all about. I couldn't tell you, I'm no psychologist, I'm just a psycho with a list a mile long.

I stepped out into the sunshine, and onto a dirt road. Kids were running around, doing kid things. Which meant to say that they were looking at phones and trying not to hit anything as they seemed to migrate. Someone was playing The Who, and it was filling the air with "Eminence Front". That tune I remembered, I used to play Rock Band to it, back in the day.

I guess my career as a virtual rock star has ended. Ah well, never could stand those V-Groupies anyway.

My cluelessness must've been apparent, when an older man wearing suspenders came up to me, holding onto a big tub of laundry.  "You there." he huffed, "Help me with this." I wordlessly followed him. We did laundry. Old school laundry.  'Hang clothes up to dry' laundry. He talked and talked, telling stories about his life, telling jokes, and going on about places and people I've never heard of. I barely listened, I simply was losing myself in some work, most of which was a bit tricky with my bad wing, but I managed.

Occasionally he'd take a break and sit with some sun-brew tea. I didn't stop. I could zone out, I could do the objective. Do Laundry. It was so mundane, that I couldn't stop myself even if I wanted to. The music swapped out to some stuff I've never heard before, and it was a complementary backdrop to myself throwing sheets up on a new line.

The day had set as I did the entire community's wash, letting it dry in the wind. I suppose having it near a dirt road might not've been the best choice of location, but we managed.

It was foreign to think of a 'we' that wasn't just the bloggers and I. A community. I'm not saying that I suddenly decided to throw in my lot with them, or that they changed my life (though perhaps the meds did), but it was nice.

At about this time, there was a big meal planned. Canned meats, and breads, some basic stew cooked in large quantities, as everyone sat on the stoops and let the night slowly take over the little commune.

That night, people turned in, and I stayed up with a little propane lantern. I didn't feel much like sleeping.

There was so much to do.