Part V
alaric slammed the pedal down to the floor. it was time for a revolution. he was a gladiator. an anarchist. but he was God’s.
He must meet this Spirit.
he drifted like a rush-seeker into his driveway, the clock on his dashboard now reading 6 am, June 2nd. he walked through the door, and was greeted by no one. his parents had given him this apartment and his allowance. they loved him in their own way. and he loved them for it. in his own way. he dropped the bag with his cut of the cash on the sofa. and headed up to his room, shedding his shirt on the stairs. behind the mirror of the bathroom was a first-aid kit and he nursed the bleeder that spilt his olive skin from the curve of his neck halfway to the end of his shoulder. some people claimed that the divine had healed them. he healed himself. he was a gladiater. a hedonist. a rush-seeker untouchable by the law. but he was God’s. he lived in a dream that he must wake from. he knew it better than most.
he lay in his bed, and fell asleep. safety. he didn’t mind being alone. he saw Lovey's face behind his lids. he loved her. he chose to love her. he believed the dream that had visited him night after night for the past three months. he would protect her. he chose to. he was God’s.
He must meet this Spirit.
he didn't know why he had made this choice. he barely knew her in the conventional sense. perhaps he wanted to saver her because he had screwed up so many times before he wanted to get something right. perhaps he was delusional and needed to feel like a savior. he didn’t think that was so. he would see what would happen in the morning. if it was meant to be it was meant to be. he was God’s. perhaps he knew that. perhaps he didn’t believe in God. some days he knew Providence. years ago he knew without a doubt. now he refused to think about it.
He must meet this Spirit.
her hair was auburn. her eyes were green. diamonds adorned her cheeks. her mother was crying behind her door, the heavy make-up that she had put over the bruise on her cheek pounded off. her father was crying on the couch. he didn’t know how to stop. couldn’t help himself. did she believe that? was it true?
how much did people actually control. what is free will? is everything controled by genes and environment. just cause and effect. just cause and effect. or did some people choose evil. what would make them do that? why would they beat their wives knowing that in the end their fists were pounding their own faces. that they would regret it. that it would kill. perhaps not on the outside. but on the inside. she didn’t know if she believed in a soul. but she was sure that evil killed it. but how much of that evil was controlled by man. for how much was man accountable for. for truly the only way we are to blame is it if there we have choice uncoerced. how many choices do we get to make that are completely uncoerced. how many choices can I make. will i make the right ones. or will i end up with a dead soul like my father.
she wanted him to come alive. it would show her all things are possible. that she could be saved. his progeny. flesh of his flesh. bone of his bone. could she avoid his mistakes. be loveable where he was only hated.
was he worth saving. was she worth saving.
who would save him. who would save her.
She must meet this Spirit.
No comments:
Post a Comment