Post by kadenkeene on Oct 21, 2006 9:00:00 GMT -5
From up here, they all looked like neon beetles scurrying across the carpet. They started, stopped, and started again, back and forth and side to side, guided by the small boxes of metal and glass strung just above them. Kaden laughed at how clear things became when you were too far away to see the details.
Up here, every breeze was strong and cold. It was uncomfortable, but there was a solace about this place that the ground couldn't provide. Perched upon the RCA building in downtown Albany, Kaden could see the ground for miles, and the sky for even further. He closed an eye and put his thumb over the handle of the Big Dipper, and he wondered if he had ever seen the stars so perfectly before. Most of his days had been spent in one city or another, and the sky is always blocked by some building or another; once he saw them as landmarks, and sometimes, even wonders of Modern Man's creativity.
But now, here, with his thumb slowly swooping down the handle of the Dipper and into the ladle, he looked back on every construct of brick and cement and stone and plaster as nothing more than sins against the natural wonders he was seeing now as if for the first time. All of this made him think of how much he's missed...
"How long will I live?"
Leaning against a smokestack, Francis pulled thoughtfully on a cigarette. He mulled the question over for a moment with a few smoke rings. He tipped his fedora back and tried to find the constellation that Kaden was so fond of.
"Depends, kid. Longer than them, if that helps."
Kaden wasn't sure that it did. How many times would his teeth crack and split and crumble from his head, replaced by horrible yellow daggers before it killed him? How many times could he stand it? He had hunted rats for sustenance before Francis found him, and now he sipped from bags of blood meant for hospitals. How long before he would find himself surviving on the blood of the little ants that rode on their neon beetles below? He shuddered at the thought.
"How old are you, Francis?" He said, still thumbing the Dipper. The shine from the stars seemed so new, so different.
A cackle full of phlegm. Footsteps. Francis crouched beside him. "That's a question for another day, Kaden. Right now, you have other concerns."
"Do I?" He said immediately, taking his eyes from the stars for the first time.
Francis nodded. "Of course. You've got a career to worry about. And that career can come to a screeching halt next week if you're not prepared."
"What about my life," Kaden protested. "Fuck my career! I mean, I want to know what the rest of my life is going to be like."
There was a silence between them, and Francis diverted his gaze to the street below. The neon beetles feverishly sped along, all in a hurry to go nowhere. The older man sighed, and patted his young protege on the back. There was much for him to learn.
"You have to crawl before you can walk. Maybe it's best you concentrated on the job at hand before you worried too much about everything else."
Kaden looked back into the sky. This time, he was sure he had never seen the sky so clearly before. The changes had been so traumatic, so extreme, that he hadn't taken time to think about the subtle ones. The fact that he needed more sleep than before, especially when he fed; his tendency to feel more base urges, like anger; the way the stars looked, the way the street looked from so high. There was something new about his sight, he knew it now.
"Let's get out of here, Kaden," He said, slapping him on the back. "I want to show you something."
*****
"WE ARE STILL GOD'S CHILDREN!"
James McArthur dabbed the rag to his damp forehead. With plump fingers, he tightened his grip around the microphone, and looked into the mass; young, old, skinny, fat...they all waited with baited breath for his next word, for his word, was the word of God.
But he stayed. He strolled casually around the modest podium, taking long, confident, and slow strides into the isle where the people had long since spilled into from their once-neat rows. He watched with a tingle in his groin as the women bounced up and down with their hands balled into fists and held tightly to the sides of their faces; while the men young enough to do so stood on their chairs and spread their arms toward the ceiling, and those not old enough to simply shook their fists with closed eyes at the man who now walked among them. James dabbed his brow again, and pointed to an assistant, who dimmed the bright halogens.
He stopped next to a pretty young woman with tears in her eyes. He clothes were nice, but easily a decade dated, and he reached out a meaty palm. She didn't hesitate to take it, and when she did, the tears flowed freely, as if his touched had warmed the ice behind her eyes. He knelt down--which was a chore for a man of his girth--and he looked into her wet blue eyes. He brought her hand, still tight in his own, to his cheek, which was flush and hot.
"You've faced many trials, haven't you, Sister?" He whispered into the microphone. She nodded emphatically, still stunned by the touch of this most holy of men. "You've been tempted to do much evil, haven't you, Sister?"
She bellowed "Yes" toward the ceiling, and threw her head into her free hand, weeping like they were going to raise the price on tears tomorrow. She sobbed, and held her hand tighter, and put her knuckles to his thin, chapped lips and kissed.
"Don't be sorrowful, Sister, there's no need," He said, and with more than a little effort, raised himself upright again. "Whatever sins you've committed in the name of Satan in the past are forgiven! You walk the line of righteousness now, and not just that, but the most righteous! Can I hear an Amen?"
"AMEN!"
The pretty young thing nodded exuberantly with her hands pressed together in a prayer, and thanked James over and over again. The fat man with sweat stains moved on, and saw an old man with a tremble in his face looking directly ahead, not shouting with the rest, or dancing or bouncing like the others. The old man's eyes were foggy, but dry behind thick glasses. James moved quickly and quietly, like a serpent, to the old man, and again, bent to a knee.
"Brother...you've felt much pain..." He said. The old man didn't seem to hear him at first, but then nodded awkwardly. His neck was obviously of little function anymore. "Brother...you are courageous beyond Satan's worst fears, and that courage is your gift to God!"
"Yes!" The old man stammered, bringing his cane up slightly. He nodded again, the tremble almost painful to watch, as he shook so violently and strangely.
"And you know that He has forgiven your sins and has a place for you beside His Right Hand?"
"Yes!"
"He knows it! Can I hear an Amen!"
"AMEN!"
James stood again, this time with a grace that seemed unnatural, and he goose-stepped back to the podium, where he pounded his fist with passion on its flimsy wood. A synthesizer played softly now, the notes dark, but with a sprinkle of hope behind them, as if this sad and scary melody would crescendo into a joyous, victorious song. James felt another tingle in his groin as the congregation clapped along with an invisible rhythm and danced.
"Try as he might, the Devil cannot change our will!"
"AMEN!"
"He throws obstacles in our path of righteousness, and we step over them with the Grace of God Almighty!"
"AMEN!"
"In our darkest days, when the Prince of that very Darkness sneaks up and stabs us with his blade, we must know that our wounds are healed by the hand of God! And in these days, we are reminded that there is a new Genesis, and our covenant with God is also born anew!"
"AMEN!"
"And in these times we must remember that no matter how much we give--our bodies, our minds--that no thirst is too great for God to quench with His Love! We know in our hearts--in our souls--that God will send His Son again, and He will show us that these trials are not below Him!
"And while we wait...while we patiently wait...for this new covenant, we must continue to be strong and spread His Word! Do your part, ladies and gentlemen of the congregation, to the cause that is just, and right, and in His Name! There are Saints among us, I can feel it! He tells me so! Put your offerings on the plate! Can I get an Amen?"
"AMEN!"
And as the young woman walked the isle with a silver plate to accept the charitable donations, Kaden and Francis slipped out the door.
*****
They walked through the bitter October night back to Kaden's apartment, silent for much of the way. Kaden's eyes no longer spun dreams around the stars that were brighter than he had ever seen, but counted cracks in the sidewalk to help him process what he had just witnessed. He lived a few blocks away from the St. John's Episcopal Church, and had no idea that it's basement held such masses. They were all like him; he knew it by the way the fat man walked, by the words he spoke, but mostly by the looks on the people's faces...they looked like he did. Lost, confused, suffering. Suddenly, Kaden felt a twist in his gut, and had to fight the urge to lurch.
"They go there because they can't cope," Francis finally offered. "They think too much about everything--God, the consequences of how they live, everything--and they almost lose their minds. If it wasn't for that man, there would be two hundred dead bodies in the street. The problem with that is, they wouldn't be dead!"
He chuckled, but Kaden could find no humor in it.
"Hey, I brought you there so you could see what happens when you can't accept who you are," He said, putting a hand on Kaden's shoulder. "Those people lost their focus. They had jobs and families and careers, and because they did not accept the change, they gave it all away. Now they listen to a fat man preach bullshit to them while they stuff his pockets with their own money."
"They're just confused," Kaden said, looking sheepishly at Francis. Playing the father figure, Francis sighed, and looked skyward for the words to convince his young protege.
"No, it's more than that. They're..." He paused, finally catching the right words. "They're alone. Did you see that old man? Some young kid who thinks it's cool to suck blood seven nights a week probably bit him at the ATM machine for shits and giggles. Sent that poor bastard in his last days to a life where time loses meaning, and didn't think twice about it.
"That young girl? She probably got bit by a guy she met at a bar; she was probably a nice girl who felt guilty about sex until one night she decided to go out and find a meaningless fuck. The guy got his rocks off, and condemned her to walk this place alone.
"The point is that none of those people ever had the luxury of having someone there to help them, to guide them, through it. You do, Kaden. You don't have to worry about all the meaningless things they do, because I'm here to worry about it for you. This...process...is a tough one at first, and the only way to get through it is to stay focused on what's normal, what's familiar. Otherwise, you'll end up like them, handing over every penny you can swipe to some man who really cares nothing for your wellbeing."
Kaden sighed, and felt as if a great weight was slowly lifting from his shoulders. He shuddered, and Francis tightened his embrace. They walked the rest of the way home in silence. There was much to stay focused on; his career as a wrestler was promising, and he had a great chance on solidifying his spot by having a good showing against the promotion's champion. And, though he hardly dared to think it...
"You could make yourself a star by defeating him..."
Kaden stopped, his heart skipped a beat. He grasped the thin rail on the stairs up to his apartment, and glared at Francis with disbelief. Francis smiled, and waved him to follow.
"No, wait," He said, holding out a shaky hand. "Show me what else you can do..."
Up here, every breeze was strong and cold. It was uncomfortable, but there was a solace about this place that the ground couldn't provide. Perched upon the RCA building in downtown Albany, Kaden could see the ground for miles, and the sky for even further. He closed an eye and put his thumb over the handle of the Big Dipper, and he wondered if he had ever seen the stars so perfectly before. Most of his days had been spent in one city or another, and the sky is always blocked by some building or another; once he saw them as landmarks, and sometimes, even wonders of Modern Man's creativity.
But now, here, with his thumb slowly swooping down the handle of the Dipper and into the ladle, he looked back on every construct of brick and cement and stone and plaster as nothing more than sins against the natural wonders he was seeing now as if for the first time. All of this made him think of how much he's missed...
"How long will I live?"
Leaning against a smokestack, Francis pulled thoughtfully on a cigarette. He mulled the question over for a moment with a few smoke rings. He tipped his fedora back and tried to find the constellation that Kaden was so fond of.
"Depends, kid. Longer than them, if that helps."
Kaden wasn't sure that it did. How many times would his teeth crack and split and crumble from his head, replaced by horrible yellow daggers before it killed him? How many times could he stand it? He had hunted rats for sustenance before Francis found him, and now he sipped from bags of blood meant for hospitals. How long before he would find himself surviving on the blood of the little ants that rode on their neon beetles below? He shuddered at the thought.
"How old are you, Francis?" He said, still thumbing the Dipper. The shine from the stars seemed so new, so different.
A cackle full of phlegm. Footsteps. Francis crouched beside him. "That's a question for another day, Kaden. Right now, you have other concerns."
"Do I?" He said immediately, taking his eyes from the stars for the first time.
Francis nodded. "Of course. You've got a career to worry about. And that career can come to a screeching halt next week if you're not prepared."
"What about my life," Kaden protested. "Fuck my career! I mean, I want to know what the rest of my life is going to be like."
There was a silence between them, and Francis diverted his gaze to the street below. The neon beetles feverishly sped along, all in a hurry to go nowhere. The older man sighed, and patted his young protege on the back. There was much for him to learn.
"You have to crawl before you can walk. Maybe it's best you concentrated on the job at hand before you worried too much about everything else."
Kaden looked back into the sky. This time, he was sure he had never seen the sky so clearly before. The changes had been so traumatic, so extreme, that he hadn't taken time to think about the subtle ones. The fact that he needed more sleep than before, especially when he fed; his tendency to feel more base urges, like anger; the way the stars looked, the way the street looked from so high. There was something new about his sight, he knew it now.
"Let's get out of here, Kaden," He said, slapping him on the back. "I want to show you something."
*****
"WE ARE STILL GOD'S CHILDREN!"
James McArthur dabbed the rag to his damp forehead. With plump fingers, he tightened his grip around the microphone, and looked into the mass; young, old, skinny, fat...they all waited with baited breath for his next word, for his word, was the word of God.
But he stayed. He strolled casually around the modest podium, taking long, confident, and slow strides into the isle where the people had long since spilled into from their once-neat rows. He watched with a tingle in his groin as the women bounced up and down with their hands balled into fists and held tightly to the sides of their faces; while the men young enough to do so stood on their chairs and spread their arms toward the ceiling, and those not old enough to simply shook their fists with closed eyes at the man who now walked among them. James dabbed his brow again, and pointed to an assistant, who dimmed the bright halogens.
He stopped next to a pretty young woman with tears in her eyes. He clothes were nice, but easily a decade dated, and he reached out a meaty palm. She didn't hesitate to take it, and when she did, the tears flowed freely, as if his touched had warmed the ice behind her eyes. He knelt down--which was a chore for a man of his girth--and he looked into her wet blue eyes. He brought her hand, still tight in his own, to his cheek, which was flush and hot.
"You've faced many trials, haven't you, Sister?" He whispered into the microphone. She nodded emphatically, still stunned by the touch of this most holy of men. "You've been tempted to do much evil, haven't you, Sister?"
She bellowed "Yes" toward the ceiling, and threw her head into her free hand, weeping like they were going to raise the price on tears tomorrow. She sobbed, and held her hand tighter, and put her knuckles to his thin, chapped lips and kissed.
"Don't be sorrowful, Sister, there's no need," He said, and with more than a little effort, raised himself upright again. "Whatever sins you've committed in the name of Satan in the past are forgiven! You walk the line of righteousness now, and not just that, but the most righteous! Can I hear an Amen?"
"AMEN!"
The pretty young thing nodded exuberantly with her hands pressed together in a prayer, and thanked James over and over again. The fat man with sweat stains moved on, and saw an old man with a tremble in his face looking directly ahead, not shouting with the rest, or dancing or bouncing like the others. The old man's eyes were foggy, but dry behind thick glasses. James moved quickly and quietly, like a serpent, to the old man, and again, bent to a knee.
"Brother...you've felt much pain..." He said. The old man didn't seem to hear him at first, but then nodded awkwardly. His neck was obviously of little function anymore. "Brother...you are courageous beyond Satan's worst fears, and that courage is your gift to God!"
"Yes!" The old man stammered, bringing his cane up slightly. He nodded again, the tremble almost painful to watch, as he shook so violently and strangely.
"And you know that He has forgiven your sins and has a place for you beside His Right Hand?"
"Yes!"
"He knows it! Can I hear an Amen!"
"AMEN!"
James stood again, this time with a grace that seemed unnatural, and he goose-stepped back to the podium, where he pounded his fist with passion on its flimsy wood. A synthesizer played softly now, the notes dark, but with a sprinkle of hope behind them, as if this sad and scary melody would crescendo into a joyous, victorious song. James felt another tingle in his groin as the congregation clapped along with an invisible rhythm and danced.
"Try as he might, the Devil cannot change our will!"
"AMEN!"
"He throws obstacles in our path of righteousness, and we step over them with the Grace of God Almighty!"
"AMEN!"
"In our darkest days, when the Prince of that very Darkness sneaks up and stabs us with his blade, we must know that our wounds are healed by the hand of God! And in these days, we are reminded that there is a new Genesis, and our covenant with God is also born anew!"
"AMEN!"
"And in these times we must remember that no matter how much we give--our bodies, our minds--that no thirst is too great for God to quench with His Love! We know in our hearts--in our souls--that God will send His Son again, and He will show us that these trials are not below Him!
"And while we wait...while we patiently wait...for this new covenant, we must continue to be strong and spread His Word! Do your part, ladies and gentlemen of the congregation, to the cause that is just, and right, and in His Name! There are Saints among us, I can feel it! He tells me so! Put your offerings on the plate! Can I get an Amen?"
"AMEN!"
And as the young woman walked the isle with a silver plate to accept the charitable donations, Kaden and Francis slipped out the door.
*****
They walked through the bitter October night back to Kaden's apartment, silent for much of the way. Kaden's eyes no longer spun dreams around the stars that were brighter than he had ever seen, but counted cracks in the sidewalk to help him process what he had just witnessed. He lived a few blocks away from the St. John's Episcopal Church, and had no idea that it's basement held such masses. They were all like him; he knew it by the way the fat man walked, by the words he spoke, but mostly by the looks on the people's faces...they looked like he did. Lost, confused, suffering. Suddenly, Kaden felt a twist in his gut, and had to fight the urge to lurch.
"They go there because they can't cope," Francis finally offered. "They think too much about everything--God, the consequences of how they live, everything--and they almost lose their minds. If it wasn't for that man, there would be two hundred dead bodies in the street. The problem with that is, they wouldn't be dead!"
He chuckled, but Kaden could find no humor in it.
"Hey, I brought you there so you could see what happens when you can't accept who you are," He said, putting a hand on Kaden's shoulder. "Those people lost their focus. They had jobs and families and careers, and because they did not accept the change, they gave it all away. Now they listen to a fat man preach bullshit to them while they stuff his pockets with their own money."
"They're just confused," Kaden said, looking sheepishly at Francis. Playing the father figure, Francis sighed, and looked skyward for the words to convince his young protege.
"No, it's more than that. They're..." He paused, finally catching the right words. "They're alone. Did you see that old man? Some young kid who thinks it's cool to suck blood seven nights a week probably bit him at the ATM machine for shits and giggles. Sent that poor bastard in his last days to a life where time loses meaning, and didn't think twice about it.
"That young girl? She probably got bit by a guy she met at a bar; she was probably a nice girl who felt guilty about sex until one night she decided to go out and find a meaningless fuck. The guy got his rocks off, and condemned her to walk this place alone.
"The point is that none of those people ever had the luxury of having someone there to help them, to guide them, through it. You do, Kaden. You don't have to worry about all the meaningless things they do, because I'm here to worry about it for you. This...process...is a tough one at first, and the only way to get through it is to stay focused on what's normal, what's familiar. Otherwise, you'll end up like them, handing over every penny you can swipe to some man who really cares nothing for your wellbeing."
Kaden sighed, and felt as if a great weight was slowly lifting from his shoulders. He shuddered, and Francis tightened his embrace. They walked the rest of the way home in silence. There was much to stay focused on; his career as a wrestler was promising, and he had a great chance on solidifying his spot by having a good showing against the promotion's champion. And, though he hardly dared to think it...
"You could make yourself a star by defeating him..."
Kaden stopped, his heart skipped a beat. He grasped the thin rail on the stairs up to his apartment, and glared at Francis with disbelief. Francis smiled, and waved him to follow.
"No, wait," He said, holding out a shaky hand. "Show me what else you can do..."