Air Outside the Sheep Pen
Tommy exited the double
glass doors as he did every day. The
sound of his peers filing into the courtyard around him filled the atmosphere
like the drone of worker bees swarming. But
Tommy tried not to notice the nuisance-of-a-sound they collectively made. All he knew was that another summer was near, and this fact
was his only form of solace. The
insults he had endured, the indifference he had witnessed, the foul disease and
sheep-like euphoria that so characterized the faces he passed in the halls were
subordinate to this moment; The sun shined on his warm face inviting him to play
in the days that would follow.
Only those days would never come. The peaceful bliss he had so earnestly sought after was
inches from his grasp, yet in the end he was destined for another end.
To rest in the bliss of knowing he could forever be unaffected by the
herd and their petty insecurities was his only wish.
But my how our fates find us with an alarming speed.
Tommy lurched, fell, and found the blades of
grass spinning all around him. He
saw the earth rise, fall, and then rise again, as if he had somehow been placed
in a plummeting carousel without his knowing.
He felt his ride come to an abrupt end with a crash, and realized that
his dreams, his very dreams, had been shattered in an instant with the splash of
water and dirt.
In
that fateful instant of being the object of the cruelest of insults, and in that
very moment of realizing he was the brunt of a thousand laughing eyes, he was
certain: The sheep had become as soldiers, footmen to carry out the desires of
the majority. A majority that had
no will of its own. No empathy.
No compassion. He realized
that it was impossible for him to escape the fingers that would always point his
way.
Tommy is the one forever scarred by the
mockery of his peers, rejected by the ones he so sought acceptance, and scorned
by his fellow playmates. He would
be the one who would never again know what it means to be a sheep, because they
would not allow him to share in their laughter.
He would be the one fueled by his pain forever.
And motivated by his rejection, he would become a hero someday to the
same herd of sheep that laughed him into his isolation...
...And
in our mockery we create our heroes.
...And in our
treason we make our leaders.
Pearls To Swine
Grey: "You seem
troubled. I want you to know that I am here for you. I am a real
friend, and you can tell me anything. I think it's time you learned to
open up. We've know each other for quite awhile now."
Black: "Well, it's a
little difficult for me, you know, with all that I have been through."
Grey: "Don't be
afraid. It's only me."
Black: "I don't
know...are you sure this is something I can trust you with? I mean, it
takes great confidence to share your weaknesses and thoughts with someone."
Grey: "I am so offended
that you would even think that you can't trust me! You can tell me
anything! I really feel it's important for you to share everything that is
bottled up inside you. You have been through so much, and you should open
it up with a true friend."
Black: "This is very,
very hard for me, but here it is:
Since before I could even
remember I was forced-fed by the light of kerosene candles on my bed. I
spent most of my childhood inebriated under the influence of manipulation.
My sleep was restless; it came only when the sounds of screaming ended in the
rooms outside me. In the dark corridor that as my cover, I felt the
monsters coming for me daily, as if waiting for my eyes to close
completely. And when I turned to those around me to ask for shelter, I was
handed a set of chains as answers. To cope with everything that was
reality i turned wholeheartedly to the broken glass and shards that was my
reflection. In that place I stayed; I waited as frightened as the newborn
creature I could not quite grow away from. Panting, I crawled home day
after day to the halls of torture. Only it wasn't physical. You
could not see it, taste it, or touch it. My punishment was a closed door,
an empty chair that held me when no one else was home. In the corner my
nose stayed until I felt the door was too heavy for me to open. Locked,
without the combination, vilified by my surroundings, and pounded by the threat
of outside discovery, I was forced inward. And inside I have always
stayed, praying for the recovery that could only come in the form of a
key. Transitioning from the learned helplessness was just beyond my
touch. I wait for that day impatiently, as one whose baggage is too much
for just one to carry. I have learned that the greatest form of anguish is
found not within the confines of the physical realm, but inside the unbreakable
walls of separation. To be forced away from humanity by humans is the most
inhuman of all crimes. And I fear the evil deeds of wicked men for
certain. But what I fear most is the indifference of every single person I
see passing me every single day.
By the way, I just want to
thank you for listening to me. This is the first time I have shared my
true self with anyone."
Grey: (Silence)
Black: "Don't you have
anything to say?"
Grey: "I have to
go. My mom wants me home for dinner."
I just spoiled myself and ordered these three books from OctoberThirty.com (Andrew Schwab's publishing label). I want them to come now. NOW.
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