Finality

My small room's space had become filled as I made a few calls and some... items... were delivered in the dead of night.

Now I just had to make it final. No more guesswork, no more foolishness. I was done with that. Sometimes you just have to up the ante - and that's what I did. I ate a cold bowl of cereal and trekked down to the basement. The boxes were rather heavy, and it took me a few trips. Once I thought I saw someone up the staircase as I climbed.

The door had been camoflaged in the past, and I now had to destroy the careful concealment of the old door to the hidden basement. The papers were there, but I had no clue where they were exactly, and a search group would have raised too many questions with that many old locks - too many loud noises from under the earth as each would have had to be cut through. Our resources were already lessened. These secrets COULD NOT get out.

I brought in the boxes and began to wire enough material to destroy the room completely, chucking at what Mamet was think of his lot after I was through.

But there was a noise. I had only wired a few of the pieces - the rest were still sitting in the basement next door. But it was enough. Enough to end it at least, if not to destory the harder stone I knew were in the room. This all had been rediculous, but now control was mine. And NO ONE would take it.

I hid myself in the shadows as the bumbling Italian picked through the dust as if it was going to consume his immortal soul. He walked in and stared around the room, forgetting the filth around him, for how filthy rich he thought he was.

Thought.

I stepped forwards in eager trepetation. He turned, startled, and asked for my name. I chose to allow him a moment of clarity before his death, but he didn't understand. He didn't, COULDN'T know why I had to do what he did. Fool he was, and he would die a fool. I would never trust him. You can't really trust anyone. The only person you can rely on is yourself, and I could do that no longer. Not with my own error. My own imperfection.

I hit the button.

Failure

I have failed again. My will is broken.

I don't understand. When I came here, everything was simple. The mission was simple, people were simple, and the world was simple. It all fundamentally made sense.

Now though, I cannot make sense of anything - or of myself. I've lost my ability to control my surroundings. I am being judged by some absurd belief that I do not know the root of, I've heard words that I cannot explain, I got hit by a car! And for what point? What is the intention here?

I am floundering, lost in a sea of humanity that I've become a part of in a way that I did not choose.

NO! I reject this future. I must keep to what I know: and that is I need Mamet to retain control of that lot. That idiot Dandelo has been seeking it - he must be seeking the safe, and I must not let him get those papers. They would be the ruin of my entire family.

Sadly, it seems Mamet is a romantic idiot. I can only hope Dandelo's ridiculous womanizing hasn't yet gotten to her. Not that she would fall for it (no no, don't go down that road now!).

Later....

I "bumped" into Mamet on the street and asked what he thought about the lot (or didn't know...). The man was clearly annoyed: "Christ, people keep on asking me about the damn thing." He huffed off, and I didn't pursue (and unwise move I deemed that, might need his help later)

I decided eventually to watch Dandelo. Perhaps with proof I could get help in my mission to keep the past in the past. I trailed him for the entire day, (he's rather obvious about what he does, isn't he now!) but there was a catch. (Yes indeed..)

He's onto me. He was going into the theatre (to see a movie maybe?) with some woman when he turned about and saw me. We even made eye contact (hehe) and he looked almost panicked. (Hah!)

I know now what I'm going to do. Its easy. It's simple. And it has a, er, finality. ring to it.

It will all be safe now. I just need the correct materials...

Silent Vigil

Must... Stay... Awake...

I MUST! There was too much on this! Again, the buzz of the street lamp infiltrated my mental core, and I found myself drawn by the hidden beats within that noise. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt.................

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....

.................................

(Earlier that day)

I strode down the street, avoiding eye contact and moving against the foot traffic. People careless bumped into me a few times - I ignored it and soldiered on, head bent over. The fellow at the root shop hadn't been helpful in the slightest - it was all "Good day!" to him, and he suspected the man didn't know even know how to talk properly. His act certainly didn't gain him any favor with Saul.

Lately, the other occupants of the building had been looking at him oddly, and crossing to the other side of the street when they saw him approach. They walked the other direction, and hurried into their apartment if they saw him coming down the hall. Saul was sure that Aretha hadn't just forgotten a canvas, but she quickly announced it to the air when she spied him coming down the hall, want back into her apartment, and he even thought he had heard the deadbolt turn as he walked past the shut door.

These petty items did not really concern me - but the reasons for them did. I wanted to be viewed with disgust. That was the reason for my manufactured rotten scent, the uniform I wore, and the way I conducted himself. But now, these people seemed to fear me. I do enjoy the new sentiments on a strictly personal level. Fear is a great motivating factor - but if feelings toward me continue down this road, it might be threatening to my mission to -

(At this point, I found myself to be rather close to a certain car who driver I couldn't see. The breaks screeched and squealed, and it seemed that I had escaped harm from my carelessness.)

But not quite. My legs suffered contact, and the vehicle was still at a sufficient rate of speed that I found my face in rather close quarters with the front hood. I jumped off as soon as I could, and the car sped off without me getting a chance to see the driver. Pokey came out of his stooping booth and asked me if I was alright, but I was fine. He apologized for the other car and said he'd talk to the driver about safety around the deck, but I persuaded him against that course of action. People were already spooked and it was my fault, after all.

Ms. Verdioso was standing across the street, rubbernecking at my minor calamity. I crossed and she didn't move away, but rather stood her ground as if bracing herself. Fair enough. "What in all Hell do you think that makes you a party to that little event, Ma'am!" I shouted. Let them stare. But no, she was staring, and not backing down. This wasn't going to work, and I knew it, so I walked away, almost feeling shameful, but not quite. She still shouldn't have been watching like that.

I knocked the doors of the Flats aside I strode into the hall. Van Vraken was at the mailboxes. He turned, and I SAW him. What eyes could communicate so much? Vraken pulled at his threadbare coat; the stitches were tested but held, and I knew it was time for me to let him be. I did not desire pain in one already hurt.

And then here came that fool Eros, making a smart stride as if the winds of fortune were at his back. I turned toward him and wanted to anchor that ship. But not now, not after being physically hit by a car and mentally walloped by the pain in those tormented eyes. I was weak.

He also made eye contact, and I saw the hint of a sneer, but there was no fear there. Only a haughty condescension and an arrogant gleam in his eyes. Oh no. Those were my winds, and that was my stride. What foolishness had he put upon my name?

Or was it not foolishness at all? I still had the strength for a vigil.

On Anger and Grief

My rage and fear rocketed around the inside of my skull, knocking my mental order out of place and causing general havoc in my mental sanctuary.

HOW COULD SHE HAVE SAID THOSE THINGS!

"She MUST be a fraud! She MUST be wrong!" I told myself time and time again as I paced, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. What did I bloody care if the damn attendant below woke up?

But I couldn't accept that. That voice, that damn voice of my holy conscience, wouldn't let me just let the matter go.

It was a bloody paradox, that what it was. She had said those... THINGS that couldn't possibly have been based on her inner "mentalist." BUT SHE HAD NO WAY OF KNOWING THEM!

WHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?

I needed clarity. I needed order. Here I am, interjecting myself into chaos (how many of the people in this building have mental issues, for God's sake!), and that chaos has now spread to my own mind.

Unless....

This is a test. I must go with this flow. Could she be......... ooooooooooooooo? That would be clever! What a cover! Hehe. Alright. I shall continue in my duty. Still, that was unfair, the way the Authority pulled that. And with that, I thought it high time to send a few.. mementos back where I had come from. Give them a taste of the commerical hades they had sent me.

There was a gift shop, after all.

"Hello!" said Karen. "Welcome to the gift shop! How may I help you today?"

"Errrr.." Saul was slightly put back at her happiness. How could anyone here by happy?

"Well!" said Karen, filling the could-have-been-awkward pause with another cheery note, "we have several lovely items for any of your needs. Over to the left, you may see the t-shirts peeking out from behind the jackets. We have them in.."

"Thank you, but I don't really need to know the range of sizes," Saul sneered. "You see, my body typically stays one size and shape, Karen."

"But we haven't met, have we?" Karen inquired. "You already saw my name-tag, may I know your name sir?"

"Errr, right.... I'll be, ah...," Saul trailed off.

"Bye! Have a nice day!" Karen said to the retreating figure.

I had seen pointlessly pessimistic people; they could be pitied. But this, I had no idea what to make of it. Surely she was losing here, losing life and hope and cold cash into this store. Like that root shop. What an idiot venture...

How could anyone be so joyful here? Joy, in my experience, didn't typically abide on such dreary street corners.

I walked out, into my old friend the darkness, the dying dreary daytime of twilight. Down the street, to my sanctuary. We are all welcome here, even him. Even evil.

A Glimmer of Truth?

Even I am occasionally surprised, it seems.

I rose sometime before the sun from my sleepless slumber. My simmering soul simply seemed to require a morning dosage of thoughtful prayer. I rose and stretched my earthly limbs, and commenced to move about the neighborhood. Even I am amazed by that regular miracle of sunrise. A simple rotation of the globe yields that daily miracle - where with brilliant rays the sun emerges from the horizon.

I returned to the building - its bulk heaping over the corner - and was about to go upstairs when Raymond Barnett smashed headlong into me, no doubt late once again for his occupation of working with automobiles. I could see his nostrils stiffen as he caught a bit of my olfactory concoction. A bit of sulfur, mixed with the corrosive growth that follows water within buildings. Somehow, these people think it rude to comment on one's smell even as they insult and harass each other daily.

It's no worry to me though. I use such phenomena to my advantage. With a bit of natural chemical, my ideal watching spots are protected from unwelcome lurkers. The building is enough of a catacomb enough that they do not have to pass where I've chosen to abide, and such is better for me.

In the immediate present however, I could do little but glower at the idiot sprawled before me. He made his excuses - almost painfully weak - and ran out the door. When one is late, that shows a lack of regard for time - and time can turn against you as I know. Seconds are minutes are hours are days when trapped in Purgatory, but true moments of joy move the time faster and faster until the world as it is - misery - brings one back to the truth. It also, I suppose, can make it more difficult in dealing with others, but difficulty with others is a simple part of life.


I moved to my post and saw Alana across the street staring down toward the park. She was probably thinking of those wind chimes I've seen her with. Harold was toting yet more books. I though for a while he would be involved in some sort of interesting enterprise outside of law, but he simply turned out to be a fanatic for the written word. How boring. The self described Eros Dandelo was leaving the building, no doubt off on some fascinating adventure to improve his physical conditions. And there was Mirela. I wish I hadn't noticed her today.

She goes everyday to her little attic and takes money for cheap comfort. You can tell who your customers are immediately. They creep up to the store, as if God is about to strike them down, then disappear within the doors. And then, they come out secretively, still nervous, but now walking with sudden found Purpose - as if they knew their fate. How trite, to let someone else tell you who you are. They also always have a book under their arm, just so if anyone asks, they can say "I was in the Bookstore! Wasn't it lovely. It's unfortunate they carry those Romance novels - they really ruin the spirit of the place, you think?" I pity their souls.

But today, not having a great deal specific to do - no instructions from the Authority - I resolved to expose her, to drive her in tears from the room, to reveal her own wekaness when it came to true dealings with fate.

So I cleaned my corporal body, and proceeded on a mission: to expose her for her own self. I walked in, nodded to Harold, who had no idea who I was, as engrossed in books as he is. I ascended the stairs, and caught the first bit of her trickery. Touch of lemon with incense - a truly exotic scent - almost enough to take the mind to a foreign place. I was impressed with her design - the fabrics felt like air upon my exposed flesh as I passed though the portal - into the nexus of her shop of superstition.

"Come, lost soul; come to a place of spiritual welcome," she said. "Oh madam of wisdom," I intoned, "Tell me what lies in my future. I am lost, confused. Where shall I go? Does she love me?" I thought this was enough of a helpless plea to smoke her out - my appearance of weakness would embolden her to exposes herself more readily. But it was not to be.

"Harbinger! Do not defile yourself with such lies!" she cried, and I froze. This was not expected. "Fouquois has seen you for what you are!"

I was shocked. "Madam, what do you mean? I am lost." I turned to go, to goad her more effectively.

"Stay still! You will gain something here. You came to find lies, but you will only find the lies you tell yourself!" She was raving, I thought, I hoped.

"You watch with purpose, but every moment you are here, and NOT there, not where you know you should have gone, you become guilty. Do not judge, lest ye be judged, sir. Be warned!"

And I ran.

Who am I? I am.

So it seems the powers that be have deemed it necessary for me to introduce myself to you all. I don't really see the point of it (You probably will be confused), but here goes:

My name is Saul Jacoborn. My age is irrelevant, and I live in room 211. I doubt any of you could tolerate such a tiny setting, but I've minimized my needs so the room is plenty of space. I don't have a job, nor do I need one (heh), but I play myself off as a custodian in the theatre whenever it's... prudent and necessary to do so.

My past is not something I'm proud of, by any means. I was too stupid to see the folly of my ways, but I'm on the right track now. I supposed all of you are concerned with how I look so you can avoid me on the street or at our mailboxes, so I'll provide a brief description. I'm 5'7", I wear clothes you would consider to be unfashionable, and you'll probably think I'm insane because I mutter when I stroll. It's mostly a mechanism for keeping people away.

You might ask why I'm here. The answer is that it wasn't my choice, but I'm now glad to be able to watch you people as you worry and fret. Whenever you see a shadow in the alley, eyes glimmering, that's me. When you see a standing figure on the roof, that sentinel is me. But don't worry. I'm not here for you.

Note that this post isn't part of the regular story above, just the first post we all had to write. No, I don't completely understand it either.

I don't know quite how to begin this. The program says I should "step outside my comfortable world." I do this everyday (what choice do I have?), but my feeling is this was their implication. I hate implication.

But perhaps a bit of peace may be found out amongst the wilds of cyberspace. All I see and experience these days is burning Fire and chilling Ice. And are we not what happens to us?