With nothing better to do I sat down at my desk and started writing. Glancing atthe stereo, I wondered whether I should turn it on when a loud crash of thundercaused the electricity to go out, answering my unasked question. I fumbled aroundfor my lighter and turned it on, thankful that the darkness wasn't so completethat a one-inch flame couldn't cut through it. After spotting my candle I lit it,looked down at my paper, and realized what bad handwriting I had."At least I type things up before they go to print," I thought, not daring tospeak it out loud, so as not to offend the oppressing silence that held me in it'sdelicately powerful claws; claws that could be shattered in an instant by theslightest of noises. I dared not even click my pen obsessively like I always do.The moon shone on my paper as the clouds cleared away as if saying, "Why'd youbother lighting that candle? I'm here for you my friend," right before anothercloud would cover it up again, just to taunt me. That was the nature of thenight's inhabitants. All crooked and full of trickery, waiting for the opportunemoment to take advantage of your foolishness. But I would not be fooled. I waswiser than that. I had work to do, so much work, and so I picked up my Pilot G-2pen and continued writing. About what, I don't remember, but I kept writing untilthe sun came up, and by the time I finished, I had a nice little novella, theveins in my eyes were as thick as my pen, the candle nothing more than a pool ofwax, the suns magnificent rays filled in any white spots still in my eyes, and thelast drop of rain broke into billions of separate water molecules on the grainypavement outside, creating a microscopic flood of epic proportions. The raindropwas the last thought that entered my exhausted brain right before the doors on myeyes slammed themselves shut with a bang only I could hear.As I drifted through the lonely, fantastic planes of my dreams I didn't have theenergy to think about anything that was worth thinking about, so I kept driftingand floating, going where my dreams would take me; the destination always asurprise. Occasionally I would look back at the two ton steel doors with an exitsign above them, a padlock the size of my head, and intricately carved images ofdemons and angels making love that told the story of the birth of man, and theorigin of his two faces. Faces that can show themselves at the time that seemsleast likely; the time you wish they would go away so you could just have the faceyou wore in your fantasies. The face you wanted the most. And as you thought aboutwhy you couldnt have that face, you cursed the angels and demons. Cursed the fact
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that opposites attract, and screamed at the gods you didn't believe in. Yourreligion being just another face for people to see, instead of a face to see outof. No. It's just another face made for all the other blind fools in the world tolook at. Stop looking and start seeing. Maybe your life would be worth somethingto you then. Maybe you could give yourself your own reason for being. Until youcan see that no one else can give you meaning in life, you have none. I threw offthese earthly shackles long ago when I ripped off my face and nailed it to thewall. I didn't even let the blood dry before I framed it and put it on display.But I didn't put it up for other people to see. I put it up to remind me of whatyou are. To remind me of what we shouldn't be: beautifully grotesque creaturesthat feed on each others minds for our own needs. Beautifully grotesque creatures
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that are surprised when another does the same to us. We do it when we try not to.There's no way around it. It's our nature, and the laws of nature are the onlylaws that truly exist. I stood there cursing the celestial beings for creatingthis abomination running through my veins. The abomination that prevents me frombecoming a higher being. Only in my mind can I do this. Only in my mind isanything possible. Remembering this I soared through my dreams doing impossiblethings, being a god in my own right; but then the floodgates of reality flew openand drowned me to consciousness so I could type up my novella.I went to the kitchen to get some coffee for a pick me up. Picking out my favoritemug I noticed that it wasn't my kitchen. Or, it was but the countertops were
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