Tuesday, May 9, 2017

Darkness In The Storm

Heart pounding. Breathless gasps of air. Whole body shaking with pain, guilt, and fear. The only thing that can be heard are his footsteps and rain pattering against the cold, darkened pavement. He hooks left to find himself in an alleyway littered with garbage bags and rats. The rodents attempt to scramble up his legs to escape from the rain, feeling like cold pennies rummaging up his calf. He kicks them off with ease as each stride powers him forward. His head is on a constant swivel, straining for a silhouette of anything that might be that thing, the only thing encouraging him to run faster down that darkened alley. He veers right as he enters a quiet apartment complex and pauses to catch his breath.

The street is dimly lit by small streetlights and from the occasional apartment with their residents restless. He hears footsteps and spins around to sees two, glowing, yellow eyes bearing down on him barely visible in the downpour of the bone chilling rain. His heart skips a beat as he turns on his heels and continues with this never ending sprint. He throws himself into one of the nearest apartment building entrances, racing up the stairs to get to the top. Breathless and exhausted, he bursts through the door to the top and sprints over to the edge searching for it. He looks behind him to see that thing sprinting towards him. Before he even can think about what he’s doing he sprints back towards the edge and jumps. Instead of fear, he feels peace. The only peace he has received in a long time as he welcomes the pavement that will end this nightmare that his life has been for months. Always on the move, never able to get a moment's rest before it comes back, searching for him. Now, it will be all over.

Police arrive on the scene examining the dismembered body on the wet, dismal pavement. The only thing noticeable was his arm was covered with dark streaks leading up to his skull. Officers didn’t think much of it assuming a scar or a tattoo. Little did they know, something was lurking in the dark, waiting, watching. After the cops die down it slips down into the scene, collects what it needs then disappears into that cold, lonely night as quickly as it arrived. Only noticeable thing left were pools of blood and rain that drain into the gutter.
“Hey. Wake up. C’mon man this is your third time this week I’ve caught you sleeping on the job.” Mr. Soto was shaken awake, startled that he was asleep in the first place. “Sorry.” He replied. “I haven’t been getting enough sleep lately.” He looked up at his coworker and friend with bloodshot eyes. He had taken up drinking again to try to wash away the stress and misery in his life. Bill Soto was a burly Texan who was the father of 3, and the owner of a few franchises in the downtown area of Derry, Illinois. These jobs that have now become burdens caused him to jump from business to business from six a.m. and stretched to two a.m. if there were bills to pay that day. Dan Henson, his coworker, was obviously concerned about Mr. Soto. Bill a genuine religious man with a family of four, who cared about this small franchise that he purchased when he entered that dump town. “It’s time to go anyway, I want you to get enough sleep if I am to see you here again in the morning.” Dan said with a faint smile on his face.


 

Artist In The War

Kneeling down, in the middle of the floor, I sat and I drew on a blank piece of paper. Making strokes and lines, the white sheet was slowly becoming my masterpiece. With each press of my pencil into the paper, happiness and joy filled my soul, driving away all cares and fears out of my heart for a moment, feeling nothing but bliss. I felt invincible, as in this crazy world of turmoil and hardships, I could find peace in my drawings. With each drawing, I became more and more pleased with myself, satisfied to see improvement and change. Every drawing ignited a spark in my heart, leaving me hungry for more. Hours would pass by as the world stood still, almost as if it was content with me honing my skills, maybe knowing something that I didn’t that the future held for me.

I kept my work to myself, afraid to show it to the world, for fear that they would tear it apart, like a predator on its prey. That didn’t bother me much, as I was content to keep it to myself anyway. Besides, it was my comfort zone, and nobody else needed to be a part of it. I keep sketching and drawing as these thoughts go about my mind, calming my nerves and allowing to gain better control of myself.

Dirt landed on my drawing, smearing the outside corner with mud, a black blot on my beloved child. Anger coursed through my heart. “What moron has the audacity to interfere with me and my drawings?” I demanded an answer, but quickly figured out as I snapped back to reality again. Sitting in a cratered hole, covered in dirt and blood, as I heard the shrieking sound of mortars rain down above me, digging into the Earth, covering me and my uniform in the dark brown substance. I crawled into a fetal position, clutching my drawing beneath me and sobbed, begging for this nightmare to end as the tears burned into my what once was a masterpiece, turning it into a crumpled mess in my arms.
The shrieks of the missiles slowly came to a close, leaving behind a symphony of moans and squeals from the dying, the only sound in the thick trees around me. Picking myself up from the ground, spitting out rock and sand from my mouth, I look around me to find myself ok. Relief overcame me, but left as soon as I thought about my drawing. What once used to be the face of a woman, my wife, now was ripped in half, like my heart. Sorrow overcame me and I called into the sky, asking God why I was here and how I wish I was dead. Any place was better than being where I was now.

Looking down on my uniform, I saw the Red Cross on my shoulder, making me remember why I was here in the first place. “I chose to be here.” Being a field medic, I realized my duty, and my calling  here in Bastogne, France. Grabbing my helmet off the ground and placing it on my head, I heard the shrieking once more, the demons from the sky, once more fall down around us. Instead of cowering and crying in a ditch again, I lifted myself to my knees, then to my feet, and took off running, towards the wails from my brothers and allies, and into the explosions from mortar fire and bullets, splitting open trees and sending shrapnel into the air, in hopes to find my wounded brothers, and help them to see another day. Aided by the strength of the ones back at home and from the peace that I felt from my drawings, i had faith that I too, will be given the chance to sit back and peacefully draw once more.

Angel Amongst The Smoke

A bright flash erupts in front of me, leaving my ears ringing and my vision white. I stumble and fall to the ground below me, lying perfectly still. A few agonizing seconds take place as the ringing recedes and my vision clears around me. The magnificent green comes into view while the beautiful rays of sun speckle the Earth, cutting through the lush green overhead. My breath stands still, as a single tear rolls down my face, a simple gift of gratitude to the God that has given me the opportunity to see His creations and to be alive. Taking a deep breath of the cool air, I laugh, as pure joy fills my heart, bringing peace to my soul, making me feel that nothing matters anymore, so long as I have this comfort and warmth remain in my heart.

A heavy thud from something bouncing off my chest brings me back to reality as I look for the source of the now dull pain on my chest. My sight connects with the eyes of my comrade. His body shakes uncontrollably as he lays next to me, the  velvet blood flowing from his body, carving a river into the ground, striking worry and concern to my heart. Tears flow from his face as he mouths the words, “don’t let me die.” My panic rose, as his words dig deep into my soul. Feeling helpless, and alone, I wrap him in my arms, nestling him like his own mother, as he sobbed into my chest, staining my shirt. Looking into his pale blue eyes once more as the life slowly fades from his face, and his convulsions come to a close, as I witness another one of my brothers get taken into the arms of heaven.
Sorrow burrows into my heart, only releasing its grasp on my soul in the form of half choked sob emitting from my throat. I continue to clutch onto the lifeless body of Corporal Jackson Brown hoping that somehow, I could bring him back again. Tears flow from my face, staining the ground below me, as his bodies grows cold. “Get a hold of yourself!” I yell at myself. “You can cry when you’re dead!” My breath steadies as the wind tousles my hair while I gather my thoughts and emotions, when my mind is distracted by a dull thud, hitting the ground next to me. Up until that point, I didn’t notice the bright flashes of orange piercing the ground around me, and the heavy shrapnel ripping through the air, as I laid in a crater from an explosion with my once-living companion. Full clarity enters my mind and I recognize that I need to move. I remove my shirt from Corporal Brown’s clutched hand and roll him off to the side. Picking up my essentials, I poke my head out and scan the horizon around me. Bullets buzz everywhere, making it feel like a thick blanket from Hell, slowly enveloping me.

Before I exit the foxhole, I kiss Corporal Brown’s forehead, hoping that my subtle gesture can be a proper burial in this time of havoc. I turn around and leave him, facing the impending trial before me. I spring out of the hole and start racing over to my allies, as my helmet bobs and backpack jostles, making it difficult to cover ground. I lift up the heavy metal in my arms and begin to spray my own fiery darts back to the enemy to my right, in hopes that I can cease the chaos around me for a moment. Pops and whizzes are heard next to my ears as I continue forward, with the whisper of a prayer on my lips. The screams of the wounded rise through the air on both sides of the field, as I try my best to drown them out with the songs of heaven.
My end destination grows near as I slide into the nearest trench, my seemingly endless sprint, finally over. Above the sounds of fighting I hear a distinct *ping* echoing in my ears, as I watch what looks like a potato masher land next to me, again flashing my vision and dampening my hearing. A sharp pain emerges, as a scream barely audible is emitted from my vocal chords. I dare not open my eyes, but force myself to, in order to resolve the hopefully harmless damage inflicted onto my body. Looking down, I noticed my legs are no longer where they should be, instead, they lie next to me, like broken pieces from an action figure. Terror flows through me as my breath increases and my heart pounds through my chest. Picking up my weapon, I begin to crawl towards my comrades, in hopes that they can take me away from this misery. Scarcely doing so, a hand grabs onto my backpack, flipping me over onto my chest, and begins pulling me away from the fight. I look up, to see who my hero may be, but only see a red cross painted on the side of his helmet, as he rushes me towards safety.

Heavy breaths exit his body, as his pace slows down, and I recognize his goal is almost complete. He drags me next to a medical tent, and props me up next a wooden post and begins to investigate my wounds. My vision fades in and out as he operates on me, the only hope I have between life and death is in the hands of my newly found friend. He brings up his canteen to my lips when I recognize that he is in fact not a he at all. Her piercing blue eyes look into mine as she repeatedly tells me that “I’m going to be ok.” Peace fills my heart as I drink of the clear liquid. A smile creeps across her face, satisfied with her work. She stands up and begins to leave, back into the fray, in hopes to find another life to bring back home. Her bright white smile remains in my mind before the darkness begins to take over my sight, and the sound slowly fades away, leaving me with nothing but peace in my heart.

Propaganda of Hope

Looking around the BYUI campus, I look around and see so many other kids in the same boat as me, full of life, opportunities, and hope. I should feel excited for this upcoming generation, but rather I feel rather empty inside. Ever since I can remember, my family has said that I am unique and special and I am going to do a lot in this world. Teachers would gather me and my peers into an auditorium every year as we got older and older to tell us that we were special, unique, and we are going to do a lot in this world. In our young adolescent minds, we soaked it all in, the Propaganda of Hope.
Over the years, I increased in maturity and age, the thoughts and beliefs that I once clung onto now have become empty words, nothing but comforting lies. My peers, the ones I laughed, cried, and grew up with, have become nothing more than empty husks, drifting around with no sense of purpose, the only life they have is one full of worldly gratification and pleasure. How I managed to escape that world of filth is beyond me.
Nevertheless, I could not escape the feelings of insignificance and loneliness. No matter what I do in my life, my thoughts, memories, and ideas will get lost in the pages of time. This Propaganda of Hope, tries to hide that cold, harsh reality of unimportance by giving us false words of happiness that we so readily accept. Boiling it down, we live to get an education, then to raise the future generation the best to our abilities, then wither away in an assisted living somewhere.
Even though I sit in a classroom where I learn about the history of some man's past, even to this day. I wonder, if he fully recognized that his life would be written down into notebooks of broke college students, whose only concerns are to get a degree so that they won’t starve in the real world. Will my life be reviewed by a future generation or will I be like the rest of the billions of people, forgotten about and faded.
Letting those thoughts sink in, I wonder, why am I here? Why do I desire for a successful job when in the long run, it will have no purpose when I am in the ground pushing up daisies? Why do so many of us believe in The Propaganda of Hope, when we’ve only got 100 years anyway. Our lives really have little purpose, only to bring about another generation so that they can repeat the same cycles that we have been repeating for thousands of years.

Yet, I take hope, hope that one day I will look back and ask myself why I was so concerned in the first place. I continue to leave my life around the Propaganda of Hope, that I am important, I am special, and I will do great things in my life. In the meantime, I will continue following the cycles of history, among the thousands of my peers who are trying to do block the thoughts of sorrow out of their minds, just as I am trying to do.

I Love You

“I love you.” That simple phrase helps make the world spin. On their own, the words have no meaning behind them. After all, they are just a set of letters lined up to make a sentence. So what makes them special? Why is it when I use those words, my stomach turns and my heart lights up? I thought about this today as I walked around the BYU-I campus. Everywhere I go here, I can see two kids hand in hand, young, full of life, and filled with love. The first few times of witnessing this act of tranquility, I found it rather annoying, as usually the two participants completely disregard the world around them and typically become a public nuisance. However, as I walked behind a set of “love birds” I wondered, “how could you forget about life because of one person being next to you?” Searching for the answer, I asked the question, “what is love?” According to the Merriam - Webster dictionary, love is defined as “an intense feeling of deep affection.” So, I ask, where does this entrenchment of affection come from? From what I know from human nature, the natural man’s primary focus is to benefit ourselves, no matter the cost. A very cutthroat, and maybe brutal approach, and if you were to ask people, they would most likely say that way of thinking is terrible, and how they would never do that. Nonetheless, I witness this behavior all the time. Ranging from serving yourself at the dinner table first, to taking the life of another for a few pieces of paper, this natural man mentality becomes visible and emerges from our souls in different parts of our lives, and it’s inevitable. If that natural man is inevitable, then why am I willing to completely disregard my life to protect a person that happens to share the same last name as me? Or why is a mother willing to sacrifice her time, finances, or give up part of her happiness for an infant? Why do I, after a few weeks of knowing someone, make their successes, my successes? What gives us as people this drive to give up that natural man to protect and assist the life of another? I believe the answer to this is the bonds that we have between people. Experiences and challenges weren’t made to be walked alone, and certain people cross paths with us, and help us become better. (At least, most people do.) When we accomplish trials with that companion, I believe that “deep affection” makes itself known to us and brings us closer to the ones that help us, in the form of trust. This trust, is in a way, a person giving up a part of themselves, to another, in hopes that they don’t destroy that piece of their life bestowed to them, and to make them better. When this trust is maintained and cherished, this gives us the love many people so desperately seek from another being. We as humans weren’t meant to be fully alone. We yearn for the comfort and trust from another being. I believe we were created this way because God knew that some tasks are impossible to do completely alone. Because of this, I think we are truly our best selves when we know that somewhere out there, there is someone out there that truly loves us, someone who cares about our success. That’s why it’s so easy to lose hope in this life when we sincerely believe that nobody loves us. However, I am here to say that everyone is loved. Never believe that you are truly alone. That deep entrenchment of compassion and trust is given to all of us. And for those that may feel alone, and in need of a friend, I will walk with you, and be your ally. Here’s to those that feel that they can’t continue forward, but still wake up everyday and tackle their fears. I hope that those who read this remember, that I love you.