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My Original Name Part Two

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posted on Jul, 9 2009 @ 04:00 AM
Hey All,

This is a continuation of My Original Name. I have had to heavily condense this part of my life into these pages. Some of it may not seem relevant, and it has proven almost impossible to fit everything in. My apologies to anyone left scratching their head over this one, but instant gratification has never been my kind of thing. Thanks to everyone who read My Original Name. It means a lot to know people are interested. I have changed my original name for this story. All this came about thanks to What's in a Name? A Lot.

This has been the hardest part of my life to write about. It gives me a stomach ache to write this down. I am not proud about my behaviour during these years, and I need to make that clear. Who I was then is no longer the person I am now.

Part Two – Escalation

Flying back into Sydney was a harrowing experience for me. I had $50, no contacts and no job. I had knowledge, but did not realise it yet. Making my way thru the throng of Sydney International Airport I was dismayed to find the bus into town cost $20. I paid my fare, sat down and let my worries consume me.

The cheapest place to live in Sydney is Kings Cross. It acts as the intersection between the real world and the fantasy world so many people seek. Drugs run freely throughout it's narrow streets, and call girls line up every day and night against the parade of people that walk up and down the strangely designed avenues. The Cross never sleeps. Sometimes, it may appear to slow down, only to roar into life again with each fresh exodus from its smoky underground clubs. Everything is for sale in the Cross. No questions are asked and no remorse expected.

This was where I found myself standing, backpack in hand one late November day. The heat amplified the rotting garbage piled high discreetly between each building and at times the stench of urine seemed to solidify as it reflected against the high city walls.

What the hell am I doing here? I thought, observing the crowd.

I had friends in Melbourne, Perth and Brisbane. Why had I decided to stop here? I shrugged my backpack onto my shoulder and walked into the faceless throng.

For $20 I could get a room for one night. I had $10 left out of my life savings. Ten dollars to make a start in this uncaring city. After showering and washing away the grime collected half a world away, I headed out into the Cross to find my life. I felt strong, but also very confused as to what had happened to me in Romania. The departure was so quick, and the lesson learnt so unexpected, I hadn't had any time to let it sink in. All I knew is that I carried an old yellow piece of paper with my original name on it.

Sliding thru the crowd, my eyes tried to see every way at once. Sights and smells attacked my senses. Girls called out into the crowd, seeking the eye contact which may inevitably lead to forgotten sex in a musty room rented high above the street. I was out of place, and instinctively turned my head to look when a females voice called out to me. Our eyes made contact, and she stepped out from her vantage point outside a run down old strip club.

“Hey babe, you looking?”
I didn't know what to say. I instinctively retreated behind my manners.
“Hi I'm Shane. I've just flown here from half way around the world. Do you know anywhere I can get a job?”
“Hi Shane. I'm Candy. What kind of job you after?”
“One that pays. I need money” Candy's eyes narrowed.
“Oh. Go see my boss,” She motioned into the darkness inside the building. “Tell him I sent you.”

I walked on autopilot down the back carpeted hallway toward the throbbing music. Drunk customers swaggered past me. I felt agile and aware. Inside the club there were two large stages where bored looking woman danced. Between them sat a bar, surrounded by blue neon tubing. An angry looking bouncer stood by the door I had just walked thru.

“No touching the girls, no private shows tonight.” his deep voice cut thru the music.
“No, I was told to come in for a job?” My nervous voice lost itself between the throb of the bass.
“What?” He leaned in, anger still on his face.
“I'm looking for a job!” I shouted. “Candy told me to see her boss!”
He pointed to the man behind the bar. I walked up to him.
“Candy said you might have a job opening?”
He looked me up and down. “You a junkie?”
“No” I showed him my arms so he could see I wasn't using.
He nodded. “You wanna be a glassie?” He asked.

So for the rest of the week I worked 12 hours a day picking up glasses and cleaning up mess in the strip club. I didn't care. I has survived my first week in the Cross.

After a while, people on the street became familiar. I noticed who was a local and who was there for the day. The backpackers were easy to distinguish, as backpackers are anywhere. Pattens emerged amongst the familiar people that I saw every day during my life in the Cross. I kept my nose down and worked hard, desperate to make a living amongst the bedlam I now found myself in. Something was keeping me here, and as yet I didn't know what.

Soon, I had enough money to look for another job. I told my manager one night, during a lull in customers. Immediately he offered to teach me how to work the bar.

And so I became the barman.

Life became a routine. I soon did not notice the strange surroundings that I found myself in. And time passed.

One night, during a typically hectic shift behind the bar, I noticed a man. His head was down between his drink. At the time I didn't worry, as many of our customers would drink themselves into oblivion before staggering out of the door, always under the watchful eyes of the bouncers. He did not move for some time. My shift ended, and after advising the next barman who to serve and who would likely begin to cause trouble, he began to stir. He absently slid off his stool and walked about three steps before hitting the floor. Hard. Although my time here had diluted my sense of responsibility, I found myself standing over him and shaking him with my foot.

[edit on 9/7/09 by shamus78]

posted on Jul, 9 2009 @ 04:03 AM
“Dude, you got to get up.”
The bouncers noticed what was happening and came to my side.
“Trouble?” The same bouncer who I first had spoken to so long ago asked.
“Nah, just a drunk.”
The bouncer pulled him up and pushed him towards the door, just like so many drunks I had seen.
I thought nothing of it. I had my traditional wind down drink at the bar, said goodbye to everyone and left for my room.

The streets had emptied slightly, as it was about three on a cold winter morning. The room I was renting was a the far end of the Cross, and I enjoyed my walk to and from work. It gave me time to watch the people and say hello to the ones I knew.

Turning the corner to the security door, I noticed the same guy from the bar, slumped over. His keys were scattered on the pavement, his wallet lying on top of his lap. Although I always felt safe in the Cross, I knew bad things did happen there. To the unwary and uninformed, the Cross could quickly turn from a playground into a living hell. Feeling sorry for him, I looked at his keys. The address that was printed on the key tag was the same as mine, and the room number was one down the hall from me.

“You got lucky guy. Come on.” I helped his unconscious figure up off the pavement and opened the door for us.

Staggering down the hallway, he was muttering. I pickled up an Irish accent before opening his door for him and setting him down on his bed.

I thought nothing more about it. I let myself out and went to my room, where I soon found myself engulfed by sleep. I did not dream that night, the first night for a very long time.

Breakfast was eggs on toast. I had gotten up early to go to the gym before enjoying my one day off from the bar. I had nothing in particular planned, but always enjoyed the freedom I gained from not having to work.

I headed out of my apartment. As I opened the door, I noticed the same guy I had helped last night also leaving his apartment.

“Hey man. You okay?” He looked like death.
“Yeah, I think I got too drunk last night.” He replied, the hangover present in his voice.
“I know, I had to let you in. You were crashed out on the pavement.”
“That was you? Thanks, I don't remember much about last night.” He extended his hand.

Tom was Australian. It turned out his Irish accent only came out after having too much to drink. “I figured you were a tourist” I said.
Tom shook his head. “No, my folks live here in Sydney. I'm just floating thru.”

In the course of a few days we became friends.

I enjoyed having somebody to talk to, after not having a close friend since coming to the Cross. We quickly discovered we shared the same interests, including spiritual ones. Tom kept a journal of his spiritual journey close to him at all times.

The idea of communication with spirits came up quickly between us. Tom and I both had experience with calling spirits, and both accepted them as a normal part of our life. One night we decided to try calling one together.

For the first time, Tom placed a glass upside down on the board.

“Is there anybody there?” I asked.

The glass jerked.


“Who's John?” Tom asked.

Shanes brother.

I took my hand off the glass. “No, I don't have a brother. A sister, that's all.”
“Let him continue.” Tom said.

I wearily placed my finger back on the glass. Instantly it moved with great force behind it.

Miscarriage. Before you were born.

My mind was shocked.

I know Jenna.

Jenna was my sister. I had never mentioned this fact to Tom.

Shane, why are you looking so hard?

Everything you want to know is already available.

The force behind the glass was unequalled in all my previous experiences. Often, one or both of our fingers would slip off the cup as it raced around the board. When both of our fingers did slip off, there was a second of inertia before the vessel would grind to a halt. I acted as the scribe, furiously writing down all the information we got with my left hand, while keeping contact with the cup using my right hand.

King Cross in Sydney 2001 was an enchanting place to be. Danger and magic mixed on the streets, which flowed with the debris of society. To the tourists that thronged thru it's busy arteries, it was an exciting distraction from the typical Sydney sightseeing spots. To me it was now home.

Information and ideas exchanged freely. People knew people who knew information. Once you were accepted as a local, an entire hidden web of society was made available to you, if you so chose. And I did. I drank from the streets, learning lessons that when revealed were so obvious I would curse myself for not knowing already. I would journey to crumbling buildings, passed by and forgotten by most people, to hear words of wisdom that flowed from the mouths of the homeless and the lost. The society in those days was one of mystery and enlightenment. It was a world of discrimination and reason. It was a playground for the soul.

Hours would seem to fly by in the space of a few minutes. It was not uncommon for me to look up over our balcony and see the sun rising after a night spent talking to John. Strangely enough, after these sessions, I felt recharged, and not tired in the least.

posted on Jul, 9 2009 @ 04:06 AM
Many want your help

People left behind

It was described to us that John was being besieged by other spirits trying to get their message across. Sometimes it was a simple declaration of love to a person left alive, other times it was something more complicated.

And so we developed a plan. There were many spirits wanting us to do something in this life for them. We were to act as the 'doers' while John would act as the middleman. Typically our nights would be spent scurrying around the city, dropping off envelopes either filled with money or personal notes to people we did not know. Occasionally we were instructed to knock and tell the recipients what we were doing. We never got an angry response. Rather bewilderment and understanding. We approached these people with respect. These assignments began to make me feel uncomfortable.

Money was no problem for us. Every month or so, we would win a decent prize in the lottery. Never enough to make us rich, but enough to pay the rent and buy some food until the next win would come. When we were instructed to give money to people, this is where the money came from.

As John explained it, the future was like a mist. The closer you got, the more sure the results would become. The further away you were, the more uncertain and vague the future was. We would receive the lottery numbers from John half an hour before the deadline every Saturday. We would rush down to the lottery shop (never the same one twice to help hide our tracks) and purchase our tickets. We would then rush back to the house to see if we had won. The regularity of our winning was astounding. The largest prize we had won was $6,000. Of that prize, half went to one person living in Penrith who we were instructed to give it to.
It's strange how accustomed I became to this life. During the day I would usually sleep or head out to see the city. The night was our work time.

One night John mentioned our original names.

“What's our original name?” Tom asked. A pit of apprehension had appeared in my stomach. This was my secret, one thing I had kept from Tom.

Shane knows. The glass slid slowly towards me.

I told Tom about Madam Vasile, and what had happened to me in Romania. I still did not know exactly what to say about it.

Remember the paper. John spelled out.

Opening my wallet, I produced the folded yellow paper I had kept safe since I had left Romania. Before unfolding it, I had an idea.

“What is my original name” I asked John. If I had to say it I had might as well find out if he knew.

D R A K O N John spelled out in capital letters.

I was shocked. My name had been mentioned.
It was that night we learnt much about original names. We learnt about it's conception, and the abilities it could bring. We were taught about the ability to fortify our bodies using our names, and how it would allow us to see and understand anything.

“How do I access this information?” I asked, greedy for knowledge.

I was told to create a a dream. A dream that would enable us to view the stored knowledge of all our conciousness. John called this the Library.

That night we both did as John suggested. Entering the dream, I followed the steps set out to me. Soon I found myself watching my dream take place, and was able to control it. To my surprise, the Library was the familiar pedestal which contained the book I had seen at Madam Valises. The same writing flooded the pages, and the same voice read aloud in an language I could not understand. Still, my body responded to it the same way it had in Romania, and knowledge began to flow from the book into me.

I awoke refreshed. I was to learn that Tom also had the same type of dream, although his was slightly different. The text he saw was blue, rather then red, and the language in his dreams seemed to be much sweeter then the one that filled my dreams.

The next lesson was on how to control the book, and ask for specific information. Sometimes the answer would come as a vision within the dream, sometimes as the undecipherable text which surged from the book like a dog seeking a master. Always I woke up aware that I had learnt something, but not always able to explain what.

And so it continued. Lesson after lesson, some still fresh in my mind, some half forgotten now and some purposefully hidden.

One lesson I learned was of leadership. At John's request, I was asked to take a walk over the cliffs of Vaucluse, late at night, alone. Aware that something would happen, I followed his suggestion. Wondering around aimlessly over the high cliff tops, I watched the waves breaking beneath me in the moonlight. Suddenly I had a thought. Go down the gully to the beach.

I slipped and slid my way down over the damp earth, feeling for the thin trees which promised to support my weight until I reached the bottom. Large boulders sat here, thrown long ago from the cliff tops that now rose high above me. Silence. Not even the waves seemed to penetrate. As I walked over the sand I began to hear voices. At first I thought it was just the wind, as they were so distant and melodic. As I approached the source, I could begin to make out a slow chant echoing off the rock walls. I saw a soft light. There was no fear inside me, rather a strange apprehension. As I stood silently between the trees that encroached upon the beach I began to see figures flickering around a softly glowing camp-fire. The chant that was emerging from this scene beckoned me. Still cautious, I slowly crouched down. As trusting as I was to Johns lessons, I still did not want to make my appearance noticed until I was ready.

[edit on 9/7/09 by shamus78]

posted on Jul, 9 2009 @ 04:09 AM
One voice rang louder then the rest. As the figures continued to circle the fire, I began to inch my way towards them. Sitting softly on the edge of a natural clearing, I could see five woman holding hands and rhythmically dancing around a dying fire. I had just met the people who would teach me about human perception.

One woman was chanting in a language I did not understand. I later found out it was Latin. I was sent here for a reason. I should say hello. And so I strode out from my cover, and entered the clearing. Strangely enough, no one noticed me at first. The chanting continued. I was clearly visible, standing close enough to smell the herbs that had been cast onto their fire. I unconsciously cleared my throat. It was then I was noticed. The women gasped. I could understand their confusion. I was an intruder encroaching upon their ceremony. I waited silently. Once the shock of my appearance had subsided, I introduced myself.
“Hi, I'm Shane.”
“I don't know if this makes any sense, but I was asked to come here.”

They had been performing a visitation ceremony, and I could see the thick circle of salt spread around them.
“Do you mind if I stand next to your fire?” I asked. This night air was chilling my skin.
“Don't give him permission!” One of the women suddenly cried.
Annoyance streaked thru me. I didn't like being controlled like this.
“I'm freezing out here. And if it's all the same to you I'm going to stand next to your fire.”

Without another word I walked across the salt circle. They had actually been expecting me to not be able to cross. Several of the women seemed to have the blood drain from their face, unable to fathom not being able to control me. This was getting fun for me, and I did not feel in any danger. The heat warmed my cold hands, as I stood with my back to the fire.
“Who are you?” The oldest woman asked.
She did not believe me. “What's your real name?” With this my interest peaked.
“Sorry, not telling” I had to smile.

I was accepted as their visitor for the night we spent amongst the trees. We talked about many different subjects, but all the time my mind was thinking This isn't right. You don't need these ceremonies to do anything, so why do they do it? I had to ask.
“Sorry to bring this up, but why all the ceremony?”
“This is the way you do it. It worked to summon you.”
“No, there are many ways you can do it. And I wasn't summoned. I came of my own free will. You don't need any of this stuff. So why do you choose to do your magic this way?”
“We were taught this way.”
A switch flicked in my brain. They committed themselves to this path because it was the only path they knew.

Eventually a crescent of sunlight emerged behind the still dark sea. Light began to filter thru the trees. Suddenly I felt annoyed, as if I had said and heard enough. It was time to go. As I stood up, I had to say something to them.

“I think you follow this path because it is the one you have been led down. There are many other paths, and all of them lead to the same end. Don't believe in this stuff too much. It's in your mind where the really important actions are performed.” I said my goodbyes and left, returning home tired and heavy some hours later. I slept the whole day and most of the night.

Our life became normal to us. One day, out of the blue, I had a deep urge to see Madam Vasile again. I contacted John and told him my wishes. That week I won enough money to journey back to Romania. Back to where it all began.

I have to condense this part of this already very condensed story. As I already mentioned, when I returned to the same apartment complex I had left a little over a year ago, I found it empty. I waited around the marketplace where Laila had first met Madam Vasile, hoping to catch sight or whisper of her. I never saw her again. I returned to the Cross, bitter and confused about my own lack of ability to contact Madam Valise. I was never able to contact her again, even though I tried often.

One night, John began his conversation with an unusual message.

Tonight you will learn a valuable lesson.

Nothing more was said about the lesson, and in our haste to get the lottery numbers before closing time, we neglected to ask.

After getting the numbers from John, I rushed out to get the ticket. Tom had to visit his parents, and was going to return later on that evening. When I returned, with not much else to do, I turned on the television to watch that nights lottery draw. I wasn't really watching the draw itself, and still had the ticket in my wallet.

On the table in front of me were the notes from our previous conversation with John. Circled were the numbers we had been given. They matched the numbers on the television.
I stared at the TV screen. Our partnership had won $700,000. A surge of adrenalin hit me as I jumped off the couch. Flipping open my cell phone, it was all I could do to control my fingers enough to dial Toms number.

“It worked!” I yelled.
“What worked?”
“The numbers. We won!” I exploded down the phone line.

My mind was going a million miles an hour.

I reached into my wallet to retrieve the winning ticket. The moment I touched my wallet, my blood ran cold. It's too thin. Far too thin. I felt a pit open underneath me before I could even open my wallet and confirm what my heart had seen. Everything was gone. My money. My drivers license. The photo's of friends. The winning ticket. The faded piece of yellow paper. Everything. Gravity seemed to take control and I slammed down onto the couch, frantically opening each compartment in my wallet. Nothing remained. Where just hours ago my wallet had been full, now there was nothing. Tonight you will learn a valuable lesson. The message hit me with a force of a cyclone. The air seemed to disappear from my lungs and my mind retreated within itself. Denying everything, I thought this couldn't be my wallet. Yet the congratulatory message written on my eighteenth birthday was still written in faded black marker inside.

Calmness replaced the madness I had been feeling. I ran to my room, already knowing I would find no trace of my wallets contents. My mind screamed out in frustration. Anger filled my thoughts. I grabbed the board in and stormed out into the lounge.

[edit on 9/7/09 by shamus78]

posted on Jul, 9 2009 @ 04:13 AM
I rested my finger gently on the glass and channelled my anger onto the board. I screamed obscenities and curses, ranted and swore for the better part of half and hour. I promised retribution of every kind to the spirits responsible for this trick. I refused to believe there was a point to any of this charade I had willingly taken place in.

Suddenly my thoughts turned to Tom. As far as he knew, we had won enough money to change our lives. As I fully realised what a predicament I was in, the front door opened.

“Why do I have your drivers license in my pocket?” Was the first thing he said. I knew this was impossible. After Tom had gone to his parents I had used that license as identification to open an account at a movie store. Yet there it was, held between his fingers.

I slumped. I knew who was responsible. John. My anger warmed me and focused my thoughts. I couldn't stop thinking of the money that had effectively disappeared. Suddenly a thought occurred to me. “Tom, check your other pockets,” I pleaded, convincing myself that this was all a joke aimed at me. Nothing was in Toms pockets. “Check again. Please.” This time he found the folded yellow paper I had received from Madam Vasile. I could not utter a cry of frustration. I was past that point, and my entire body throbbed with a fury I had not felt before, and have not felt since.

“We need to talk to him.” Rage took control of me.
“What's going on?”
I showed him my empty wallet, half expecting it to have filled again during the short time I had put it down. Toms eyes widened.

“I need to talk to him now. I'm going to kill that brother of mine.”

We sat down. Tom complained that my impatience was making it hard to concentrate on the board. Whereas I found a new clarity, aimed purely at destruction, he found only muddled thoughts and warped reasoning.

“John!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “John get here now!”

No response.

“Get here! Talk to me! I know what you did!”

Although I knew I needed no explanation for my anger. I knew John had watched the entire scene unfold.

“Get here now!” I commanded. The glass refused to move. Then came a moment I would regret for the rest of my life. I knew one way to get him to communicate. I had to order him using my original name.

“My name is Drakon, and I command you, my brother to talk now!” This was the one time I had spoken my name in anger. The glass jerked into life and flew off the board, smashing into a thousand different pieces. I was undaunted. Striding into the kitchen, I grabbed the first glass that I saw. Returning to the board, I repeated the command. This time, when the glass sped around the board, I made sure to command it not to go off the edge.

“You are my brother and I demand that you speak to me! You will remain in your vessel until I dismiss you!” My voice felt raw and horse. Anger surged thru my body.

“You have stolen from me! You will return what is mine. Where is the ticket?”

It was never yours to begin with. You do not own anything. No one does.

“You gifted those numbers to me!” I yelled, totally forgetting Tom was even in the room. The board filled my vision and seemed to pulse along to my anger. “You told me what to do! Give it to me!”

I do not own the numbers. I can not give them back to you.

You are learning a valuable lesson.

That was all the taunting I could take. “In the name of Drakon, I curse your soul. I will not forget this. When I return to your world I shall seek you out and destroy you. I swear this in the name of Drakon.” I calmly said. I felt my hate flow into the glass.

The glass stopped.

Tom was staring at me with hate and fear in his eyes. One lesson I learnt that night is that hate is a contagious beast.

“Don't speak to him like that!” Tom yelled at me.
“He stole from us!”
“I don't care! There's more to life then money.” Tom reasoned.

And then it struck me. Toms eyes never left mine. Two hate filled people locked in a battle that nobody could win.

[edit on 9/7/09 by shamus78]

posted on Jul, 9 2009 @ 04:15 AM
I picked up my jacket and stormed out, slamming the door behind me.

That night was a night of anger and pain. I felt terrible for what I had said, and genuinely concerned for Tom and John. I could also still felt the rage inside me. One feeling would bubble up, only to be extinguished by another. And so it continued for the rest of the night. I walked over the cliffs of Vaucluse, hearing the rough waves crash below me on rocks hundreds of feet below me. The waves angered me. I looked to the skies, and the full moon that floated above me. The skies calmed me. Scrambling down the rough rock wall, never fearing I might drop to my death, I eventually reached the sea. Following the coastline, I found a cave where Tom and I had explored just weeks ago. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. The sand had covered most of the entrance. With numb hands and a silent mind, I began to scoop away the fine sand and dove head first into the cave.

I sat there for many hours, flicking my lighter to illuminate the cave, then letting the darkness flood towards me. I viewed the cave as a living entity, who's pulse was created by me flicking my lighter, again, and again. Finally I just sat in the darkness, breathing heavily. From outside the rock walls I could hear the muffled waves as they searched for a way to breach the ancient cavity where I now sat. So be it. If the water finds me then I shall fight. I will fight back the sea with my anger and I will win. Eventually I fell asleep, surrounded in the darkness of my own creation.

Some time later my eyes flicked open. The sand beneath me was wet. Cold rivulets of water began to flow towards me. My lighter had fell from my hands during my sleep and now was clogged with fine powder. Suddenly I realised what might happen. For a split second I thought of just going back to sleep, and letting the sea flood into my unconscious body, chocking it and pulverising it with each surge of water that was about to flow into the cave. Only for a moment. It was then I decided to fight. Crawling slowly forward, I found the cave wall which I knew ran out to the entrance. My fingers were cut by the barnacles as they explored the wall, seeking my escape from this potential prison. Rounding the corner, I could see the moonlight as it played and reflected off the sand that was still piled high against the exit. Smiling to myself, I pulled my tied and aching body out of the cave, and sat there, wet from the sea and shivering like a new born. I gazed up at the night sky and began to weep.

My life over the last year came crashing into me. My arrogance, and lack of empathy with others. My belief that I was somehow destined for some greater purpose. I had become dependent on the spirit world to provide for my life. I had treated it like some kind of amusement park, playing the game and always expecting a prize at the end of it. I thought of my childhood. The friends I had made and the games I had happily spent my time playing. I thought of my parents. My sister. I had learnt a great lesson that night. Before, I had valued money over all else, even the free knowledge that could be so much more then simple currency could ever be. I will never forget that lesson in my life, and John, I am eternally grateful for your wisdom.

I arrived back at our house early in the morning. Tom was not there. There was no note, no sign of communication that I so desperately wanted. I had to check his room to see if his belongings were still there, so scared was I that I had been abandoned. Everything was still in place. Stumbling to the bathroom, I caught sight of my face in the mirror. Sallow, pale skin stretched tightly over my cheekbones. Dark circles pooled under my eyes. The sight of my reflection made me cry again. Out it came, great whooping bellows of misery. I hunched over the sink and ran cold water over my hands. I stayed like that for a long time, looking at the white porcelain sink and watching the water pour down the drain. My head ached with every breath I took. Finally, I began to splash the cold water on my face. I looked up again, seeing the drips collect dirt and linger under my chin before dropping to the basin below.

Time passed slowly. Although my anger had regressed to grief for the way I had acted, I still could not get the thought of the winning ticket out of my mind. Hours passed. I listlessly wandered around the empty house, vacantly moving from one room to the next, wishing for something to do to take my thoughts away from the terrible decision I had made.

Eventually Tom returned home.

“I've been trying to get hold of John,” Tom stated, uncertainly hovering in his voice. “He's not responding.”

Together we tried again. No response.

The sense of worry and abandonment I felt still stays with me to this day.

“I have to go Tom. I've messed this up and don't think staying here will help.” I muttered, with my eye staring at the board.
“Where to?” If I had been expecting protest, I was disappointed. Tom could tell I had hurt myself badly, and needed to regenerate.
“I have no idea.” I responded, my eyes still locked onto the silent board.

That night I found myself back at Sydney International Airport. I walked the same path I had followed what seemed a lifetime ago, and sat heavily in a plastic chair, watching the departure board. I had still not made up my mind where to go, and was looking for a feeling to lead me.

I have always been a survivor. I will survive in the end. I wanted to go home.

Continued in Part Three – Redemption.


Some time after the events described above I contacted my mother to find out whether I had once actually had a brother. I still feel ashamed for having to ask this most direct question to my mother, and I know it caused her personal pain at the time. John was correct. My mother had suffered a late term miscarriage three years before I was conceived. She was going to name him John if he was a boy.

The next part of my life is the part I am most looking forward to writing about. It is the happiest part of the trilogy of my very condensed life, and where I learnt the most lessons that helped me survive. It is where I learnt the answers to the questions I was seeking. And hopefully answer the questions people may have. It will tie everything together. I look forward to writing it, and will have it up next week. Thanks


posted on Jul, 9 2009 @ 07:56 AM
Hi Shane
I was told to join abovetopsecret by my friend to read your story. Alot of what you say makes sense to me. this is my first post here and want to hear what else happened. Promise to finsh the story!

posted on Jul, 9 2009 @ 08:14 AM
Hi JoseWill,

Thanks for joining! I promise I'll finish the story, but for the next few days work obligations take centre stage for me. I have a whole weekend of wine tastings to attend (I know - terrible part of my job
) I'm flattered that you would join to read something of mine, and say thanks to your friend.



[edit on 9/7/09 by shamus78]

posted on Jul, 9 2009 @ 06:33 PM
im pretty speachless after reading all of thisim gonna send a u2u for further acknowledgment

posted on Jul, 9 2009 @ 07:18 PM
thankyou for sharing this story Shane

there is resonance about it that is bringing up my own experiences in a different light.

anxiously awaiting part three!

posted on Jul, 4 2010 @ 02:47 AM
Beautiful and movingly written.

Will you post part 3?

posted on Jul, 4 2010 @ 02:57 AM
reply to post by DizzyDayDream

I can't believe this got back on the recent post thingy!

I'm actually writing a short story now, and will post it up in about an hour. It's not Part 3, but flowed out of me just before. Little bit of polishing to do. I'll get onto part 3 next. thanks for reading.

posted on Oct, 14 2010 @ 04:35 AM
Sorry. I'm not stalking you

But I have to say your writing style is unique. You can write good dialogue! Something that many people cannot.

I hope Part 3 comes along soon!


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