The Other [WRAP]

Though his nerves bit at him like thousands of internal serpents, Mike stared coldly... directly into the eyes of his nemesis. Directly into the very visage of everything that Mike feared, was intimated by, and failed to understand. Directly into evil itself. Every fiber of Mikes being fighting to make sure that his fear did not show itself to the other. It could not show. He could not let it. Weakness, here, was loss. And loss was a slow, slow spiral into death. But such thoughts led to betrayal, so even these truthful insights were quickly banished behind Mikes mind... to the silent and distant places. Exiled thoughts, sacrificed for the survival of the whole.

“I know you. I know everything about you.” Mike allowed himself to think about the set of eyes which were currently locked with his. These words came from deep within... from that part of the human psyche which many would call the heart. These were words from the strong place. From the spirit. And Mike found comfort in them. “You and I have spent years in this dance. And though you best me, time and time again, I have learned Mr Man. In loss I have gained knowledge. And loss upon loss is the road to my victory.”

As this sense of confidence filled Mike, the eyes of the other did not flinch. They did not waver. If it were not for the subtle glow of life emanating from them, one might think those eyes stone. Hard, emotionless, cold stone. If another had been there to see this exchange they might have recognized the one human trait present in those eyes: the unmistakable glow of hatred.

Mike felt a quiver forming in his left eye socket and fought hard against it. He knew that if he allowed his face to twitch, the other would see it as a sign of weakness and the other would strike without mercy upon that sign. So Mike focused with all his will and began to unleash his mental weapons in a ritual practiced, and engaged in, countless times.

“I know you. I know everything about you.” Mike began again, “You are the one who has made war against me, since before I can even remember. You are the other.”. As these familiar words filled Mikes' head, his higher self seemed to fade into ether... His identity and self awareness distant now. Ritual gave way to a sort of hypnosis. A trance. Micheal O'Shannon ceased being “Mike” and simply became. “You are the author of all that is bad in my world, and it is my destiny to become your master.”

The other simply stared, seemingly oblivious to the altered state Mike had entered. If Mike had been aware of himself, at this point, he might have quipped, to himself, that the other had no soul. He might have pondered the other to be some kind of robot, or demon: something bereft of emotion and soul. Mike had thought such things before, and for far less than this. But, for now, Mike was locked into the words, into his spell, and was aware of nothing but the words.

“It is mine to create. It is yours to destroy. For my entire life it has been thus. For my entire life I have sought the means to create as a means of destroying you. This is my paradox. This is my conundrum. How can creation destroy destruction? This is my riddle to unravel. This is my test.”

Behind these words was literally a lifetime of truth. Well over thirty years of truth, at least. How many hours had Mike spent in philosophy books? On alternative websites? How many jokes had been made, at his expense, by anonymous strangers who had read Mikes pleas in thread after thread, post after post, on site after site – as he scoured the Internet for answers? Mike knew he didn't know how many times it had happened. In truth, Mike even doubted God would have bothered keeping track. But it was many. So many. So many thousands of hours spent seeking an answer to questions which appeared to have no easy answers. Years spent just figuring out the question, itself, before he could even begin to decipher the answer. This was the crux of the mystery. To know an answer one must also know the question.

Staring into the others eyes, Mikes' concentration momentarily slipped, and in doing so, a bit of insight leaked into him...”You... are you the question? Or am I wrong? What if you are the answer?”

With this thought, Mikes' eye did twitch a little and the other did notice. Mike instantly was filled with a sort of quiet panic. A taste of bile and copper immediately found its way into the back of Mikes' throat. And, even as all this happened, in instant and real time, the other seemed to know it. The other seemed to feed off of it. Mike saw all this, and understood, almost immediately, and he steeled himself for what was to come.

Locked eyes now were weapons... sharp blades seeking soft flesh. Now the real violence was happening. Scars would now be formed that nobody would ever see. Souls will be cut and torn. Thoughts will suffer abuse and torment. Flesh wounds heal. But these psychic scars... they bleed forever.

Mike fought hard not to look away. He fought even though, from the first moment, he knew all was already lost. Tens of thousands of previous interludes, against the other, had all ended the same way. Mike had never once won this contest. Mike had always looked away first. The other was not of this world, really, and Mike knew this. The other was an abstract. A construct of some kind. And, in being so, always had the advantage. But Mike never stopped trying to conquer the other because, in doing so, Mike knew he'd find himself. He'd find his own freedom. Mike knew that his life, even his eternity, was solely and utterly dependent upon winning this war. It was what he was born to do.

And, even as he thought these things, Mikes' eyes betrayed him and looked down. The fight was over. Mike had, again, lost his war. Mike had failed to stand.

As Mike focused in upon the basin and the fixtures which were now in his field of vision, as his gaze had lowered, he did not feel shame, or anything that might be deemed as sorrow. Mike knew that this war was a constant, and that one battle, or another, was meaningless in the big picture. This minor act, in the great play, meant nothing. Mike would go on about his day and nobody would ever know that he'd engaged in such a struggle as this. Nobody would ever see the scars.

As Mike raised his head back up, and looked, again, into the mirror... into the eyes of the other, his thoughts whispered “I know you...”

*end*

This story is an exaggeration, to a degree, of the fact that I, throughout life, have come to understand just who my worst enemy happens to be.

I do realize that my form lacks. Writing structure has always eluded me for some reason. But I hope that, at least, the concept and content entertain to some degree!

Be gentle... My ego is such that I'd much rather have my manhood made fun of than my writing!

~Heff

Originally posted by Hefficide


This story is an exaggeration, to a degree, of the fact that I, throughout life, have come to understand just who my worst enemy happens to be.

I do realize that my form lacks. Writing structure has always eluded me for some reason. But I hope that, at least, the concept and content entertain to some degree!

Be gentle... My ego is such that I'd much rather have my manhood made fun of than my writing!

~Heff

I thought it was very well written. There's nothing wrong with your writing. Very well done!
Good luck~

Hey Heff! Man I like the way your mind works and always enjoy reading your replies. I think this was well written and expressed. I appreciate the descriptiveness and candor. I can relate to this story too and I realized that my worst enemy was also my best friend. How's that for personal conundrum? Keeps things interesting, and helps my juggling skills.
Have a good weekend friend....

spec

Heff I dunt now much bout da readin and da writins .....


but i enjoyed your story.


Now who do I have to pay off to get my bud The Win.

reply to post by Hefficide


Apartt vrom al the spellling errorss and gramatically wrong use, it is actuallally rather brilliantly.


VvV

I thought your story was Imaginative, entertaining and hypnotic i loved it ..Thanks!

reply to post by Hefficide


S & F

I love it, but that doesn't mean i'm not jealous of your elegant writing skills

good story reminds me of a few scripts especially in regards to the mirror and the writing skills? c'mon man you have no idear

Whom I shall see for myself,
And my eyes shall behold, and not another-Job19

For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known.-1Cor13

reply to post by Hefficide

Be gentle... My ego is such that I'd much rather have my manhood made fun of than my writing!

[atsimg]http://files.abovetopsecret.com/images/member/5f21b0194596.jpg[/atsimg]

Hehehehehe.

Sorry, Hefficide. I tried to resist, but you might as well have rung Pavlov's bell.

Now about your story.

It is well written and interesting. Even though I guessed early on where you were going with it, I found the pulling back of the inner 'camera' that brought the reader back into your physical surroundings nicely done.

There is one thing... I did get a feeling of overcrowding in some parts. Your story could do with some trimming, just a little bit here and there.
As the old Japanese proverb I just made up says:
Inside every wild bush, there is a beautiful Bonsai shrub dying to get out.

Take care.

reply to post by jeanvaljean


LOL! That was awesome!

And thank you so much for the advice! This is honestly my first attempt, since high school (well over 25 years) to write anything other than verse. The idea of putting words to page has always intimidated me greatly. To overcome this fear I quite literally sat down, typed for about fifteen or twenty minutes, spell checked what I'd written, and posted it as the above. Raw, unread, unedited, and totally and utterly draft one.

I learned to swim this same way... I just dove in the deep end. Well, OK, the truth is that my late father pushed me in the deep end... but the end result was the same!

So, with that in mind, any and all critique and advice is welcome and greatly appreciated as I think I will probably give this another shot at some point.

~Heff

Originally posted by Hefficide
Be gentle... My ego is such that I'd much rather have my manhood made fun of than my writing!

~Heff

I think all creative people feel this way, I know when I show someone something that I have written, I get edgy and defensive, when in fact that is not who I am at all.
The need of wanting others to understand and comprehend, just so you don’t feel so alone, to be able make someone cry or laugh, feel scared or make angry, for just the shortest amount of time to have someone feel what you feel.
I understand your eagerness, as I and I am assuming everyone else who puts their thoughts and feeling on paper or canvases go through exactly what you’re going through.
This is a good thing, as it makes one realize when reading others work, to be a little more patient and open minded.

I think your story is cool, and I always have and still hate mirrors, why? Because of the eyes

Hey Heff,

I thought you did a great job. When I need a ghost collaborator for my book I'll let you know.

@Jean, Great idea!

reply to post by Hefficide


dude, that was awesome. simple as that. I really enjoyed reading it

-B.M

Amazing work Heffi.
Absolutely loved it.

Your writing style is amazing...it just draws you to read on.

Well done

I liked it, I got it and your writing style; made me see me sometimes. Your writing style is fine; it is you. It's hard to put yoursel out there, I must agree. Be true and honest, that works for me.

Heff that was deep and dark man, but I loved it.

What was the inspiration for that one?

Very well done. I enjoyed it immensely.

My thoughts went to the source fairly early on, and I see another poster's did as well.

May be a tad of universality involved.

Great story.

This was the crux of the mystery. To know an answer one must also know the question.

Staring into the others eyes, Mikes' concentration momentarily slipped, and in doing so, a bit of insight leaked into him...”You... are you the question? Or am I wrong? What if you are the answer?”

Lotsa brilliant philosophical insights like the one above and for that, Heff: S&F

I sooooooooo relate.