David

David walked inside the church, because it was snowing outside, and he was freezing. He needed to be somewhere warm. He needed to warm up, for an hour or so, before heading back out in to the snow storm.

David wasn't religious, nor was he raised religious, so he didn't have the anger that some atheists have against God. He just didn't believe in God. It made no sense to him. It wasn't a matter of faith, he could believe in things that there was no proof of, however, he simply could not believe in God.

That didn't stop him from needing a warm place to stay.

David, had been wandering from town to town for the past two or three years. If he really thought about it, he would say that he left on May 3rd. The day after the love of his life died. That would mean the love of his life died on May 2nd. If you were to ask David the year, he would not be able to tell you, since it had been more than two or three years now, that he had stopped keeping track of years.

David wasn't disabled. He didn't have a learning disability. It's actually quite common for people to be very different from one another, without there being anything wrong with them. Despite the shock that it can cause.

Sometimes time can just put too much pressure on a person, so they stop keeping track of it.

David immediately felt uncomfortable in this church. It was nothing like the churches he had seen in picture books of churches. There was no gold, there was no stain glass. There were no windows at all actually. Just wood. It was small, but new. All the wood still smelt as if it had been freshly cut. There wasn't even a cross at the altar. However, there was an altar.

That's how David knew it was a church. He hoped it wasn't a crazy snake church. He hoped it wasn't a crazy church at all. It was hard to tell, because clearly they hadn't put up any of their decorations to tell you what kind of a church it was. They had installed the heating though, so David did respect their priorities, from what he could see, so far.

David said a big hello, hoping that it would echo throughout the building, but something about the design of the church actually muffled his voice, as opposed to expanding it. He thought it strange, thought for a moment and walked up to the altar, stood behind it facing the pews.

David said "Hello".

It was like thunder, it crashed and shook the building. The pews had bolts in them that came flying out like bullets, crashing through the walls, creating a shrapnel made of wooden splinters that sprayed in all directions in and out of the church. The bolts must have continued further past the church, because he heard screams and the crashing of windows.

All of this chaos was happening around him. But he was safe, untouched, standing at the altar. David was watching it all happen, unflinching.

David smiled.




 

Owed

His pride made him hard to be around. He felt as if the world owed him something, because he was special, and because he used his special talents as much as he could. And even though he kept on using his talents, the world didn't seem to give him what he felt he was owed.

That was because the world didn't owe him anything.

He would mostly be asked to do favors for people, and he would always do the favors because he was expecting his ship to come in. And if he assumed if he didn't do those favors, karma would make it so that his ship would never come in. So he did favors, but he always let people know what a big deal those favors were.

"You're welcome." He would say with his nose out clearly our of joint. Before, always before, someone had thanked him.

Naturally, when people hear that, they don't thank with the sincerity that he required.

"Uh, thanks?" Would be the response, a hint of confusion. As if to remind him that he didn't need to be there, if he didn't want to be.

It would leave him upset, and he would fret about it for weeks on end... It's easy to understand why he was such a hard guy to be around.

Ironically, the only reason people ever were around him, wasn't because of his talent, but because he would always do favors for them.

He wasn't very talented was the problem. But he was good for lifting a couch or T.V. He should have started a moving company, saved up a whole bunch of money and gone back to school. To become a teacher or something.

But he couldn't, because the world owed him something, something for all his hard work, favors and talent. Even if his talent was small.

The world didn't owe him anything though, the world didn't know he existed.

And it never would.

Walk the Walk.

Complicated things usually are complex, that being said, it's when things are simple, that the complexities can take you by surprise.

That's what happened to her, she was taken by surprise.

No one had told her that she would actually have to do this kind of work at her job. It was implied in the position, sure, but no one had told her. And after ten years of working there, she had never been forced to perform this act. Yet now, here she was.  About to perform it.

Her title at her current employ, was Killer.

She had been working for the company for ten years, and never thought to ask why. Why? Why, was her title Killer? Why, on each pay stub statement, was that listed as her actual title? Not once, in ten years had she killed anything.

After today, she supposed, it would be once in eleven. She also came to the conclusion that you only need to kill once to be a killer. In that sense then, she'd been a killer her own life. Some people were afraid of spiders. She was one of them, which is why she gladly killed any spider when she got the chance.

The subject in front of her was not a spider.

The company was a technology company, that did some stuff with biology? Or was it chemistry? She didn't know, she was just a middle-man. Between labs, she would take whatever container they brought her from one place, and bring it to the chute. The chute would take it to wherever. She didn't know, she never asked. She would then file a form, by checking off all of the boxes, signing it with the date and time. The boxes on the sheet(which she had not read in over five years), said that she was sure that everything inside her container was dead. She would get one container a day, and then go home.

Today she was given a large container, and the thing inside it was not dead.

She looked at it's eyes and quivered, doubting herself. For ten years she had been paid to be a killer that never had to kill. Talking a talk, she supposed, without walking the walk.

The eyes could see her through the container. The eyes were huge, and pleading. She had to make a decision, but she knew that there was difference between spiders and this. She knew that there was a difference when you knew that it was killing, and not just getting rid of a pest.

The eyes pleaded. The eyes begged. They were crying. She was crying.

Now, she thought, I have to walk the walk.

Float

He just wished that he was floating somewhere. Either in space, or the open air. He knew he was more likely to float in a pool, or the ocean. He wished he could just float in the air, or float up in to outer space. Water would have to do.

Even then though, he had yet to fulfill his wish, it was hard for him to take the time.

Nothing could stop that longing though, he felt it in all of his muscles, the need to float. If he closed his eyes, and imagined himself floating; it was his shoulders that longed for it the most. No more pressure for him to be on the ground. Gravity would pull at him a little less. And everything would be okay.

Two years. He never went to the pool. Or the ocean. He dreamed for it each day. Never did it.


Tells a lot about a man, who could easily give himself the release that he desires, and chooses not to. Eventually you run out of excuses for why you're not allowing yourself the nice thing you desire. It quickly becomes clear; that you hate yourself.


He hated himself.


He didn't need to hate himself, then again, so rarely do the ones that should hate themselves; hate themselves. Too often do those, that deserve no scrutiny, scrutinize themselves. To a standard that no one could hope to achieve.


Sometimes, he would run a bath when got home. He would let the water run, and he would put his hand in to the hot water, and close his eyes, imagine that his hand was floating. He would then step slowly into the tub. Hoping, against hope really, that he would float in the tub. Each time the hard ceramic of his tub, would be a disappointment that would bring him to tears.


So he hated himself. He wouldn't ever stop. He was on a one track mission to cause himself grief. Not by imagining a wife, or love of any type. Not a great vacation. Not a foot message. His one track mission would be to force himself to yearn, to be in physical and emotional pain from a yearning. To float.


Sometimes people are like that.

A Man with a Backpack

There was a kid watching me form over on the other side of the shop. It was making me feel uncomfortable. The kind of feeling that you get when there is a guy yelling up and down the street, and when he gets to be near you he stops and stares at you. Usually he goes back to screaming, but that electric moment where eye contact is made, and you're not quite sure if the guy is going to throw a punch at you, and time stops as you wait for him to make a decision. That was the kind of feeling this little kid was giving me.

I guess he worked there, and I guess maybe I made him feel off. I make a lot of people feel off. I'm an off kind of guy. I'm not that big, and I'm not that small. I'm the kind of guy that when you look at me, you don't quite know how well I'm going to hold up in a fight. I'd either do really well, or very poorly.

Most people, in an every day fashion, assume the former. This kid didn't.

I wear a lot of layers, and I carry a backpack. It's important that I carry the backpack at all times because a lot of people are thieves in this world. Which is why I didn't obey the sign to check in my backpack at the door. Too many times I've had to replace my backpack for one reason or another. And I just got this one not too long ago. I wasn't about to lose it.

“Sir, if you don't put your backpack behind the desk. I'm going to have to ask you to leave.” Ah, the kid, from behind me no less. Hoping to get a startle out of me. As if I didn't know where he was at every moment since I walked in the store.

“My money no good here?” I turned around and put my rough and scratched hands up for him to see.

“We don't allow people to walk around the shop with back packs. Too many people steal.” He took a step forward. Kid was tall, at least six three, he was trying to stand over me. Very intimidating.

“You're telling me. I was in a shop just last week, and I checked it in. And you wouldn't believe it. But somebody stole my backpack.” I took a step to meet him. “In fact, I think I was in a store almost exactly like this one. With some punk kid just like you in it when it happened. Except, I saw the kid steal it. And so I waited, and I followed him. I followed him to an alley a couple of blocks from here, I watched him meet up with a guy, and I saw this kid give him not just my backpack, but about ten others.”

The kid took a step back, sweat was beading down his brow.

“See I figured it out, the kid must steal one every two or three days, usually the ones that look full, and then he gives em to a guy once every two weeks. They both get paid. A little extra money on the side, nothing fancy. A good deal. Such a good deal I decided to follow the guy who had my backpack. I followed him to a little storage area, and that little storage area was filled with backpacks. Now, being a reasonable guy, and it being such a good scam, I asked him if I could get in on the action. He said no. But as you can see, I did get to leave with this brand new backpack.”

I took off my backpack and showed it to him. It was a little dirty, it had a big red stain on it.

“Well, new to me.”