Post by ¥Ezriel¥ on Aug 3, 2017 14:28:12 GMT -5
BEEP…BEEP…BEEP…BEEP…BEEP…BEEP…
“I have taken everything from you. I alone decide your fate. You have been chosen to experience things that most people would dread and that others would kill to have bestowed upon them. You have no say in this, it is I alone who give or take away. Understand this and accept it. That is all you have to do. It’s so simple. Don’t let me down.”
{I have no idea how long I lay there. Being trapped inside of your own body can really mess you up. I tried to steer my mind away from the panic, the frantic feverish nightmares and the all consuming pain. I trained myself to control my thoughts and my bodies natural control over me. Once I was over the beginning, the darkest most miserable part, I started to become stronger than I ever imagined I could be. Day by day I felt the control returning to me. I had power over everything. The contradiction was however that I just couldn’t overcome the final hurdle. I couldn’t force my way through the wall and break out. I just couldn’t wake up. I knew who was around me and what was going on for the most part but that part of my brain was compartmentalised. I could perform all other manner of mental tasks at the same time. I would be aware and remember full conversations between my father and the doctors while at the same time I was composing sonnets in my head and delving into long division and algebraic equations. I had never been taught any of these things in my short time spent in education, they just seemed to come to me in my unconsciousness. I did anything I could to sharpen my mind and stave off any looming advances from an almost inevitable insanity. Then, one day, a voice spoke to me. It was clearly audible although it spoke without accent, without inflection and without a discernible gender. It never once alarmed me nor did it comfort me. It was very much matter of fact. It was just there.
“You must escape your prison. The time for frivolous stalling is over. You have served your time in reflection and you have overcome the first of many tests that has been assigned to you. Know this. You are more than you think you are. Your place in existence will be revealed in due time. Ezriel… You must wake. Ezriel… Open your eyes. Ezriel… Ezriel…”
It was time. It was finally time.}
BEEP… BEEP… BEEP… BEEP…
From the darkness we begin to blink, light, followed by pitch black, followed again by blinding light. Everything is completely fuzzed over and our surroundings are unclear. As we begin to focus we stare down. A green blanket covers up a set of torso and legs. Wires, tubes and other hospital accoutrement span across the bed and connect up to multiple machines that signal blood pressure, heart rate and muscular movement. Two hands raise very slowly in front of us, shaking and straining to extend the fingers. A slight groan of pain rings out as the hands drop back down onto the hospital bed. A figure comes into view, now standing directly over us by the bed. Everything is still very bright and very fuzzy. The figure reaches down and places his hand on the invalid’s.
“Shhhhhh, shhhh now. Don’t try and move, you’ll strain yourself. Just relax son.”
The man places his hands up to the son’s head. He leans over and kisses him firmly on his forehead before moving away. We hear the scuff of a chair as it is moved closer. The man sits as doctors and nurses rush into the room. There is a melee of activity as different tests are carried out and bags of fluid are refreshed and hooked up on the hospital stands. The noise becomes a mumbled jumble of sounds as we fade to black.
Several hours pass and things become calmer. Vision returns and senses begin to sharpen, very slowly at first… and then vigorously, almost alarmingly so. We see the man in the bed fully for the first time. He appears to be in his late teens, maybe seventeen or so and he sports a full five O’clock shadow, from philtrum to chin. His hair has been kept at a respectable length and he is dressed in an atypical hospital gown. We see him take a sip of water from a small plastic cup. He struggles to keep it down, heaving a little. He takes another sip, he is still trembling and struggles to fully make use of his underused muscles. Suddenly he spills the rest of the water from the cup all over himself and the bed. He curses himself under his breath and looks towards the chair his father is sat on, with a shamed and sorry look on his face.
“The doctors did say that this sort of thing would happen. I wish you would at least let me help you, I feel useless enough already.”
The man in the bed tries to convey something to his Dad but it comes out as a slur of sounds and guttural noises which are simply impossible to comprehend. His father shakes with laughter in his chair and gets up, taking a few steps towards the bed.
“Aye, I know you don’t want any help. You’ve always been a stubborn wee bastard. Well… you’re not so wee anymore I suppose. You’re a man now. Won’t be long before you’re out there earning yer crust and chasing after all the lassies.”
The two men exchange a knowing smile to each other. The father pats him on the shoulder and returns to his seat.
{It had been seven years. Seven years in darkness, left with nothing but my own thoughts for company. It was time to finally and fully rebuild myself, and not a moment too soon. Speaking took a little longer than I expected. The doctors were however stunned by the progress of my mobility and muscular development. I was feeding myself within weeks and beginning to walk again within months. They couldn’t explain it and neither could I. My Dad was positive that it was a miracle and he thanked god every day for it. All his prayers had been answered. My mother even visited. We barely talked, she was a mess. I don’t know wether I was more ashamed for her to see me in this state or for me to see her in the throws of her addiction. She stopped coming by eventually though, didn’t even write.}
{I could feel a fire within me and it was this that filled me with that unbelievable strength and determination. This was no miracle. There was no divine intervention. I was the one who intervened. I was the divinity that my soul and body required in order to be saved. The voice never returned but I no long needed it. It had almost become part of me. I was released after five months and the world was graced with my presence. I had been reborn anew. Stronger, wiser, the very epitome of perfection. Only through me could people know the truth and mend their ways. I knew this above all else.}
{I had no interest in finding work, such things were beneath me. The grind of the everyday man was meant for exactly that. The common, mindless and subservient. My mind still flowered with more and more knowledge, coming from absolutely nowhere. I was like a machine, absorbing information that was fed to me from somewhere beyond the realms of comprehension. At times I felt like I could see into different dimensions. Time stood still and for perfect after perfect moment I was enlightened to the point were my mind felt like it was on fire. I revelled in it. I knew however that I must keep it secret in order to keep myself safe.}
{However, then came the fear. I became overwhelmed and struggled to keep focus on reality. I withdrew into myself and grew more and more isolated. I would spend hours, days, even weeks in my old childhood room writing theses on everything from the evolution of the human brain to papers on marxism. I solved complicated equations in my head simply to pass the time. I would do pages and pages of calculus and quantum physics. I was so interested in small atoms and the appearance and disappearances of particles, exploring just how small I could break down things into. I also began to write parables, which slowly transformed into prophecies. This subject was all consuming. It stopped me eating, stopped me sleeping and soon they would take up the vast majority of my time. My father couldn’t reach me. He became so frustrated that he took the door from my room. He found paper after paper of my writings and soon began asking questions. They were questions that I simply couldn’t answer. Hell, they had no answer. He kicked me out within a year of moving in, he had run out of options. I almost embraced it and soon I found myself homeless and without income. This was no life for a prophet. Why couldn’t I show my brilliance to the world? I needed a platform, a way to shine a light to the masses. I needed something reliable that would allow me to promote my teachings. Most of all though, I needed to survive. I needed food, shelter… it pained me to say, I needed money.}
{Thievery and intimidation came easy to me. After all it had happened to me and thus if anyone was in a position to be permitted to carry this out on others, it was most certainly me. I was a natural and far too smart for the so called authorities. I lived on the streets and it soon became my domain. Everything went swimmingly until that one fateful day.}
The camera scans around as we are in the middle of the centre of Glasgow. The city is painted elaborately with bight lights and festive christmas decorations. It is the middle of December and people are scurrying about from store to store doing their last minute gift and grocery shopping. Honks of taxi cabs and revs of engines fill the night air as double decker buses noisily trundle by. We make our way along one of the main roads, a few drunken men and women stagger by laughing and celebrating the winter holiday season. As we look to our right there is a small turnoff that leads to a little alleyway. A large red dumpster takes up most of the narrow passageway and litter scatters about the ground in the cold sharp wind. We see a puff of breath rise up behind the bin as we look behind it to reveal a man with a black hoody pulled up around is face. It is weathered and wind beaten, scruffily covered in a full black beard and long hair that sprouts out from behind the hood. The man glances up and down the alley, shiftily rubbing his hands together and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Another figure appears at the entrance to the alley, staggering forward in what appears to be a drunken haze. The hooded man seems to have spotted what he was looking for. A wide smile spreads over his face and his eyes light up, eager and excited. He walks towards the bumbling figure and slowly reaches into the waistband of his sweatpants. He calls out in the dim light.
¥ “You look a little lost friend.” ¥
He chuckles to himself as he comes to within a foot or so of the drunken stranger. He brings his hand out of his waistband, keeping the hand behind his back. A large blade glints an orangey glow from the streets lamps in the distance.
¥ “Don’t you know that it’s a dangerous game to be rambling around this part of the city not in your right frame of mind? Let’s see if I can’t help you out.” ¥
The hooded man presents the knife and quickly grabs the mans arm to pull him closer to the blade. The drunken man suddenly seems to regain all awareness and reacts with the reflexes of a cat. He grabs the attackers wrist and twists round, throwing him head over heels to the ground. He removes the knife from the assailants grip and presses it menacingly to his neck as he wraps him up in a tight headlock. Both men breath heavily. Both say nothing as they stay locked in this immensely tense situation. The man speaks in almost a growl, his voice gravely and shot.
“Still unprepared I see. I suppose it was to be expected.”
The grounded man squirms a little but the grip around his neck simply tightens, subduing him to small grunts and groans.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know who I am. Don’t you recognise my voice? Doesn’t my presence seem familiar. Come come now. You mustn’t struggle. After all don’t you remember our plans… Ezriel.”
Ezriel stops struggling completely and his eyes narrow with intrigue and somewhat realisation. He whispers.
¥ “It’s… it’s you. What are you doing here? I thought you abandoned me. I don’t… I mean… I didn’t need you anymo-…”
The strange man presses the knife to Ezriel’s lips and leans in closer, whispering in his ear.
“Hush now my child. I have returned to you. I have travelled through many dimensions, shifting space and time itself to be reunited in our sacred bond. The steel against your lips is my gift to you, the first of many. We start today. Our time is now. You will come with me. You will obey. There is no other way. You know this just as well as I. You wanted acknowledgement. You wanted your platform and I will give it to you. You will become as one with me and I with you. We will do this together. You are he who walks on the chosen path. Ezriel…. My child…. My prophet. Come, time is fleeting.”
The knife slips down Ezriel’s lips and a small crimson droplet flows down his chin. We pan closer and closer to the trickle of blood as the camera begins to fade into darkness.
{And so it comes. The beginning of the end. The advent of the prophet.}
“I have taken everything from you. I alone decide your fate. You have been chosen to experience things that most people would dread and that others would kill to have bestowed upon them. You have no say in this, it is I alone who give or take away. Understand this and accept it. That is all you have to do. It’s so simple. Don’t let me down.”
{I have no idea how long I lay there. Being trapped inside of your own body can really mess you up. I tried to steer my mind away from the panic, the frantic feverish nightmares and the all consuming pain. I trained myself to control my thoughts and my bodies natural control over me. Once I was over the beginning, the darkest most miserable part, I started to become stronger than I ever imagined I could be. Day by day I felt the control returning to me. I had power over everything. The contradiction was however that I just couldn’t overcome the final hurdle. I couldn’t force my way through the wall and break out. I just couldn’t wake up. I knew who was around me and what was going on for the most part but that part of my brain was compartmentalised. I could perform all other manner of mental tasks at the same time. I would be aware and remember full conversations between my father and the doctors while at the same time I was composing sonnets in my head and delving into long division and algebraic equations. I had never been taught any of these things in my short time spent in education, they just seemed to come to me in my unconsciousness. I did anything I could to sharpen my mind and stave off any looming advances from an almost inevitable insanity. Then, one day, a voice spoke to me. It was clearly audible although it spoke without accent, without inflection and without a discernible gender. It never once alarmed me nor did it comfort me. It was very much matter of fact. It was just there.
“You must escape your prison. The time for frivolous stalling is over. You have served your time in reflection and you have overcome the first of many tests that has been assigned to you. Know this. You are more than you think you are. Your place in existence will be revealed in due time. Ezriel… You must wake. Ezriel… Open your eyes. Ezriel… Ezriel…”
It was time. It was finally time.}
BEEP… BEEP… BEEP… BEEP…
From the darkness we begin to blink, light, followed by pitch black, followed again by blinding light. Everything is completely fuzzed over and our surroundings are unclear. As we begin to focus we stare down. A green blanket covers up a set of torso and legs. Wires, tubes and other hospital accoutrement span across the bed and connect up to multiple machines that signal blood pressure, heart rate and muscular movement. Two hands raise very slowly in front of us, shaking and straining to extend the fingers. A slight groan of pain rings out as the hands drop back down onto the hospital bed. A figure comes into view, now standing directly over us by the bed. Everything is still very bright and very fuzzy. The figure reaches down and places his hand on the invalid’s.
“Shhhhhh, shhhh now. Don’t try and move, you’ll strain yourself. Just relax son.”
The man places his hands up to the son’s head. He leans over and kisses him firmly on his forehead before moving away. We hear the scuff of a chair as it is moved closer. The man sits as doctors and nurses rush into the room. There is a melee of activity as different tests are carried out and bags of fluid are refreshed and hooked up on the hospital stands. The noise becomes a mumbled jumble of sounds as we fade to black.
Several hours pass and things become calmer. Vision returns and senses begin to sharpen, very slowly at first… and then vigorously, almost alarmingly so. We see the man in the bed fully for the first time. He appears to be in his late teens, maybe seventeen or so and he sports a full five O’clock shadow, from philtrum to chin. His hair has been kept at a respectable length and he is dressed in an atypical hospital gown. We see him take a sip of water from a small plastic cup. He struggles to keep it down, heaving a little. He takes another sip, he is still trembling and struggles to fully make use of his underused muscles. Suddenly he spills the rest of the water from the cup all over himself and the bed. He curses himself under his breath and looks towards the chair his father is sat on, with a shamed and sorry look on his face.
“The doctors did say that this sort of thing would happen. I wish you would at least let me help you, I feel useless enough already.”
The man in the bed tries to convey something to his Dad but it comes out as a slur of sounds and guttural noises which are simply impossible to comprehend. His father shakes with laughter in his chair and gets up, taking a few steps towards the bed.
“Aye, I know you don’t want any help. You’ve always been a stubborn wee bastard. Well… you’re not so wee anymore I suppose. You’re a man now. Won’t be long before you’re out there earning yer crust and chasing after all the lassies.”
The two men exchange a knowing smile to each other. The father pats him on the shoulder and returns to his seat.
{It had been seven years. Seven years in darkness, left with nothing but my own thoughts for company. It was time to finally and fully rebuild myself, and not a moment too soon. Speaking took a little longer than I expected. The doctors were however stunned by the progress of my mobility and muscular development. I was feeding myself within weeks and beginning to walk again within months. They couldn’t explain it and neither could I. My Dad was positive that it was a miracle and he thanked god every day for it. All his prayers had been answered. My mother even visited. We barely talked, she was a mess. I don’t know wether I was more ashamed for her to see me in this state or for me to see her in the throws of her addiction. She stopped coming by eventually though, didn’t even write.}
{I could feel a fire within me and it was this that filled me with that unbelievable strength and determination. This was no miracle. There was no divine intervention. I was the one who intervened. I was the divinity that my soul and body required in order to be saved. The voice never returned but I no long needed it. It had almost become part of me. I was released after five months and the world was graced with my presence. I had been reborn anew. Stronger, wiser, the very epitome of perfection. Only through me could people know the truth and mend their ways. I knew this above all else.}
{I had no interest in finding work, such things were beneath me. The grind of the everyday man was meant for exactly that. The common, mindless and subservient. My mind still flowered with more and more knowledge, coming from absolutely nowhere. I was like a machine, absorbing information that was fed to me from somewhere beyond the realms of comprehension. At times I felt like I could see into different dimensions. Time stood still and for perfect after perfect moment I was enlightened to the point were my mind felt like it was on fire. I revelled in it. I knew however that I must keep it secret in order to keep myself safe.}
{However, then came the fear. I became overwhelmed and struggled to keep focus on reality. I withdrew into myself and grew more and more isolated. I would spend hours, days, even weeks in my old childhood room writing theses on everything from the evolution of the human brain to papers on marxism. I solved complicated equations in my head simply to pass the time. I would do pages and pages of calculus and quantum physics. I was so interested in small atoms and the appearance and disappearances of particles, exploring just how small I could break down things into. I also began to write parables, which slowly transformed into prophecies. This subject was all consuming. It stopped me eating, stopped me sleeping and soon they would take up the vast majority of my time. My father couldn’t reach me. He became so frustrated that he took the door from my room. He found paper after paper of my writings and soon began asking questions. They were questions that I simply couldn’t answer. Hell, they had no answer. He kicked me out within a year of moving in, he had run out of options. I almost embraced it and soon I found myself homeless and without income. This was no life for a prophet. Why couldn’t I show my brilliance to the world? I needed a platform, a way to shine a light to the masses. I needed something reliable that would allow me to promote my teachings. Most of all though, I needed to survive. I needed food, shelter… it pained me to say, I needed money.}
{Thievery and intimidation came easy to me. After all it had happened to me and thus if anyone was in a position to be permitted to carry this out on others, it was most certainly me. I was a natural and far too smart for the so called authorities. I lived on the streets and it soon became my domain. Everything went swimmingly until that one fateful day.}
The camera scans around as we are in the middle of the centre of Glasgow. The city is painted elaborately with bight lights and festive christmas decorations. It is the middle of December and people are scurrying about from store to store doing their last minute gift and grocery shopping. Honks of taxi cabs and revs of engines fill the night air as double decker buses noisily trundle by. We make our way along one of the main roads, a few drunken men and women stagger by laughing and celebrating the winter holiday season. As we look to our right there is a small turnoff that leads to a little alleyway. A large red dumpster takes up most of the narrow passageway and litter scatters about the ground in the cold sharp wind. We see a puff of breath rise up behind the bin as we look behind it to reveal a man with a black hoody pulled up around is face. It is weathered and wind beaten, scruffily covered in a full black beard and long hair that sprouts out from behind the hood. The man glances up and down the alley, shiftily rubbing his hands together and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Another figure appears at the entrance to the alley, staggering forward in what appears to be a drunken haze. The hooded man seems to have spotted what he was looking for. A wide smile spreads over his face and his eyes light up, eager and excited. He walks towards the bumbling figure and slowly reaches into the waistband of his sweatpants. He calls out in the dim light.
¥ “You look a little lost friend.” ¥
He chuckles to himself as he comes to within a foot or so of the drunken stranger. He brings his hand out of his waistband, keeping the hand behind his back. A large blade glints an orangey glow from the streets lamps in the distance.
¥ “Don’t you know that it’s a dangerous game to be rambling around this part of the city not in your right frame of mind? Let’s see if I can’t help you out.” ¥
The hooded man presents the knife and quickly grabs the mans arm to pull him closer to the blade. The drunken man suddenly seems to regain all awareness and reacts with the reflexes of a cat. He grabs the attackers wrist and twists round, throwing him head over heels to the ground. He removes the knife from the assailants grip and presses it menacingly to his neck as he wraps him up in a tight headlock. Both men breath heavily. Both say nothing as they stay locked in this immensely tense situation. The man speaks in almost a growl, his voice gravely and shot.
“Still unprepared I see. I suppose it was to be expected.”
The grounded man squirms a little but the grip around his neck simply tightens, subduing him to small grunts and groans.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know who I am. Don’t you recognise my voice? Doesn’t my presence seem familiar. Come come now. You mustn’t struggle. After all don’t you remember our plans… Ezriel.”
Ezriel stops struggling completely and his eyes narrow with intrigue and somewhat realisation. He whispers.
¥ “It’s… it’s you. What are you doing here? I thought you abandoned me. I don’t… I mean… I didn’t need you anymo-…”
The strange man presses the knife to Ezriel’s lips and leans in closer, whispering in his ear.
“Hush now my child. I have returned to you. I have travelled through many dimensions, shifting space and time itself to be reunited in our sacred bond. The steel against your lips is my gift to you, the first of many. We start today. Our time is now. You will come with me. You will obey. There is no other way. You know this just as well as I. You wanted acknowledgement. You wanted your platform and I will give it to you. You will become as one with me and I with you. We will do this together. You are he who walks on the chosen path. Ezriel…. My child…. My prophet. Come, time is fleeting.”
The knife slips down Ezriel’s lips and a small crimson droplet flows down his chin. We pan closer and closer to the trickle of blood as the camera begins to fade into darkness.
{And so it comes. The beginning of the end. The advent of the prophet.}
