Free

     “Schneller!”
       The Nazi yelled at me as I struggled to push the heavy wheelbarrow over the bumpy ground. Warm sweat dripped down my skinny body as I weakly moved forward, one small step at a time. I had been up since four in the morning, given a meager meal and then relentlessly put to work. My thin body was so feeble that I feared it would soon collapse from exhaustion.
       I trudged on as the German behind me continued to yell. I looked up as I passed the barracks with my wheelbarrow, thinking of the secret that I had hidden inside. As I turned a jolt of excruciating pain rushed up my leg as my foot got caught in a small hole. I let go of the wheelbarrow as I fell to the ground with a intense cry of pain. My body hit the dirt as I clenched my foot in anguish. The guard walked over when he saw that I had stopped and yelled, “Steh auf, du kleiner Hund!”
      As he demanded for me to get up, I struggled to get my arm under my body. I knew what might happen to me if I didn’t get back to work. So, with all my might, I raised myself up off the ground and limped over to where the wheelbarrow sat. With a groan of agony, I slowly began to move again. I wiped my eyes, trying with all my might to suppress tears, in fear of the guard seeing them.
      I had to appear strong to everyone, and be viewed as tough and fearless. People needed to think I was a man, but I didn’t feel strong, or fearless, or like a man. I felt scared, helpless, and alone, and I couldn’t even help my people. I watched as countless people were worked to death or brutally killed. Every death weighed upon me with force enough to crush me. When I had seen my own two parents ruthlessly shot right before me, I was amiss with any way to recover. Now, I couldn’t help anyone. I was trapped in my own weakness.
      That night I sat on my mattress to nursed my wound. Little bugs scurried away from inside my mattress as I sat down. While I tended to my injured ankle, my thoughts turned to the little secret under my bed. Before I had been taken to this concentration camp, my father had given me a beautiful red book. He had told me that it contained the secret to freedom and life. I had often seen him reading the book in secret, and I always wondered why he wanted to hide it. Now that he was gone, I held on to the book and his still confusing words as a continuous token of remembrance.
      Eagerly, I leaned over and shoved my hand under my mattress. I moved my hand around until I felt the worn leather of the book’s cover. I looked around to make sure no one was looking and then quickly pulled the book out. I carefully set it on my lap with one hand while with the other I continued to hold onto my aching foot. I opened the book, the yellow, weather-beaten pages pushed off to either side revealing dark ink printed words.
      The title Psalm 55 was inscribed at the top of the page. I found it odd that a big book like this one would have songs in it, but I began to read just the same. As I read, my eyes caught a section in the piece that stood out to me. The song said, “My heart is in anguish within me; the terrors of death have fallen on me. Fear and trembling have beset me; horror has overwhelmed me. Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly away and be at rest.”
       I found the words in the book extremely relatable as they began to grasp all the feelings that were whelming up inside of me. I longed for freedom from the endless oppression that had been set upon me. When the candle was blow out, I was still contemplating the words in my father’s book. The book was something different; I wanted to read it more to see if it continued and possible gave an answer. I was intrigued and wanted to know more.
       The morning came all too early and with the troubles of a sore body. My whole body ached as I tiredly rolled off my cot. The day continued with the usual pain staking tasks. Today, I would shovel rubble, which would give my injured leg a small break.
       Next to me was a man shoveling who looked to be in his mid twenties. I had seen him a few times working with the rest of us. I wanted to speak to him but thought better of it as a guard walked by. I was encouraged by all my people all around me, going through the same terrors as me. We were in it together, and as long as we stood together we could overcome anything. The man turned to look at me as he picked up a large scoop of rumble with his shovel. He gave me a small smile and then scooted over towards me. As he placed the shovel’s contents into a wheelbarrow, he whispered quietly into my ear, “Do you want to know a secret little man?”
        I nodded my head, eager to hear the secret that he was about to divulge to me. He responded by speaking even quieter and saying, “Today, I’m going to get free of this place. I’m going to escape!” My shock prolonged my response. No one had ever escaped from here. Freedom was a myth in this place. How would he be able to escape from here? My answer to his revelation came shortly in a whisper, “How?”
      “Just watch,” was his answer. He slowly stepped away from me with a little gleam in his eye. I watched him in the corner of my eye while I continued to shovel. After a few minutes passed, I relaxed, thinking that maybe he had been joking or just imaging. Then, he dropped to the ground as if he were hurt. The guard near by yelled, “Holen Sie sich zurück an die Arbeit!”
       Even after the guard ordered him back to work, the man still lay motionless. The guard walked over and again yelled at him. Still the man did not move. The guard pulled his foot back and swung it toward the man’s rib cage. I grimaced in preparation for the man to be hit; I knew how much it would hurt. But in a flash, the man bolted up, grabbed the guard’s leg, and jumped up in the air. In surprise, the guard fell backwards onto the ground. Like a wolf, the man was one him, struggling to take away the gun. I watch from a few feet away as the man twisted around and pulled the guard into a choke hold which he firmly held until the guard passed out from lack of oxygen. The man then grabbed the gun from the guard’s hand and stood up, victorious.
      He looked at me and gave a half nod; he then looked up behind me and started to raise his gun. But before he could move any further, I heard a loud noise behind me and felt trickles of liquid splatter against my skin. I looked behind me to see a smoking gun in the hands of a Nazi. The man collapsed on the ground a foot away. I didn’t that the man was dead until I looked down to see red splotched all over my clothes.
      Rage, hate, anger, sorrow, confusion, fear, and disgust all shot through my confused brain as I stared at the man’s lifeless body. I was in a daze as I was ushered away from next to the body and into my barrack. My mind couldn’t quite cope with this horrific tragedy. I had seen people die before, my own parents, but it didn’t in the least help to buffer my emotions for when it happened again.
      I changed into another filthy shirt and threw the bloodied one away, unable to hold onto the pain that it held. Still in limbo, I made my way to the window and sat there, staring blankly into space. My thoughts were clouded with dismay and hurt. All the hopes and beliefs that I had in side of me had been destroyed when that man died. I had thought of freedom and life as a possibility, but now all was dark. There was no hope of escape, no chance of freedom.
      I stared aimlessly for what seems hours. Life had become a blur; time’s relevance had slipped out of my fingers as I fell deeper into the overwhelming clutches of hurt and depression. What was there now? Every hope had been extinguished.
      I set my chin on top of my crossed arms, which lay on the windowsill and slouched over. My gaze floated out past the metal fences to a small patch of trees a not too far away. As I sat there staring endlessly at the group of trees, I spotted a small nest that was set on the tree closest to me.
      It seemed strange to me that a bird would make it’s home in such a desolate place as this. Why would anyone want to be anywhere near here? This place was dead. There should be no reason that a bird would forge its nest here.
      In wonder, I continued to look intently at the little nest, thinking of what bird might inhabit it. As if in a response to my wonderings, I saw a flash of moment in the sky. I looked up in awe to see a beautiful white dove descending down to its home. This marvelous creature instantly captivated my attention. It looked so pure in comparison to everything around it. Its perfect white feather distinctly stuck out and captured my gaze.
      I carefully watched as the bird lightly set down in its nest. Its incredible features amazed me. I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen such a beautiful animal. Or maybe I just didn’t think that it was all that special at the time. But now with everything stripped away from me, this small little bird became a glimmer of light in the dark environment. Its sleek body truly contrasted all that was around it. The dove was purity.
      My mind bent over in excitement and I momentarily forgot the tragic events that had lately transpired. All I wanted to do now was just sit and watch the bird. As I sat there, staring at the dove, I thought of the words that I had read the night before. It had spoken of a dove. Maybe this dove had something to do with what my father had said about the book.
      I stood up and made my way over to my bed, I reached under my cot and pulled out the book. Then I returned to the window and opened the book to the same place as before. I looked up quickly to see if the dove was still there, he was. I then started to read the writings again. The words revealed a man speaking of many hardships and trials that he was going through. He said he was having very hard time. But then he said something rather strange. The words read, “But as for me, I trust in you... As for me, I call to God, and the Lord saves me.”
      My mind starting spinning in circles as I read these words. How could this man trust in someone who had clearly abandoned him? There seemed no sense in that. But then again, the man did say that the “Lord,” saved him. Who was this “Lord” anyway? And why did this man have so much trust in him?
      I looked back and dug into the page to see if I could find the meaning of these odd sentences. What could he have meant, that the “Lord” saved him? The man was in all this trouble, how could one person save someone from all that? After looking at the page over and over again, I gave up. It didn’t make sense. Then I thought that maybe another part of the book might explain it. I flipped forward some pages and looked at the new page and saw that it wasn’t a song this time. It read Isaiah 61 at the top in bold lettering. I started to read and than stopped on the first verse. My eyes opened wide as I read the words. “He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners.”
      Those words coupled with the previous song began to paint a picture in my head. The man speaking in the song could trust in the “Lord” because the “Lord” had set him free. This man had found a release from the worldly trials through his reliance on the “Lord.” The release that this man had found was precisely what I yearned for. I wanted that freedom so I did the only thing that I could, I asked for it.
     “God, I need you. I feel so lost and hurt; I need you to free me from all of this. I know now that You are the key to both freedom and life, of which I most desperately want. Please help me. Please free me from all that surrounds me. Please save me.”
      As finished speaking I felt a warm and invigorating feeling come over me. I felt different. I felt happy. For the first time in what seemed forever, I smiled. I didn’t know what had happened, but I knew one thing, I was different. I felt liberated and changed.
     I finally felt alive, for now, I was free.

Who I Am

They see me as a killer, one who will be the end of them. Even the bravest of men have come to fear me in their final hours. They don’t see my identity or face, for a dark mask hides it from them. They see me as terror and they are afraid of me.

They do not know who I am.

My victims see me as the epiphany of fear, the everlasting darkness that never recedes. They see me as a merciless tool of destruction. I am viewed as a horror that never sleeps. They think that I am death and darkness. But they can’t see the real man behind the mask.

They do not know who I am.

I am trapped in an eternal cycle of death. It is not my occupation of choice; it is a means to live. I have been forced to release havoc upon those who have been sentenced to death. My choices are bound. I cannot change my works. My own death is no escape; for if I don’t kill than another will then take my place, and I wish none to feel the pain and regret of the burden upon me. And yet, I am feared for my actions. But they do not know that my choices do not apply. They do not know I despise my own works. They cannot imagine the turmoil that rages in my heart. They do not know who I am.

I cry out in anguish for those who have fallen prey to my bloodied axe. I cannot forget them. Their faces burn deep holes of hate into my heart. I cannot forgive myself for what I have done to them. For they see me as a shade and demon who will spell their destruction. And though they are blind because of the curse of my mask that hides me from them, I still feel their terror and their pain. They despise me for what I do.

But they do not know who I am.

I want to be free of this oppression. I want them to see that I am neither hate nor death, but that I am simply trapped. I want them to know that I do not have any ill wish against them. I want them to see that I do not wish fear upon them. It is not my choice.

I just want them to know who I am.

I am not a monster, reaper, or killer. What they see is not true, for who I am is not what I do. Though they see only a mask, I am normal. If only they could see. All I want is to be free, and to be able to live, love, and be loved. My heart doesn’t dictate my actions, but I can still be something different. I can be normal; I can be who I am, who I was made to be.

I just want to show them who I am.

My life has purpose beyond death. I am here for something more. I will not let the decisions of men guide the path of my life. I will decide my fate and the position of my heart. I will choose who I am. And who I am is not a killer. And I want to show them that, I want to show them that I’m normal, that I’m human. For I am a man and I want to live and have freedom. I want them to know who I am.

Who I am is a lost man, alone and broken. But I am searching for something that will guide me out of this. I know that there is more to life than death. I am hurt and burdened greatly, but I’m hoping in a brighter future. For I am not the mask; I am simply a man, searching for direction.

The Sea of Glass

           The chaotic sea rages before me in utmost intensity. It fights against itself, wave against wave, while thrashing in disarray; its monstrous power uncontrollably propelled outwards in an overwhelming surge. I watch the sea as it battles aimlessly with itself. From its creation it has raged, and forevermore will it continue to fight a useless war. I cannot stop what it has chosen, it will forever roar in its own impudence because of its decisions, its waves will continue to clash on until its own destruction.

            I sit high upon a rock, watching as it endlessly disputes with itself. This sea of humanity, never will it learn. Never will this sea choose to step out of its own forsaken nature. Always, will it bellow its own profanity. And, never will it relinquish its continuous hate upon my own nature and being.            

            Never did I harm it, I always loved it. For a time even, I stepped down from my high pedestal and walked in the sea. I became as it was and dwelt in it. Yet, it hated me still. There were parts that followed me as I rose back upon my high rock, but still so much is left down below.

            I rise from my seat and look across the formidable sea. I lift up my voice and speak to it, I reach out my hand in hope that it might come, but still the sea rejects me. It’s humanity and tainted features hold it back from perfect union.

            The sea will not come; it chooses to still labor in its own imperfection. Even still, I hold by hand out. Forever and until the end of all days will I extend my hand towards them in hope that some might choose to rise up to be with me upon my rock.

            I gaze out across the vast sea, perceiving ever part of it. And I see in the depths of the raging sea a shadowed figure of slander and blasphemy: an evil beast, wrecked and malevolent. I witness it come out of the waters and walk among them. Everywhere it goes the waves grow wilder and crash against themselves with increased intensity. Each stride it takes makes the sea shake.

I see the beast, as it is, the antonym of me. It seeks to ensure and increase the vengeful hate against me that has accumulated in the sea. As it walks in the waters its quaking steps bring the sea to submission. All who had not risen with me fall prey to the depraved beast. And as the beast brings the waters unto himself, he calls out against me as I sit upon my high rock. He slanders my name and spits blasphemy at me.

I watch as the beast rules over the sea, the sea that had rejected and hated me. I speak in a great voice, telling the sea to rise from this terrible beast and flee to my rock, but they will not hear my voice, in their ignorance, they continued in their bondage.

The sea has forever hated me and it does not deserve to be liberated from the beast. I came before and gave it opportunity to rise, yet they didn’t. Though now, as a beast walks upon the sea in terror I decide to again bring salvation to the sea that has done nothing other than hate me.

As I stand in my full stature, dark clouds surround me and I go forward from my rock to slay the beast that has brought false dominion over the waters. The beast and the corrupted waters rise to greet me in battle, but as I come the beast is vanquished in an instant.

As the beast falls, parts of the sea follow him, trapped in his traitorous clutches. Then the sea that is left grows still. Not a single ripple covers the expanse of the waters. And as the sea grows still, it rises. The entire sea rises and followed me as I return back to my rock and sit upon my seat. The sea rises up to my rock and stands, completely still.

 I reach my hand forward and touch the water. As my finger collides with the sea, a shockwave bursts forth, encompassing the entire sea in light. As the light fades away there appears before me a sea of glass. And as I stand upon the remade rock, I see not one imperfection in the entire sea.
 And as I speak to the new sea that now has no hate for me, I watch as every word I speak is reflected back at me.

            This is what I have always wanted; this is my original plan coming to fruition. This is the sea that was always meant to be.

Ghosts of the Past

            Moments, lost in the ages. Images engraved in memory. Past moments reaching through time. Choices, decisions, failures staring back at me from their inception. Glimpses of things long gone, fragments of life past, reminding me of who I was. Ghosts walking in my previous footsteps, each a cracked mirror of me. They walk in my stride as the man I was. I see them, the ghosts, each one staring at me, shaming me for who they are. They accuse me just by their own existence, for they are the ghosts of me. 

            Everywhere I’ve gone I see them, looming as my past. I see them as they do what I did and are who I was. Always reminding me of all the wrong decisions I’ve made. They drone on me, but I won’t forget them. They point me forward into life. They give me eyes to see. I can forgive and put aside any resentment, but I will not forget them, for then I can never move forward.

            The ghosts and I are bound together through time. I used to be them, though now I am not. Now I am something new. A new creation, refashioned in a different likeness. But, I still remember them and I will not yet forget them for I still need them. They will continuously exist until each one will be spoken of and remembered in a moment of eternal reckoning. I am locked in a paradox with them; without me there is no them, and without them, I would forget who I am.

The ghosts are of good prospect; they direct me forward into life and remind me of who I am through showing me who I was.

Somtimes I Just Need A Friend

           I need someone to hold me. To tell me that everything is going to be okay. I need someone’s shoulder to cry on. I feel like I’m going to stop, to fall. And, I need someone to remind me that I’m not alone on this walk. I need someone to stand by me in my time of peril. I just need a friend.

            Can’t someone please just smile or say something nice? I know life is hard and trying, but all I ask is that someone just be there for me. Please, I just want a friend. I don’t need anything big, just someone to tell me that I’m not crazy, that I’m moving in the right direction, because it so often feels like I live in a state of limbo. And, what are friends for but to give you a nice little shove and remind you who you are. 

For sometimes I feel alone and lost, and then I need someone to tell me that there is more, that I’m not going insane, that it’s real. Because, sometimes I forget. I forget what has happened and I get lost in the confusion of ill emotions and negative thoughts. I need a friend to tell me to get up and stop it. I need someone to remind me that I can rise, that I can live. Really, I just need a nice slap in the face to wake me up from my slumber and to remind me of reality and who I am.

Between Us

I recently discovered the true magnificence of flash fiction. They're really quite enjoyable to both read and write. Try to read some of Zora Neale Hurston's many flash fiction pieces, they're quite spectacular.

 Between Us

A dark door separates us. I hold the key to open it. 

He knocks and speaks to me, 
asking if He may enter through the door. 
Only I can open the door.

Vous Êtes

This is the first piece that I'm releasing on this blog.
I hope it encompasses at least a fraction of the purpose that I hope to portray through this blog.

I found the inspiration for both the blog name and this piece through a song called, "Vous Êtes Mon Coure" by Gungor.

 Vous Êtes

 

Vous êtes mon cœur

You are my heart

Vous êtes ma vie

You are my life

Vous êtes mon tous

You are my all

Vous êtes mon tout

You are my everything

Vous êtes mon abri

You are my refuge

Vous êtes ma force

You are my strength

Vous êtes mon espoir

You are my hope

Vous êtes mon secours

You are my salvation

Vous êtes mon trésor

You are my treasure

Vous êtes mon seul

You are my only

Vous êtes ma paix

You are my peace

Vous êtes mon repos

You are my rest

Vous êtes mon amour

You are my love

Vous êtes mon cœur

You are my heart