Spectre Corporeal Pt. 2 The Battle of Silence

It was a trap and he knew it. For the longest time he had successfully managed to evade the Spectre. This time, however, he was sent the challenge. Like Robinhood off to the archery contest with the sheriff of Nottingham, this was an invitation he could not turn down. And so, our hero suited himself in his some of his sturdiest arms and prepared for war.

The Spectre stumbled onto the battlefield. Perhaps he had actually caught it by surprise, but whether or not he did, it did not matter because immediately the battle began.

This game was certainly one he was not unaccustomed to; despite its deviation from tradition. This was a battle of silence and both he and the Spectre were masters.

The minutes gave way to hours and neither the hero nor the Spectre gave a fraction of an inch. They attacked and parried and guarded with the utmost precision, battling to a standstill until their time was up, and in the end, not a word was spoken and neither of them were the victors.

Relapse

Hi, my name is _____. I've been clean for about 9 months now. Mostly I've been good, filling my time with more constructive activities and looking to healthier places to focus my energies into. I even got past the suppressive stage of "kill it with work," and onto a real platform I felt like I could actually make a real start from, a place I could really use to move on with my life... I screwed up tonight.

At least that's what he felt like he should be saying. The problem is that he wasn't exactly an addict in the traditional sense and there wasn't a support group he had access to to get past his problem.

For months he was fine, rather dandy actually, which was a good thing since it took a long time to get there, and it was a journey fraught with endless struggle and countless sleepless nights. He could finally see the end of the woods.

However, vines entangle easily when one isn't vigilant, and with a click of a button he had successfully undone several months of progress.

Though, to say with a click of a button would be rather misleading, wouldn't it? Like all addicts, there was a trigger that started this entire mess. An addict clean for any substantial amount of time doesn't just wake up one morning and decide "hey, today might be a good day to revisit that bad habit I've been fighting for months to break,". There is always something that triggers the regression, something that reminds them of how much easier it would be if they satisfied their craving just that one time. Their training says no, but eventually, if left to themselves, everyone breaks. For him it was a picture.

His problem wasn't one of hard drugs, alcohol or even gambling, it was much more subtle and by far, much more difficult for him to deal with; curiosity.

The picture was barely noticed at first glance, but as he came to realize upon what he was looking, something sinister appeared in his mind, something so sinister that under any other circumstance but this it would be seen as nothing as an innocent question; what, if anything, does this mean?

For the next few weeks he fought with himself, telling himself he didn't care. He should have known lying to himself wouldn't work. The truth always has its way of clawing its way out of the deepest of pits, and this truth crumbled his resolve. A click later he had his answer; it meant nothing. He felt somewhat better, for now.

Like all drugs, however, time would come when the soothing effects wore off and he would be, once again, in trouble. He hoped it wouldn't come. After all, now that the question was answered what could possibly cause another relapse. It was a short-sighted pathetic excuse for an attempt to logic away the possibility of a re-occurrence and he wasn't fool enough to buy another of his own lies, so he steeled himself the best he could for the blow back and now sought to rebuild -- one day at a time.

Specter Corporeal Pt. 1 The Sighting

He saw it, just from behind, but he instantly knew it was the specter he had attempted to challenge moons earlier. It's cloak and satchel, all the same as from what he remembered from his earlier encounters. He didn't see it's face, not much of it aside from its back and it didn't see him so he hid himself behind his hood and continued on along his path. He wondered if he was making a mistake not confronting it then and there.

The Final Battle pt. 4 - The End

He stood on the outskirts of the stronghold, waiting, his echoing call to battle unanswered. He was uncertain if this meant victory or defeat, but he knew for certain that it meant an end.

The Final Battle pt. 3 - The Written Challenge

He ran the options through his head again, still unsure of which was better. Originally he thought a vocal challenge would be best; a loud audible challenge to the specter, one that would ensure he was heard and would also leave a memorable impact, however, throughout the course of the night the benevolent tree spirits that inhabited the woods just outside the specter's stronghold spoke with the hero, advising him of the best way to issue the challenge as well as how to navigate the confrontation afterward.

They suggested a challenge written and sent to the ghost and if that was unresponsive, then a more vocal approach would be appropriate. The plan seemed sound, but something in the back of the hero's mind still wanted to issue the vocal challenge first but he conceded, the tree spirits had not led him astray before and they had much more experience than him in these matters so he wrote out his challenge and tied it to the leg of his trusted hawk.

The shard of courage dimmed for a moment as he went to open the bird's cage, but just as quickly returned to it's brilliant luminance, as though ashamed of its previous weakness. It was the right time to send the challenge. He flung open the doors of the cage, clearing the way for the hawk to deliver it's message.

The hawk did not move from it's perch, it just sat there staring back at the hero, it seemed unwilling, or unable, to fly. The spoken challenge had to be tried.

The Final Battle pt.2: The Longest Second

*A note before I start my post: HAPPY 100th POST!

He stood before the reanimated specter's stronghold, the last shard of courage, his only remaining weapon, glowing brightly in his hand. This shard was a particularly boisterous shard, humming with a power and force unexpected of a fragment so small. However, through the vibrations of power, our hero felt its impatience, its call to hurry onward.

See, before the final battle could be fought a challenge had to be issued, and that, possibly, was one of the most daunting aspects of this battle. The specter could only be battled if the hero offered a challenge and the specter accepted. From the hero's point of view, there was no reason for the specter to accept any sort of challenge, and if that were to happen the battle would be over before it had even begun. For there to be a chance of a battle even occurring the challenge had to be issued at the correct time in the correct manner and then maybe, just maybe the hero had a chance.

However, choosing the correct time to issue the challenge meant that the hero had to, once again, wait; a fact that he, nor his shard of courage, particularly enjoyed. 2 and 1/2 months of waiting should have made the last few days seem like minutes at most, yet as time grew closer to the fated confrontation, seconds grew into hours and minutes grew into days. Taking this time to make some extra preparations would be most prudent, he decided. However, even after he completed what preparations he could, all there was for him to do was to sit and wait. Even if just for a little while longer he would sit and wait, what else could he do?

The Final Battle pt.1 - The Specter's Corporial Return

The long final month had finally passed. In total, that made 2, 2 months since he decided that a confrontation, upon its return to a physical form, would be best in dealing with the specter, it had been 7 and 1/2 months since he had seen his ghost in a physical form, but it was to happen again soon, he hoped.

He no longer felt prepared. Upon hearing of its return to his realm all the training and preparation he had undergone had vanished; he was reduced to a quivering mass curled in fetal position under his covers. Pain; he felt pain from the anxiety alone, a stinging sensation in his chest as his heart beat in excess, delivering drugs to every part of his body, drugs that would act solely to rob him of his sleep.

Weaponless and powerless he stood, moments away from confrontation. He knew not what to do; the enemy was greater and far more powerful than him. He seemed without hope, lost and helpless in the dark, he wanted to give up and run away. His mind screamed for more time, his body screamed for more training but his heart, it screamed a scream that silenced them all; it screamed that they press on, through the darkness and war surrounding him he would press on as planned. Reaching down he grabbed the last fragment of courage to light his path. It shined dimly, showing but a foot in front of him, but it was enough, he could move forward as planned. Soon he would be able to tell if he had been successful.

Moment of Clarity

...and for the first night in a long time he felt ok. He could feel the rage of the specter from the depths, beating against its chained doors and he knew they wouldn't hold for long, but at the moment, none of that mattered, at the moment he would enjoy his moment of clarity.

Hawaii Pt. 4 - Beach Hatred

He had been plagued by his ghost all week and rather unable to have much fun so finally he headed out to the beach behind the hotel, determined to have fun and swim a little, maybe get some exercise in. 3 steps into the ocean he cut the big toe on his left foot. Ignoring the cut he continued to swim for a while before wondering just how bad the cut was. Taking a brief break he dipped his head under the water and took a look at his toe; it looked like it was bleeding, it was hard to tell under water.

Making his way back to the shore he looked a bit ridiculous; he was a terrible swimmer, doggie paddle all the way. He sat on the beach looking at his cut; it was bleeding, but ultimately he told himself "if you're gonna cry about the boo boo on your toe, you can go to the urine filled kiddie pool, be around all the other babies," so he sucked it up and headed back out to sea... only to cut his other foot.

"Fuck it," he said, having had enough "I'm going in."

And so he learned to hate the beach.

100th Post

Wow, is it my 100th post already? I did not expect to reach 100 that quickly. Actually, I can remember when I first started this blog... about 6 months ago... (late June) wow... 6 months... has it already been that long? Anyway, a lot has happened since I started this blog, I guess... For one I'm now employed... but still over working myself. OK, so maybe not that much has changed, but some things have and as things continue to change I'll continue to post about them... hopefully in some interesting way. Additionally, I swear, once I get around to scanning things or loading pictures, pictures and drawings will be loaded and displayed here. That's all for the post on the 100th post. In reality it's not really THAT special, but I think it's still worth mentioning.


Now, onto the real post:


Hawaii Pt. 3 - Safeguards

They had spent the day shopping, wandering through a botanical garden and then visiting a coffee factory/plantation; overall, nothing he was really into. He did, however, spend some time napping, which helped make some progress in safeguarding in the event of the return of his ghost.

Further structural repairs needed to be made but some significant progress had been made. He had, however, made two purchases, one of which might be offered to the source of his haunting problems; he wasn't sure if it would be, he hadn't decided. What he had decided, however, was that it would be an interesting month before his ghost's master returned, a lot was in store for him.

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Amendment:

Ok, so apparently this isn't the official 100th post. It's my 100th post including my drafts... which can't be seen by everyone, so this is my 93rd to everyone else, but my 100th to me, so this is the unofficial 100th post.

Hawaii Pt. 2 - Haunting

He decided that sightseeing was terribly annoying. Going to see a giant hole in the ground and spending all day to see it from different angles was not his idea of a day well spent. It didn't help that his guardians were forcing him to do so all the while he was being haunted quite severely by his ghost.

For the past week or so he had been once again plagued with yet another case of extreme hauntings. Usually he would be way too busy and too tired to pay attention, but now that he was on "vacation" monotonous work and over exhaustion weren't available means of shutting out the screams from this spectral haunting.

About three days earlier he had discovered that constantly playing music would drown out this recent batch of screaming, but slowly and steadily the voices managed to get louder and louder, piercing through his acoustical barrier. Steadily he grew grumpier and grumpier until he would refuse to speak to people, just wandered off on his own, throwing up his wall of sound and trying to ignore the damned ghost; it didn't really work. Eventually he gave up and put away the music, facing the ghost head on. It wasn't a pretty fight.

He had a plan for combat; he would pretend that the worst had happened, even though it hadn't, and see how he dealt with it, slowly strengthening himself under it. That was the battle plan, a plan to constantly defeat himself; no matter he was destined to suffer, and suffer he did. Thrashed and beaten he sunk lower and lower in despair; the ghost looking ever greater and unbeatable. Finally he was at a loss, not knowing what to do except admit defeat, and just as he did, the ghost disappeared, suddenly he was triumphant.

He did not know where the ghost had gone or why it had left but it had disappeared and he didn't question it; instead he would enjoy his victory, but knowing that it would be back. However, he hoped this moment of tranquility would last, until at least he returned home.

Miscalculation

He felt the part of his face around his left eye. The pain was almost entirely gone, save for a single tender spot near his temple. This all was the result of a miscalculated step-in, one that resulted in his brother's fist unintentionally thrust in his face while sparring this past Thanksgiving. It was all a rather entertaining and laughable situation, a story sure to guarantee laughs around tables, camp fires and the like for years to come.

The minor injury to Matt's eye was just one of many miscalculations within the past few months that had resulted in needless pain; the others not nearly as entertaining or funny when thought about in retrospect.

Matt had spoken to several people about the issues he was going through, which helped a lot because it released a good amount of the pressure building up inside of him. However, as the ghost haunting him evolved and changed and the time of reckoning drew nearer he felt his brain chemistry begin to do a 180. All of this was scary because he felt the irresistible urge to act in ways he, prior to this entire mess, would have immediately identified as irrational. He was afraid he was losing it.

This was his second sleepless night in a row, probably 5th this past month alone. His friend told him she was concerned for him and told him he aught to get his insomnia checked out. Insomnia; he never thought of it that way, putting a name to whatever was plaguing him made it seem like there was actually something wrong with him, he didn't like to admit that there was something wrong with him; it made him seem handicapped and complaining about a handicap was too similar to making excuses for his liking. This was some ridiculous logic, he knew it was, but all the same he held fast to it, resigned to take the harder path.

He offered up an excuse for his insomnia; "the ghost," he said, "I blame the ghost!"

"That's certainly a stress er, but you were an insomniac workaholic long before you even crossed paths with your ghost," the friend replied, "you need to take your health into consideration, lack of sleep can ruin your mental state later down the road if not immediately, you need to give yourself time to rest,".

He offered up some pitiful response in defense of himself, knowing that she meant the best and that ultimately she was right; he should listen to her. However, still, the word felt odd; workaholic, what an odd way of describing him, if anything he felt like he wasn't working hard enough.

Maybe that was the problem.

Mysteriously Sleepless Night

Tuesday night I had a terrible night entirely due to the fact that it was entirely sleepless. The puzzling thing is that there doesn't seem to be a cause for the inability to sleep that night, it just happened.

Of course, staying up late and running on no sleep really messes with your brain. For starters your judgment easily becomes impaired and even worse, your mood shifts easily to negative because the impaired judgment makes all your problems seem a lot worse and overwhelming. There's a scientific explanation for this, as was explained by a friend, I just don't remember all the details so I'm not going to bother trying to explain it.

What I will explain, however, is what came out of that night. Plagued with sleeplessness, despite my exhaustion and the fact that I was lying in bed trying to sleep, I finally gave up and got onto my computer and began to write. Somehow, a short screenplay has begun to become birthed from my horrendous night, which is probably a good thing since I haven't written anything in ages, so more on that screenplay upon completion.

I actually realized that this post would be a lot more interesting if I actually posted what I was struggling with (aside from my body's stubborn inability to fall asleep) but I'm not going to go on a long diatribe ranting and raving about all my problems, especially since I'd rather not think about a good amount of them since there is not cure for those diseases except to acknowledge and move on, an action I thought was taken a while ago but apparently ghosts like to linger... that's all you get, and no, I don't want to hear your guesses as to what I'm talking about.

Moving away from that, though, I went into PBS on 3 hours of sleep, finally managing to fall asleep at 6:30, 7:00, (as my parents were getting up to go to work) and waking up at 9:00 and doing my "wake up, get ready to leave and go to sleep for an hour because I have that much time before I have to leave" bit and finally leaving my house at 10 (I went in an hour later, no one noticed or even really cared because there's not much going on right now).

I expected to have a terrible day, but I didn't because there wasn't really anything to do and everyone at PBS is nice and they have brains so it's hard to have a bad day here, but ghosts from the night I had just gone through still lingered about so after work I called up a friend, got some ice cream and let the ice cream and etc do its job. Suddenly the world is better, although I hope that I can still finish that short script... I'll be sure to.