inti-mate

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
this was a story that i reflected a lot about when i was jobless. i am still jobless, but this story has been captivating for me. in a nutshell, it is about a successful guitarist of a rock band who runs into a huge surprise.

Submitted: August 17, 2016

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Submitted: August 17, 2016

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Traffic is a lot like the human body; make a couple of moves and you’re stuck. Or maybe it represents life, where life is stagnant and the driver, which is the person in charge, makes the ultimate decision whether or not he/she wants to change a lane. Life is all about direction, but it is also all about movement. Our cars indicate that we have a certain privacy towards our lives; we can choose to leave the windows open and let company, such as air and thought, enter our lives. However, when we close ourselves away from the world, we can do so without anyone knowing. It is like we have paid money to provide ourselves with a locomotive bubble that is packed with insurance and safety that we often forget who we are as people. Traffic makes us realize that there is only one place to travel. Nowhere else. It is the only place to travel where safety is not a gamble, but a precaution when on the road. The road is vast but it takes away our choice of liberty. It does not give us the freedom we once had as human beings, where people chose to ride carriages or horses.

Class is no longer a factor when it comes to driving; the automobile is no longer a means of reputation; it is a means of efficiency. We are no longer in a period where luxury is absolute. Luxury must also be convenient, since it amasses a greater population of people. Kings don’t exist anymore. They cannot be found in a high chair or a map that rules one part, or scrap of the world. Democracy, or power to the people, is within our reach. Security as a precaution is within our reach, but we cannot wear luxury anymore. It does not represent a select few. The truly intellectual, without or sans the need to placate society, are the luxurious ones. They hold power that is rechargeable and agreeable to humankind. You can toss a person into the ocean and expect it to survive, or toss a fragment of technology where electricity coagulates against the current of the water. Sharks or not, it makes no difference.

 

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As music played in the background, Achates sits his daughter down and has a discussion. More and more, as time goes by, Achates keeps her longer from practicing for her new band that she created. The name: Hellen of Troy. This is circa 1975. The music that plays in the background comes from a source of musical appreciation and wisdom on Achates’ behalf. The room they sit in is in a house where “verdant” is an understatement. Gayla, Mashya’s mother, is a planter in disguise. She plants so she can cultivate her environment rather than having the environment cultivate her. She also cultivated Mashya, who started her life with very humble beginnings.

“Honey, do you have half an hour?” Achates greeted Mashya unexpectedly but ready to put himself in her shoes.

“Sure, Dad. I was just going to practice for another gig. Seems like we are doing something right.” Mashya glanced into her father’s eyes and noticed that he was holding back tears.

“Alright. Would you like me to fix you an espresso drink or make some lemonade?” Achates insisted as he checked his watch. “I’m going to work with the patrol department today. We have a couple new recruits that I have to train.”

Mashya emphasized how much she cared about her father. “Dad, I am always worried about you and your work. Being a cop isn’t easy as a job. I just hope you find another job one of these days.”

Dedication and service to the community is extremely important to Achates. WIth the first track of 2112 playing, he points out that his job is his livelihood.

“Honey, I work because I love my job. Or else, how would I serve the community and keep people safe? Part of my life is dedicated to keeping the right people safe. I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I wasn’t religious and spiritually wealthy.”

“The oracle confronts me there…” the lyric plays on the turntable. Mashya has reached an oracle alright. Fortunately, it turns out to be her Dad. The song was so appropriate to their conversation, since it echoed justice and vigor for an ancient instrument; one that Mashya plays like an appendage: the guitar. It’s as if Achates accepted the ancient instrument that some don’t accept throughout the song.

“The next twenty or thirty minutes are going to be harsh. Are you ready to hear what I’m about to tell you?” Achates asked Mashya rhetorically.

“Sure, Dad. Spill the beans.”

Track two of 2112 plays as he traces back to his memories of raising her out of the goodness of his heart; not because it was his obligation.

“First of all, you were adopted. I found you in a cave with a blue blanket wrapped around you like you just came from the hospital. The only way I found you was through your screaming and crying.”

Mashya was speechless. She had no statement to make in return to what Achates said. Shock therapy would be an equivalent to her reaction to the statement before next.

Achates continued. “I know you’re a little shocked by this, but you’ll get through it. I conceived you from that cave; the cave that would have killed you. You had a blue blanket wrapped around you, so my guess was that your parents really wanted a boy but your mother had a girl instead.”

Track three of 2112 playing…

“So they left you in a cave, and that’s where I found you. Your hand still had the wristband that comes with a hospital visit. You were born April 3rd....”

“April 3rd, 1960. I know that, Dad. That’s one thing you didn’t keep from me. Who were my parents? How could they do such a thing?” Mashya began to cry.

“To be honest, I don’t know who they were. I noticed that your wristband had the address of your biological parents.”

“You said ‘were’. Are they dead?” Mashya dried her tears with a vanity napkin with the pretty flowers etched on it. “I can’t believe anything you’re telling me right now. I’m fifteen years old. How come I didn’t know this before? This sounds so ridiculous. Are you really telling the truth?”

Achates relented. “I couldn’t lie to my own daughter, regardless of your relation to me or Gayla. I just wanted to tell you this so you know where you were fifteen years ago. There’s more to the story; do you want to hear more?”

“Well, I would like to know who my parents were. It doesn’t make sense that I continue this existence without knowing where I came from.”

Achates couldn’t hold it much longer. He felt compelled to tell Mashya the rest of the details. Although the next part will be impending hate between Achates and Mashya.

Achates was a strongly built man, who, on most occasions, would be at the gym five days a week. He felt that staying physically active would help him perform better at his job. As a cop with twenty years of service under his belt, his impact towards the community was enough for him to keep his job and be part vigilante. He became an asset to the community and his daughter, who had no other choice but to stick around and become a family member to Achates.

“What did my parents name me? I would really like to know.” Mashya inquired.

“Your name, according to your biological parents, was Helen Weissman. I changed your name to Mashya because,,, let’s just say I love mythology.” Achates was getting worried that his daughter might not love him anymore.

“So what happened to my parents?” Mashya needed to know this last detail instantly.

Achates answered in a soft voice, almost sheepish. “I found out where they lived, according to your wristband. You were with Gayla at the time, and I was almost obligated to find who these people were. They were a bunch of drug-addicts. Unfortunately, I watched them kill themselves by injecting heroin and cutting their wrists as they remained unconscious. Your parents were terrible people. They couldn’t take of you if they tried. So Gayla and I took you in. Gayla was hesitant about keeping you because she wasn’t sure if it was a good idea.

Mashya couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I can’t believe it. This sounds like a fairy tale. Why did Gayla accept me as a daughter rather than a statistic?”

Achates revealed more information that she was unaware about. “Gayla couldn’t have children, since her mother’s side of the family have a history of ovarian cancer. We had to get rid of Gayla’s ovaries so that she can live longer. The only consequence was not conceiving children. You were a blessing in disguise for us. You made us feel that we could have a family, regardless if the child was ours or not. What mattered was that we had someone to take care of. That was, and continues to be, the most important priority in our lives. Because of you, we are happier.”

“So, what made you decide to take me in?”


And like the scene of a crime, I left; this time with wings. I was connected to the mortal Mashya like faith clings to a friend.


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