Pierce, Master

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 1 (v.1) - I

Submitted: August 04, 2017

Reads: 114

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Submitted: August 04, 2017



The First


It all had commenced with a letter, way before that very letter was read, sent or written:


"My beliefs are firm. Any transgression could be justified so long as the reasoning behind it outweighs the damage produced. In recent past, in a somewhat perfidious manner, hiding in a plain sight, a fixation of mine aspired itself, striving for my acknowledgment.

I am divagating.

It presents itself gradually, a shape shifter amongst obsessions. Over the course of some time, I have adopted many habits not knowingly but unwillingly. At present, I tremble, each day, lest something else should turn up.

I take my coffee black and strong, yet I take my truths sugared and diluted, watered-down and sweetened with soft and most deceitful wiles.

Well, now, supposedly, I must confess, in order to make my case. Some time ago, I gave myself a promise to keep writing; for no compelling reason, though sufficiently persuaded that in my blood there floats a grain, the smallest speck, of an untrained, undisclosed skill towards holding a pen and pointing it in the right direction. Each and every morning I get upon my suffered feet, they humbly take me to the downtown of a mesmerizing city which I have inhabited not at all that long ago. With my purpose being yet the same: everything but adequate; and for such a flawed state of its very being the punishment must be endured in a form of its full nondisclosure. So, that now to still the beating of my heart, in here, I'm sitting. At a table, with a glass of red, and the redness of it appears to grow on me. It is dark. It's nearly black. I am now staring at it with such persistence as if its nature is something over what I might've obtained control.

I am tasting sea on top of my lips. It is the strangest feeling. Do I recall the last time I have been to the seaside? - il y a quelques années. But here's, that breeze, which is not technically a breeze since water is nowhere to be found around these places. Though I can swear, I smell it.

How profoundly ungrateful do I feel, when now, along with bizarre recollections of some time ago I also am reminded, in my mind, about all the flaws of mine that emerge so vividly and cannot be restrained. I am writing this in secret, though I am not hiding.

As I have tried to conceal myself from you, having you, as the result, not being aware of my existence; that notion the rational part of my consciousness comprehends to the fullest extent, but in my heart, I'm hurting for it hath made my blood and pulses shudder.

I have spent decades seeking absolution amongst occupations, through the creative work. It hath led me to the point from which there is no return. I am in doubt, whether a way to shape it and to fit it into the words of one language truly exists, or not. I gave in into the flow, into the abyss of a cultivated human mind and the consequence of a total deprivation of any simple, trivial pleasure as the result hath been hunting me ever since.

Everything in me that is loyal to the utmost rational way of existence compels me to move forward. I am now facing the grandest precipice.

The only path for me is an undeveloped one since I do not possess the capacity to execute.

What drives me mad is a simple notion: worse than to know nothing is to know a little of everything. Why then have I been spending, wasting years critically evaluating every deed that hath been done and every motive that hath ever prompted action, when, at present, I am failing to withhold the minor insanities of my own? I do realize that no mind is capable of adopting all the knowledge that hath been gathered by people since the dawn of human existence. One mustn't ignore the branches of art and science and, in a way, more primitive developments of society, such as pseudosciences and theology, for the reasons so vital and so obvious.

It takes much time to change one's essence but that fraction of eternity which is at man's disposal is not a bargaining chip, it could never be sufficient to complete a total transformation of one's nature. Persuasions and eccentric tastes are likely to change a human being superficially but a dense central region known as the core could be reached, though never penetrated or interfered with without endangerment leading to its total disruption or destruction.

I have been told that we are to make a choice and though I am looking, I do not seem to recognize the paths amongst which I am to choose. The crossroads, they are plenty but the roads to which they are ought to point simply aren't laid.

probable - every course is plausible.

I shall call it gambling, gambling on your life, but, if you're feeling lucky, then, may be, on something greater.

I have become aware of the nature of your occupation, of all the unorthodox ways of performance that you have decided to disclose so far.

All of that that you're doing is of a tremendous importance. Your business hath determined the very purpose of my existence. For you and for everything that you stand for, everything that stands for you, for what you represent and all that represents you: your motives, your persuasions; I am taking the leap of faith; so great it is it might even cost me something someday.

You are my mankind. I shall confer on you a great mystery and She will never permit you to let me drift into the abyss; will never let me be forgotten.

Another letter is yet to come. Till then you must await. You do what you do best: live for your own magnificent, impeccable self as it is bound to change your life revolving around me.



No introduction is necessary"


At that specific part of the country, the stillness of every living and every artificial thing was its most prominent feature. The overwhelming silence spread itself throughout the premises. It was summertime. The warmth, the burning sensations are plenty for the taking. The erected sun disk was, at the time, at its highest peak. It shared the purest light distributing it evenly among the receivers either selflessly or mercilessly.

There stand prairies; miles upon miles; they scatter themselves voluntarily without hesitation, not minding anything or anyone who'd undertake it upon themselves to ever invade their sacred lands. Plain fields are to the east; rare, bolding hills to the west; black radiant gates, standing eight feet above the ground, to the north. They guard the establishment, an institute, the very dwelling of which, at the very first sight, appears to be an ancient one, even more so – abandoned; that is if a chance to glance at it is granted since it is sacrosanct in many ways, in many ways but one, the literal one.

The interior in juxtaposition to the exterior differs greatly, except for "The Left Wing", which has preserved its distinguished spirit. That spirit, it might disclose itself throughout the air that has been trapped inside these walls since the reign of the greatest Queen in history. The air is to grow denser with each gentle step taken forward, whatever mover's purpose was for the intrusion, he, or she, or it, was not to disturb the deafening stillness of the objects existing in all absorbing tranquility, not aging, unlike the humans who've inhabited the place, but, instead, being immune to the all-consuming self-subsidizing powers of Chronos.

If there were, somewhere, a paradise, a place of an ultimate serenity to which one might earn a one way ticket, that chamber would've been the gate, a half way through, which guarded the main entrance; a purgatory; and a being sitting lonely across the postulant would be the supreme judge of every character with the intention to pursue to the final destination which is Heaven, or Hell, should she, or he, or it, fail to become worthy of the honor.

Upon the act of her entrance a great responsibility is laid, that first step over the threshold is bound to set the following scene, light the stage, pre-compose the dialog and determine the direction of the conversation which the participants are equally eager both to endure and avoid.

"How've you been?" So, she was, startled, by the silence broken so abruptly, with a single question posed in that kind of soothing manner suggesting indifference which carried the traces of reassuring disposition at a place where no noise of any sort is tolerated.

"I've been. Isn't that enough for you?"

"For me, that is more than sufficient. For you, on the other hand, it must not be the case."

"Disclosing your preoccupation with an object?"

"I am simply being honest."

"Do you recognize honesty as the best policy?"

"I do, as the matter of fact. It is renowned for being the purest of all virtues."

"But is it the best policy? At all time, never mind the circumstances."

"To recognize something as a policy, one has to stand by it on all occasions, which is the definition of a policy as such."

"Though, one might change parties, in order to get elected, still owning a policy."

"Standing by a policy of your own choosing or creation, or hiding behind the policies of others, those two aren't even remotely similar forms of governing values."

"What if a particular policy utilizes hypocrisy as one useful tool for reaching the state of a greater good, or aiming for a higher purpose?"

"What of it? Never mind all that which society deems obligatory in order to recognize something as honorable, that notion is itself far too flexible."

"How come?"

"Take thief's honor, for instance, and consider the major state of contradictory, it derives itself, since to take one's property, unlawfully, stands nowhere near any kind of honor as it is, the two shouldn't be combined nor justified."

"And policies? I take it, you mean that no additional component has anything to do with composing a policy of one's own and established moral values play no part in directing them?"

"Precisely. You've got an individual stripped of all morality but eager to develop one, first, that someone must encounter the notions which to him are dearest. So, then, decide, which one is it? Purpose, above all or does righteousness precede it? Is life a journey of merely a destination? Is life a reason or consequence? If it is a reason, you must produce the consequence yourself, a worthy one; if it is a consequence, you ought to produce a justification, also a worthy one. You see, the purpose is hidden, concealed within the reason; if life is itself the reason for your existence it must be the purpose, so life for the sake of living is the aim of existence. Though, if it is the case of the consequence, of something much greater..."

"It's neither."

"Very well, then."

"Aren't you supposed to ask me now how come?"

"Would you like me to ask you?"

"Yes, I would."

"Why build up suspense? Your answer is equally pertinent, whether it is implored, or not."

"You see, I recognize the oddity of existence as a string of provoked actions leading to consequences, but not the consequence as an initial force for its commencement: climax and nadir, suspense and resolution. That is all there is to expect, why should I not be getting the best of it?"

"I see."

"Do you?"

"Vividly. Now, dit moi, it has been now, how many, twenty-four days of..."

"Twenty-six; if you are to count aujourd'hui."

"Very well. So, how's that bound to build up the suspense, resolve it, lead to closure, though, I'd rather expect nadir?"

"Have you ever loved?"

"I fail to see, how that could be relevant."

"When you admit your love, you are most likely to commit to that or whom you worship; you are likely to deny the presence of everything but..."

"Is that what you resort to in order to justify you consuming only melon, for a month?"

"But, my love for melon, my want of it is exorbitant, undeniable. That is what I wake up for in the morning and the only thing that makes me leave the apartment in the afternoon. Eating melons, drinking melons, even pondering upon the subject of their very existence lets me feel content; from its sweetest core to its bitterest peel. It is my substitute for pistol and ball."

"You do not mean it literally."

"I know that."

"What's your pistol and ball?"

"You are."

"Should that be the case, might you consider upgrading to peaches, at least when you come to see me?"

"You're so very kind. But that would fail the purpose."

"What purpose is that?"

"To obsess, doctor."

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