Path Maker

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Drifter, Soldier, Alchemist, and actor. We all have a role we play one way or another.

Chapter 1 (v.1) - Path Maker

Submitted: June 06, 2013

Reads: 330

Comments: 2

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Submitted: June 06, 2013




 Everyone has a routine one way or another. I wake up at 6:52 AM exactly everyday. I then lay out my clothes for the day. I prefer a size small black T-shirt without and graphic or design, 32x32 blue worn out jeans and cotton white socks. I then take a shower I stay in fifteen minutes; twenty five if I am washing my my hair and have to shave.

When I get out of the shower I brush my teeth, flosh, and follow up with two brands of mouthwash. As I put on my towel to dry off I drink my Tea which I had prepared beforehand. It helps remove the taste of the mouthwash. As I make my way back to my bedroom I make myself a glass of water to drink as I get dressed.

Next I put on my laptop and check any missed mail in my sleep. There is usually nothing worth noticing: A friends birthday invite to the local bar, Drama between two ex friends fighting over the same man, Some attempt to say philosophical whispers, but end up looking like spoiled and sheltered brats, and my personal favorite: Watching how people react to simple statements as if it were against the word of god.

When I am done with this I put on my laid out clothes for the day and spray myself with my favorite cologne. I am ready; ready to start my day now that my morning ritual has begun. As I walk to the bus stop I pick up my daily pack of cigarettes and make the small talk with the stores employees. I know that smoking is a bad habit, but it helps me in setting in my mask; my appearence of a normal person.

I do not drive so I take the bus to work. I do this because I know myself; I know what would happen if I did: I would become lazy. I got a job at a local retailer and it has its ups and downs like any other job. My coworkers are nice enough, no one does anything worth noticing. I am polite and soft spoken, contrary to my true self.

No, that wouldn’t be correct, since even I don’t know who my true self is. My days are filled with enate word and body play with my customers and coworkers. I often visualize dismembering them: it helps the day go by. When my shift is over I check my phone and see if my girlfriend has called or sent me any messages. She is a nice girl, christen, and comes from a good family.

I think she think’s if she holds on to me long and hard enough I can change. But, you can not change how someone is; even more so how they were born. I keep my silence and let her believe what she wants. I go with her to her friends and families events, I have sex with her when she wants it. I tell her I love and in a sense I do, but not in the sense most would think. I equate it equal to loving your favorite kind of pen.

In the end she just helps with adorning my mask with better jewels. They are all props for a character I thought up on a whim. When I am finally able to make my way home and wind down before the set of my next ritual I get undressed and throw my clothes into my dirty laundry bin. I have another cup of tea and make something to eat, usually something light like fruit or a salad. It will give me energy and not weigh me down when I begin.

After my meal I do the dishes and see if any thrash needs to be taken out as I throw out the rest of my of cigarettes. When everything is taken care of I begin my my ritual again. Though, this ritual is a bit different than the first. I open my closet and remove the false back I have given it when I bought this house. Some people make hidden cellars, some make dry wall cutouts. I myself prefer the simpler methods;they work better.

I remove a suitcase from the closet and set it on my bed. I put in the lock code and thumbprint needed to open it. Staring into the contents of the suitcase I always find myself in deep thought. How have I gotten this far? How has no one been able to stop me? What would hell be for someone like and even more so what would heaven be? What were to happen if those who thought they knew me found out everything about me? Would they accept me or would they run in fear?

My train of thought is halted and I am forced back into reality. The roar of the crowd fills my house and smell of blood and meed come with it. The sound of metal slicing against metal and bone crash through the air as well. This is it; This is what I wait for every night. This is the reason why I pretend to be who I am and have my set of rituals. Everything is for this exact moment.

It appears in front of me; my door.  The dried blood on it only makes it look more divine. In the center of it is an engraving; the word means life In greek and it is exactly that which it gives me. It gives me which nothing here in this world can; it gives me life. And, just as quickly as it appears this door of life opens  to me. Drowning me in the light of its world and sounds. I am ready.

© Copyright 2018 Gabriel Woodworth. All rights reserved.


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