The last of those who walk...
Every once in awhile, I like to post excerpts from my stories here on the website. There is so much work to be done and I have so little time do to it in. But, when I do get something done that I like, I post it (at least things that don't give the stories away).
The last of those who walk is one of my long term projects. I have been working on it off and on for several years. It seems to get longer and longer every time I work on it (it's well over 400 pages at this point- it was supposed to be a work of minimalism). I am writing it with a pen (Gasp! he still uses one of those things).
Every once in awhile I will finish a chapter, I will then type it up and rework it until I like what I see. This is a slow way to get it done, but it also ensures that when it is finished there will be very little to correct, and very few things to work out.
This week I decided to post from The last of those who walk because it has been a long time since I did anything with it. I hope you all enjoy it.
“Among his meditations was that of panic, and of fear and the purpose they served. Were they an act of practice to test one's strength, or were they training for the courageous heart? Wherein was their value? It was hard to know.
Within his thoughts, there was dawning, an inkling of understanding. Fear was undoing, fear was defeat, but its lessons were the greatest lessons; undeniable, unforgettable, and indelible. He hadn’t learned in a long time, he had forgotten fear, and he knew that there were no lessons without it.
Failure and success are the same coin, but for the side, they rest on, and fear is the thin edge on which a lesson is formed, it is the transition between the sides.
Under his composure was the deep stillness of silence. He had practiced it for many years. He fashioned his calmness until complete, until it reflected in his actions; not a waver, not a quiver, not a tremor. In all that he did he mastered the silence and stillness. His actions were unencumbered by the disruptions of noise, but more importantly they didn't belie his fear.
There were contemplations of the road; mostly the notions of the chase. He wondered, what manner of a relationship was between those who killed and those who died? Did both follow the same path, but going in a different direction? Or was there more to the road than what could be seen? They too were separated by the thin edge of the coin, fear was all that there was, and he knew no other glue in the world. It demanded to be acknowledged.
Among his meditations was also a question: Had he not been brave enough to look beyond the way and see what lied in the dark? Was there more than the road, and more importantly, was he afraid to see it?
While he meditated, on the subject of fear, there came a sound upon the road. The sound of men chasing other men in the darkness. It laughed along with the stone, across the bluster of the fall and the rattle of leaves. Along with the stones of the divide, following the black snake on whose back was drawn the faded, dead, yellow line.
He breathed out his steam into the cold dark and set his cup aside. He rose from his seat and took his blade and carried it into the night, and there was no fear in the way he moved.
…He was ready for all there was, for his fear was gone as it existed only in thought."
Cheers!
