The Statue: Part one

I haven’t written any fiction this for a while and I wanted to write something so here goes.
The Statue: Part One

The statue stood in the middle of the square, staring back at me with one stony eye. Between the narrow slats of the boarded window I watched him, waiting for a sign of movement. In the darkness it was hard to tell but I was determined to catch him in the act.

It had become a game between us. I first noticed it a few weeks ago. The statue of the Unnamed Hero, worn and cracked, mossy and stained by the char of battle, had been taunting me. It knew I was a watcher. It was my job to stare into the darkness and keep the monsters at bay with my ever vigilant eye. I was a good watcher, maybe even the best, they said. I could stay focused and alert for hours. 

But the statue mocked me. I had memorized its features and posture. So when it moved, I knew.

It was tall and broad, covered in a stone approximation of metal plated armor. The head was uncovered. Long hair fell down the shoulders and partially covered the face. Except for the one eye. It squinted, staring right at my watching spot. The face was battered and scarred, pitted with bullet holes and riven by age. But the eye seemed untouched.

It crouched, with a sword reared back in one hand and a pistol in the other, aimed and ready to spring into action. The long cloak on his back was chipped in places, but mostly in tact, swooshing around over his extended pistol arm as if in motion. It wasn’t until you looked close that it became clear, the pistol and sword were not held by stone hands, they were a part of him. His armor too, was a part of him, bolted on to his body. The unnamed hero was not human, or at least not entirely.

At first I would watch him out of idle curiosity and boredom. Staring into the darkness night after night you have y find something to occupy your mind. So, in an effort to stay watchful I memorized each detail of the statue outside. Even as I scanned the square for signs of the enemy, my attention would return to the statue. It was a week ago I think, that I first noticed the movement. I did not see it move, as such, but I noticed the change in the stone folds of its cloak.

The picture I had painted in my mind was very specific. It did not matched what I saw outside. The difference was subtle but it was there. The next day was even more peculiar. I noticed an odd black mark along the edge of the stone blade. The statue, as aged as it was, had stains and marks all over it, but this one was new. The posture of the statue had now been corrected, even to the exact folds of the cloak.

I tried to bring it to the attention of the Watchmaster, a stern fellow by the name of Cabberaeux, but he, ill-tempered at the best of times, brushed off my claims like dust from his boots.

Over the next few days the signs became more obvious, to me at least. I tried to tell other watchers but none of them could see. I told Archeleus, the day-watchman who relieved me each morning. He squinted and pressed his face to the wooden slats and gave it his best, but noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

I had begun to think that the cold watches of the night were claiming me. Perhaps the shadows were tinkering with my mind, pulling at the sane parts and twisting them to distort reality.

It was then I found confirmation. I had determined to find an answer once and for all. I had watched all night, three hours before and three hours after my assigned watch. I lay flat on the cold stone on the ground floor with my eye pressed against the heavy gate. If I angle my head just right I could see beneath the gate. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but no one came down here any more, so there was little risk of discovery. I stayed vigilant by humming under my breath, the battle hymn of the resistance, until my mouth became so dry and scratchy I had to stop. I made it until the fifth hour after midden night, when I dropped off.

My eyes were only closed for a few moments, it seemed. But when I opened them, I saw it, the proof I had been waiting for.
See part two later this week.

If you read part one, let me know what you thought.

A Soul unfurled

Mind wandering, pulled moment to moment, here to there, without order or reason. Reality tries to assert itself but is bowled over by the torrent of ideas. What if? I have an idea and I must pursue it until my legs are weak and I collapse, bereft of breath… but wait what’s that? What if? This is in complete contrast, not connected but totally misdirecting my mind. Now I run the other way, energy exerted on the broken story, left on the floor to gather dust, while this new thought, so new, so shiny it will blot out the sun. Now the shadows come. In the darkness my thought faded, it was not yet made and now it never will be, but I left a part of my mind behind, never to be returned. Will it die, alone without my head to call its home? Perhaps it, unlike me can rest. Where was I? Ah yes… the man on the bus, the homeless guy, always asking why, no the warrior, the quiet one, so meek, so shy… where was I? Oh yes the future where the world is light and everything beyond denied, no the other one the world in ruin, the monsters come to devour it all, the fall of man while the cities rise into the sky… but why? What’s the motive? Do he live or die and will the reader wonder why? It’s late. How many words did I write? Were they bad or were they great? Does it matter now, as a thousand thoughts are lost in an infinite sea, never to be seen or read of known beyond my mind, outside of me…. stop… breathe, take a moment here and revel in the peace, take relief in knowing now that every thought you thought was best is sleeping and has come to rest… so sleep and let your mind shut down, wipe away the thoughts and fears, renew yourself to wake refreshed… but wait… what is that? The shadowed shapes behind the door, what could that be if fully formed, crafted from a dark unknown and grafted to a world I’ve sown… let us sink, into a dream of sorts, a writers mind, fractured, muddled, all befuddled by the slivers of a half formed thought, imagined as a last resort then inked into reality. There it is. A story told. My head. My mind. My heart and world, left hear to read, my soul unfurled.

Free?

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How do we comprehend what God has done?

How do we seek the one above?

How do we come to understand His ways?

The way He came, the love He gave?

We don’t.

We instead deny, we rely on ourselves

We ignore the truth, and instead we delve

Into the darkness of our own hearts

We have the nerve to ignore the one

Who created us, and set us apart

We try to rely on a wisdom flawed

We applaud depravity,

We let it pull us down like gravity

Allowing the weight to weigh us down

Until there is no way out

We kick and scream, we yell and shout

But without Him, to lift us up, to take our sin

And lift our doubt, there is no light

There is no fight, just a stubborn heart,

Refusing help just to spite… who, ourselves?

Now, I understand the confusion, the illusion is complete

No room for God, when all your life is filled with defeat

Masquerading as success, more money, but still depressed

More freedom to do what you want, but you still choose

To be chained, to spend what remains, of your days

Away from the Father that made you, you languish

In Anguish, seeking to fulfill a life that can’t be filled

With any of the drugs, drinks, lust or pills,

social media, or films, that make us all feel inferior

I wish I could make it clearer, but He is the way

It’s ok, I know what you’re gonna say,

5,000 Gods, why is yours real?

I know the drill, I’ve been there too, I know how it feels

But Jesus IS different, when He died on the Hill,

When He bled for me, He bled for you too,

And that’s not a myth, its historical, not just a tale,

Not allegorical, but logical truth

I can’t win you over, if you won’t let go of the lies,

But please don’t despise me, for wanting you free,

Don’t hate me, or put me in that category,

Of another Church freak, who hates and despises,

Deciding who deserves love, freedom and charity

I see the disparity, I know Christians worse than you,

That hold onto the label, but aren’t even able

To give grace to those, who don’t look like them,

We are all Sinners, none worse than me,

But daily I seek Him, I look for Jesus,

It is Jesus who free’s us, to be who we are

And the best part is, you don’t need to look far

Jesus is in you, Jesus releases, He redeems us and feeds us

He teaches the truth, if we open our eyes, and forget the lies

Ignore the ignorant Christian, those who spew hate

Who fail to relate to the world, the hurt, and the lost, the people

Who sin, who need a savior no matter the cost,

The Truth is, we’re all hurt, we’ve been lied to, we’re hiding

Too afraid to let Him in, but you know what?

He knows, He sees, He loves you, He loves me,

He wants you to be free, and to find you, He’ll use me.

No other King

No other King would seek me,

When I was worthless and alone

No other King would meet me,

stepping down from on His throne 
No other King would give His life

to pay for what I’ve done

Or strive to give me freedom

From the mess that I’d become
No other King would bleed,

Suffering in pain

Just to heal my wounds

Just to see me saved
No other King could know me,

And love me all the same

No other King could grow me

Into a man who can “be” change
No other King is worthy

Of my worship and my praise

No matter what I give Him

He gave His life, to see me raised
Praise Jesus, our redeemer, our savior, no matter who you are or what you’ve done. Even though we as Christian’s often fall short of displaying His love, He never will.