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 CCW: vacuus intelligendo, vereor

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Join date : 2011-06-30
Age : 46
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PostSubject: CCW: vacuus intelligendo, vereor   Sun Sep 25, 2011 5:05 pm

Hear now this, O foolish people, and without understanding;
which have eyes, and see not;
which have ears, and hear not.
– Jeremiah 5:21, KJV

No one knows when it started, what caused things to escalate the way they have. There are a lot of people more knowledgeable than I who have spent the last twelve years pondering that very question, postulating and theorizing. Oh, there’s been plenty of ideas and suggestions, but as of yet, there has never been a clear answer.

a child is screaming, crying. hands waving frantically in the air as his head drops below the surface a second, a fifth, time. people running up and down the beach. people standing, talking, pointing. a mother crying out to her child, crying to the people staring. a man sitting on a wave runner takes pictures.

All that is known is that, for the past twelve years we have been at war. A war amongst ourselves, our very nature, our beliefs and what we are told to believe being brought into question. One look out the window and those questions lay exposed for the entire world to see. Perhaps those questions have always been there, perhaps everything we were told and not told have lain in wait, waiting for us to open our eyes, waiting for us to believe that which is not believed.

a young girl, dressed in purple and black. she is standing by the mother, drawing shapes in the sand. a mother cries from within, the girl hearing the pleas. a young girl in purple and black walks out to the child.

Turn on the television and watch the news. There’s been another attack by those who claim religion and righteousness against those who want nothing more than to simply live, attacked because the accepted truth denies them. The accepted truth defies them. The government is once again opening concentration camps to hold those who are feared “for their own safety”. For twelve years they have been hunted, have been entrapped, and for what? For what?

a slender hand reaches down into the water. a young girl is whispering, chanting, praying, as she finds the drowning child. a mother cries in praise as her son breaks the surface. a wave runner circles her, a man taking pictures of a young girl in purple and black walking on water.

I suppose a more important question would be, where are they looking for an answer? Are they trying to discover the event which brought all of this into our collective? Are they trying to determine what had happened to cause all of this? Or are they perhaps seeking the source, so that it can be eradicated? There are too many “beginnings”. Too many directions, too many paths. And of course the question has never been asked to learn… the question has always been asked how to correct.

a young girl places a younger boy on the sand. people gather, encircle. a mother stands after having checked her son. stands in front of a young girl. there is no noise, no one talks, no sound of surf. a child, a boy, a child resting on the sand after being saved hears his mother spit. witch.

Humanity is a scared and easily frightened animal. We desire to know everything in the hopes that the knowledge might give us power. With that power, we can gain control. Power over the world, power over the atom. We have always been afraid of what we did not know, what we couldn’t understand. We have given title and explanation to everything we see, and most of what we don’t, in the hopes that, by giving it name, we grant ourselves superiority. And, as history has shown us, if we cannot have superiority, we annihilate.

a young girl is being pushed. witch. words about a god’s will. witch. talk about abomination. witch. a young girl falls to the ground. witch. i didn’t do anything wrong. witch. you just stood there. witch. you all just stood there! witch.

For twelve years we have been at war. For twelve years we have sought to name that which we cannot. For twelve years we have sought a means to control a power we cannot. Oh, there’s a good chance that if we were to sit and listen and accept, we might come away with an understanding. But we don’t. We can’t. To accept would be to question all we have. To accept would be to question all we know.

a foot. witch. a shadow falls, another foot. witch. careful, she’s working with satan. witch. she’s one of his. witch. another foot. witch. please I didn’t do anything wrong. witch! something heavy closes a young girl’s eyes.

To accept would be to question all that we are. We are a people of science. We are a people of technology. To cast those things aside, to embrace the unknown, the unseen? We as a society would rather go to war.

a young girl lays on the sand, dressed in purple and black. sand muffles her cries. takes away her tears. takes away her blood. people walk away. past her. over her. on her. no one stops or is given pause.

We have been at war for twelve years.

Last edited by soothsayer on Sun Sep 25, 2011 9:15 pm; edited 5 times in total
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PostSubject: Re: CCW: vacuus intelligendo, vereor   Sun Sep 25, 2011 8:41 pm

A hammer falls

Brad was always a good student; although he didn’t get As in all his classes, he always managed to get Bs. His teachers loved his enthusiasm and strove to bring Brad to his fullest potential. His natural curiosity plus his ability to absorb what he was taught was a welcome change to the normal drones which shuffled through the school doors day after day.

But as much admiration the school had for the boy, it paled in comparison to what his mother felt for him; since before she held him for the first time, she knew that Brad was going to grow up to be a great man, destined for great things. A mother’s knowing, woman’s intuition, nonetheless Brad mother watched him grow into the boy, and eventually the young man, she always knew he would.

Like many young males, Brad entered military service upon graduating. Though his mother had hopes of a life leaning more towards college and advancing outside their small town, she relinquished to his desires. After all, she reasoned, many fine men grew from the ranks of military service. At the airport they hugged, a mother crying for her boy, a boy for his mom.

Demonstrating a superb grasp of tactics and multi-layered thinking, Brad left basic boot camp and was advanced into a more accelerated program: officer training. Here he learned leadership, management, and problem solving. Along with these skills, he was also instructed in the patterns and habits of the various enemies of the State, both foreign and domestic. Brad took this all in as he had with any subject before.

Brad’s mother was waiting for him at the bus station. Even though it was only six years since he left, those years had brought Brad from teenager to man. This was no longer the boy she knew and loved, but rather a man who would soon find another’s love and perhaps bring children of his own into the world.

They walked back to her car, Brad carrying his one bag in silence, absently listening to his mother going on about how the town has changed with the construction of its very first turn-around and the opening of Taco Bell two years after he had left. Mary Patterson (you do remember her, don’t you?) is getting married. Maybe not… there could still be time… oh, and the Clements’ farm burned down a few weeks ago, but everything worked out for them, so it isn’t really that bad if you think about it.

Throughout the 20 minute ride back to the family home, Brad’s mother couldn’t help but note how distant her son was, how quiet and withdrawn he had become. But, no matter how she had asked, Brad just fidgeted with his bag’s straps and replied that everything was fine, just fine. It wasn’t from having a lack of things to say, far from, but rather of finally having time to sit and relax. Of course Brad’s mother naturally understood. Why six years away, locked up in military school after military school, learning and exercising and what-have-you! Who wouldn’t want a moment of quiet!

For the remainder of the ride, Brad’s mother was quiet, although she did take several side glances at her son and smile lovingly. Brad, for all his thoughts on relaxation, continued to toy with the bag’s straps.

Stepping into the house for the first time in many years, Brad was instantly taken back to his childhood as the smell of sage and various sun dried medicinals came to him. Beautiful crystals of differing hues of blues and purples and pinks lined the shelves, shining deeply into his eyes. Brad lowered himself into a cushioned chair as his mother lit a candle by the door. She excused herself to the kitchen, where she would prepare some tea.

Brad sat there in the living room. His fingers rubbed raw because of the constant playing with the straps. He opened the bag and slowly put his hand inside, and withdrew it quicker. He stood and turned to the bay window.

“Mom,” he said. His head turned around the room, rediscovering the paintings and crafts and artifacts he had so long forgotten. “mom…”

Brad’s mother stood in the doorway, a silver tray within her hands, two cups and a tea kettle atop. She looked at him again, and smiled the way all mothers are prone to do when they know, when they know before their children do.

“Come, sit. Have some tea. Clear your mind.”

Brad turned and faced his mother. “I can’t mom. I can’t do this, I can’t be here!”

“Sure you can, honey. This is your home, this is where you came from.”

Brad stepped to his bag. “No mom, I can’t. You have no idea what I have seen, what I have done! And for what? To stop stuff like this,” he gestured his hands sweepingly about the room, “from spreading!”

“Brad, you don’t mean that. You and I had this discussion before you left. We knew it was going to be hard on you, but you wanted to do this, you wanted to do what was right, to save who and what you could.”

“It’s all changed, mom. All of it. I can’t save anybody… I’ve done things, mom, don’t you understand, I’ve had to do things so I could advance, things I… things I…” Brad dropped to his knees before his bag and reached inside. “There’s still something I have to do.”

Brad draws a semi automatic pistol from his bag, black and worn. “I’ve killed, mom, I’ve killed so many to get to where I am. I, I’ve… mom, you have to believe me when I say that there is no other way.”

In one swift motion, Brad had the gun cocked and chambered. “Burn my things, mom. Get all of this as far away from you as possible.”

“Brad! Don’t!”

Brad pointed the gun under his head, pulling the trigger…

A hammer falls.
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