That Which is Born of the Flesh [O.P.E.N]

This is hell...

Was this Home?

Alexander clung to a thought.

This place seemed a larger city then the one he had long grown accustomed to but it was, regardless, a city; his city. In as much as differences teemed in comparison to that which he remembered, and that which is, such cities embodied similarities much too prominent to be neglected. The problem, however, was in identifying the truer nature of such a place for such cities have proven to be and such cities have proven not to be.

And he walked among those who were and he walked among those who weren't, each blending and becoming one amalgamation called life and life, in itself, was a complexity of realities and fantasies weaved in a pattern of things both seen and unseen and this was all the more true in the case of Alexander.

As he walked, he walked looking at the faces of none, for they were but they were not, yet he knew them all and he did not, and he knew this. With a face hidden behind the shadows of a dark hood, he walked as one of them, though he was not yet in many ways he was for they were of him, yet they were not.

Now there was the smell of food in the air and it called to his stomach which had long been in neglected desire for some days now. Such a call lead Alexander's vagrancy toward a small yet homely structure fixed upon the cityscape's irreverent beauty.

"Hello. Welcome!" Called a young girl from behind a counter. Alexander walked toward her, toward where she stood, and she smiled politely as was customary, "What can I get 'cha today?" Her voice teemed with an appealing glee that was remnant in Alexander's memory.

Not far from where the girl stood, and from where Alexander now stood, there was a man, a wealthy man, sitting idle at a table. Before him stood an uneaten sandwich still wrapped on a plate ignored in favor of a newspaper that simply read "Crisis" in large and bold letters as though the financial state of the world was not made evident by the very cost placed upon living.

"...Food." A quiet voice from the hooded Alexander spoke quieter words to the young girl. Such a sound struck subtle caution in the girl, yet her glee remained in spite of the thoughts she was developing, thoughts of alarm, thoughts of danger.

"Well take your pick, hun! Not like you got a lot to choose from. But just between you and I, I'd stay clear of the shrimp." A joke. Alexander remembered such acts like these with clarity yet such clarity was muddled behind an inexplicable and invisible veil that had so quickly become a part of his mind and, in many ways, a part of his soul.

His eyes slowly moved upward to meet that of the young girl's. Her persistent smile only reminded him of things long passed and the simply fact that she stood there, a living component of this plain of consciousness called reality, was enough to convince him that this reality was far from what it was.

Turning quickly, Alexander took, with swifter hands, that sandwich that remained yet uneaten and took flight outward where both the girl and that man took chase proclaiming "thief," to the masses yet he would not stop. Safety was not yet until he was far from this place, to a place of safety, a place much quieter then this where the darkness cradled his being like the arms of a mother, and even then such a concept was finite.

Alexander ran.

As far as he could, he ran through the bustling crowds as more and more took chase of him yet they could not catch him yet. As far as he ran they would not relent yet his hungered flesh grew faint, weary of the journey to no place in particular, yet in as much as this place was not he had disregarded the fact that he ran from those who were not. The simplistic paradox of one such as he; inexplicable, muddled in complexity.

Now those who chased caught Alexander and they struggled with him in the midst of all the people of the street. In desperation did he unravel that food in his hands, while they pressed upon him with their own hands, and as though his life were coming to an end he sought to satisfy the hunger of his flesh as his teeth tore the bread and meat as if he were an animal.

There, amongst the people, stood a girl and her eyes were cast outward to some place unseen, though perhaps her eyes would turn to the spectacle occurring not far off; perhaps not, for she was, and she was not, and she was no more in the twinkling of an eye, and she was gone. Yet Alexander was soon to forget her in these moments, for they pressed on him with great force but as much as they struggled with the strength of their hands they could not bring Alexander passed a knee nor could they separate his hands from that sustenance he clung to.

And within him there was peace.

Yet there was much confusion.

And we cant leave...

That Which is Born of the Flesh

It was this time of day that seemed to lure Ashton out of the safety of her home. The tempature had already met its limit, and the sun was dropping behind the buildings to the west. To the east, the stars were already appearing into view, and a small layer of misty clouds covered the brightening moon. The trees seemed to shiver as the slight breeze ran through their ruffled leaves, causing a cluster of them to fall to the ground only to die whither away in the cold.

It was this time of day that Ashton saw beauty in everything. What light was left from the sun reflected off of the tall buildings like diamonds in a field of flowers, or dew settled on the side of a mountain. This was how she was : a creative person who was optimistic about what life had to offer. She lead herself to believe this, and because of that she was naive. She hoped to believe that everyone had an ounce of good in them, no matter what they had done.

Ashton, her golden hair curling around her shoulders, took awe at how many colors sat on the trees that lined the roads here and there. It was amazing to her how they seemed to change coats over night. A slight smile crossed her mouth.

There was a small gas station a block down, she entered it, the warm air rushing onto her face. She took off her red scarf and wrapped it around her arm. The gas station was empty, even behind the counter was left unattended. She frowned a bit and then walked up to the counter. A silver bell had been placed on the counter, she struck it with her palm and a loud ring echoed through the empty store.

A short, stubby man approached from behind the table. "What do you want?" Ashton flinched. He smelled strongly of alcohol and cigarettes. She forced out a weak smile, "Small coffee and a turkey sandwich," It took the man a good ten minutes to prepare everything. Ashton payed for her meal and headed out the door.

She could hear the fast pacing stomps of a group of people down the road. Lifting her head, she saw one man being chased by another three. People gathered and watched as the man was tackled, the three chasers grabbing hold. She rushed up to them and tugged at the men's jackets, trying to get them off of the other. "Let him go! Stop it!" The men finally stopped, their faces full of anger. One spat on the man that they were chasing, kicked him, and walked off, cursing under their breath. Ashton looked at the man."Sir...are you alright?"

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Word Count: 492
OOC: ---

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They dissipated.

Like idle thoughts fleeting in the presence of entertainment, these people, these men and women who grasped at him with the greatness of their strength, left him to be yet no question or surprise surmised in wake of the turn besides a brutish kick and an insulting projection of saliva.

Alexander, that man of whom they gaped and grasped at with forceful hands, remained there upon the grayness of the walkway taking in the last of the morsel which had been crushed in the struggle of his own hands. Despite their force, their insults, their gaping, their strikes, he seemed as though unaware or, perhaps even, uncaring.

Slowly, upon finishing that morsel, did he rise to his own feet and walk toward a place of his own, though this place was not his own, yet it was. There, in the shadows that covered the expanse between two taller towers, did Alexander find his solace, as though his thievery had not taken place, as if their strength did not come upon him.

And what of the girl who so selflessly arrived as his rescuer?

Did he recognize her?

Did his eyes ever come upon her?

Had she so quickly become a memory, lost, forsaken to be forgotten in the wasteland of his own mind despite her kind actions toward him or did she yet go unrecognized. Not once did his eyes turn back to her, to the people, to that which had turned and continued to turn as that greater darkness began to overtook him in the places unseen by the eyes of men.

The twilight of the evening itself was soon to give full way to the moon and stars, where darkness reigned underneath the pale luminance of such luminaries. Where the streets would soon grow vibrant beneath the life of the night, street lamps, and the glow of the tall towers that stretched to the very heavens themselves and he walked.

Into those shadows that would swallow him whole, yet these were not his own and in many ways they were, but they were not. As he walked he came to a place where writings marked on a wall with red paint adorned the passageway between two towers and he stopped, and he stared.

THIS IS HELL
AND WE CANT LEAVE

"Hell..." His eyes did not leave those white letters written upon the brick, "What do you know about Hell?" His voice was low, as though angered and deeply distressed, "God did not spare even the angels who sinned. He threw them into hell, in gloomy pits of darkness, where they are being held until the day of judgment. No... you know no Hell here... not yet."

"Not until you've seen His in judgment!" And his voice became louder, ever so, to that of a shout as his fist struck those letters upon the brick with great force, and greater force given. Though there was pain in the connection Alexander continued, repeatedly he struck the brick as though some greater enemy stood before him. And he cried out with his own voice saying, "Salvation is far from the wicked, for they do not seek Your statutes. Though You send messengers, they would not listen. They played the harlot with other gods, and bowed down to them. They turned quickly from the Way and in obeying the commandments; they did not do so."

And when the letters had been painted more so a deeper red with the very life that coursed within him, he fell to his knees and he spoke words soft, as the words of a fearful child, and he said "I saw a great white throne and the One sitting on it. The earth and sky fled from his presence, but they found no place to hide. I saw the dead, both great and small, standing before His throne. And I said in my heart... God shall judge the righteous and the wicked."

And he whispered, "Eloi Eloi lama sabachthani?"

The night slowly set in.

"Porque estas tan lejos?"

That Which is Born of the Flesh

Ashton watched the man helplessly as he broke at the bread with his teeth, practically swollowing the sandwich whole. She could not help but pitty him. Was his that hungry. Ashton could feel her own stomach growl at the thought of his remaining empty for however long it had been. She clenched the paper bad that was in her hand, harder and harder until her long fingernails dug into, wrinkling it up. Her turkey sandwich sat inside, but how could she eat it now. After seeing this? She could not. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she did so, the man was already walking off. She reached out her hand to put it on his should as to call him back to her, but lowered it like a coward.

A lump formed in the back of her throat, and she felt as though she were choking. It was dark now. The shadows had crept out and formed an everlasting eclipse on the city. The sky was covered with clouds now, and it was evident that storm would soon pass over them and drench them in its falling tears. Though, the tears of the sky were no where as painful as the salty drops that fell from her cheeks, dragging her make-up along with it.

She wrapped her scarf around her neck once again, and was about to turn around when she could hear a loud yell and the pounding of fists. She looked back, seeing the man she helped punching at a brick wall, white letters had been painted onto them. She walked up curiously to the site, reading the morbid letters. She read them aloud, "This is...hell, and we can't leave..." Her eyes dropped to the man who sat on his knees. Droplets of rain fell onto her hair, but she ignored them. She pitied the man that sat before her. He was a lost soul, indeed. And her empathetic ways would not ignore him and leave him be. It pained her to see anyone this way.

She bent to her knees and put down the bag that contained her sandwich, keeping the coffee in her other hand. She would need it if she wanted enough energy to get back home. It would be along walk, and she dreaded it. It was already late. For a moment she considered calling a cab.

"Sir...it's about to storm..." she reached into her pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. "I'm sorry I can't do more for you, but... she placed the money by the bag and turned around, beginning to walk off. However, her mind was still on the man.

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Word Count: 452
OOC: ---

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There were sounds.

In the midst of passing cars that rushed to and fro toward their destination, the clamor of the street crowds as they passed along their way, the gentle breeze gently caressing the countenance of those walking against it, and the falling droplets of rain that became progressively louder as if a harbinger of a worse tragedy to come, there was one sound that stood distinct over all other and it was that of Compassion speaking soft her words of sincerity.

"Sir...it's about to storm..." Spoke the sound that gently muddled all others underneath the weight of her grace, "I'm sorry I can't do more for you, but..." But so quickly did that sound dissipate as the vapors that rise from the earth's morning cool under the heat of the sun and he listened intently for it but he could not take hold of it in any place but that place which he dared not venture to willingly.

"Where was it going?" Alexander contemplated as he listened to the the sound that was quick to turn itself into that of the soft footfalls that fall upon wet concrete and loose gravel and such footfalls moved forth to a place far from him, a place of which he perhaps would never reach and could never reach, and, in many ways, should never reach.

Wait

The word's abrupt explosion left behind an echo that would course throughout the expanse of his darkened and chaotic mind and such a word beckoned to be released outward unto the expanse of fantastical reality toward that one of whom now took course away from here. But such a word would find no such freedom, not here, not now, for it remained an echo coursing through the vastness of his mind as if behind a thick veil of thicker darkness unreachable by his own hands.

There were sounds.

The rain's pattering fell on the small paper bag beside a single paper colored green. The accented sound of water striking a surface not so solid stirred the attention of his gaze, of his focus, and he looked upon these articles with curiosity. Though he knew what they were, they're purpose, their reason for being, he could not determine just what purpose he had intended in bringing forth such things to existence here, now, in this very place and in this very time.

He cringed.

Memories brought forth that piercing pain, as that of a nail being struck with a mallet upon the top of his head, and he heard a voice there in that place of nonexistent existence where fantasies become realities and realities become dreams and dreams are stirred into nightmares.

"Let him go!" That voice called outward from the chaos within, "Stop it!" She beckoned to the shades of ones unrecognizable whose faces had become distorted in the quagmire of what was, what is, what is to come, what could be, and what should be and yet her face remained pure; untouched.

Had she truly been there, in that place, at that time or was she simply as another shade awaiting to dissipate in the sands of the ever increasing wastelands that have slowly taken the once lush fields of his mind? And thus Alexander struggled the endless struggle against himself, against all that he knew and all he did not know and he trembled in the wake of this chaos, in the sight of this uproar that so callously laid siege to the walls of what flicker of sanity was left remnant.

And then,

"Sir...are you alright?"

That voice.

"I need to know." A quiet proclamation; an undying declaration.

Alexander stood upright. In his right hand he held that small bag and in his left the sheet of green colored paper called money and he followed behind the girl of golden hair as a lost child seeking that which he had been separated from. Sullen steps slowly closed the short yet vast distance between her, that girl of golden hair, and Alexander. And yet the closer Alexander approached, the greater the fury that was poured forth from the heavens above and yet he would not relent; he could not relent.

Perhaps she would hear it also, those steps coming closer and closer behind her. Steps that would cease only upon her turning, upon the gaze of her eyes. Steps that would not cease until he heard that voice, that Compassion, once again; that sound that would speak to him of truths long lost and truths not long lost; truths that he longed to take hold of and embrace as a missing child long lost at last found.

Yet in such a pursuit there was much fear given for the menacing chaos within only served to persuade him more so that she was as unto a shade; as much a reality as the tall towers that stood majestic around them or the waters that fell great, and greater still, from above them.

Chaos stirred within.