PRIMAL LUCIDITY

FOREWORD

2008-05-16T08:18:00.006-06:00

The following is a work in progress called "Primal Lucidity." It is a short story based on a concept of reality I had when I was only four years old. Twenty two years later I decided to write it down. Primlinary readers have described it as fitting the genre of fantasy horror. Because it is a work in progress the story will change and be updated regularly. I am open to insight, recommendations and criticism, so please leave comments. Also, in order to keep the chapters in sequential order, I have changed the dates of the posts--the most recent date corresponding with the first chapter. So, as I update and add chapters to the story, they will be added at the bottom of the page with older dates.

Enjoy!

CHAPTER ONE: THE OLD MAN AND THE INSECT Updated July 29, 2010

2008-05-15T15:21:00.010-06:00

The sky was clear and dark as Charlie opened his eyes. He had been unconscious for hours, and it took him a few seconds to focus his eyes on the brilliant stellar display above him. The thick leaves of the towering trees were moving past him, revealing a sliver of sky visible directly above him. It was night time, though he had no idea what time it was; or where he was for that matter. He hadn’t noticed immediately, but his ears were ringing. Softly at first, but the pitch gradually grew louder and louder, until the sound was so overpowering Charlie thought his ear drums might burst. They never did.

As the pitch started to dim, Charlie felt a dull pain on the back of his head. Attempting to lift his head to relieve the pain, he found that he was bound so tightly to the make shift stretcher that he could only lift his head an inch. His head was wet with blood, and he felt his hair start to tug towards their place of rest. He slowly lowered his now throbbing head back to the moist sticks bound together as tightly as he was to them. In the distance he could hear the thumping of drums. He blacked out again.

Suddenly, Charlie awoke to find himself surrounded by painted faces, each one howling independent of each other. Elaborate designs of the most vibrant reds and greens. All the paintings were unique. Only one thing was common among the hooting faces--the eyes. Each eye had been carefully sewn shut with black thread so thick that only 3 stitchings were required to hold them. The drums were now as deafening as the ringing in his ears had been. Panicked, Charlie screamed as he felt the dozens of hands upon him. He was still on the stretcher, only now he was tightly wrapped in a coarse blanket of some strange animal. The itch of the blanket was maddening, and Charlie squirmed helplessly as they carried him up a steep hill.

The hill was inclined enough for Charlie to see a multitude of painted eye-less faces. Thousands of them had come to the festivities. Somehow, they all knew exactly where Charlie was. The top of the hill had been cleared of any brush. Centered perfectly in a stone circle was a 4-foot tall granite slab about the length and width of a man. Charlie violently turned his head left and right to better see his surroundings. His heart raced and his chest began to ache.

All at once, the drums and hooting of the thousands surrounding him stopped. A man dressed in rich orange robes approached him. He was the only person fully clothed from head to foot. The man was easily the oldest person present by at least 30 years, and the only one whose eyes were open, although his eye lids had puffy scars from being sewn shut years prior. His face was painted differently from the others as well. A simpler pattern of orange, yellow and white.

“Their chief,” thought Charlie.

The old man shouted something in a language that Charlie didn’t understand. The multitude responded with uproarious noises, and the drums rang out in a hundred different rhythms at once. The man barked orders to Charlie’s carriers, and they quickly placed him on the stone slab, which he now understood to be an altar.

“They are going to kill me!” he shouted. “Get your hands off…”

His threat was cut short as the dozens of hands reappeared, and covered his face and chest. Only his eyes were left uncovered by the heavy hands. Charlie began to sob, his body lurching forward as far as the ropes would let him. The old man pushed some of the others aside, and put his face about an inch from Charlie’s, and stared at him intensely for about ten seconds. Charlie tried to bite the old man’s nose, but the old man was more agile than he appeared, and stood upright, and slapped Charlie. Not with the intent to harm him, however. It was to establish control over Charlie. But, of course, Charlie had no intention of submitting to the old man. Digging deep from the back of his throat, Charlie spat on the old man’s face.

The old man simply wiped the spittle from below his wrinkled eye, smearing orange paint across his yellow cheek. He then put his hand over Charlie’s mouth, leaned down to his ear, and whispered some gibberish in a low calm voice. Charlie was confused, but he wasn’t about to let the old man trick him into confidence by a simple whisper. Charlie bit the old man’s hand as hard as he could. The man pulled his bleeding fingers away without so much as a second glance towards Charlie.

The old man stood straight, raised his arms, and with a deep booming voice sang out clean and clear over the thousands of riotous pagans. His melody was hypnotic, and soon Charlie found himself mildly sedated from the unexpected soothing tone. At once, his chest stopped thumping, the pain in his head was gone, and even the noise of the multitude faded away. Amid all the chaos of his surroundings, everything seemed to be in its proper place. Even his fear began to subside, and in that moment Charlie thought the old man was on his side.

The old man approached Charlie again, and whispered the same gibberish as before. This time, Charlie understood its meaning. “Calm, Great One.“ He did not resist, but he did not quite understand, either.

Charlie did not have much time to dwell on the old man’s words. The old man quickly backed away, and the dozens of hands returned. So did Charlie’s pain, panic and fear. One of the eye-less faces hurriedly painted Charlie’s face bright blue. There was no time for an intricate pattern--solid blue would have to do. His heart raced faster as another eye-less face ran up to the alter bearing a large insect. It was about the size of a hand, and had more legs than Charlie had time to count. The bug was restless, yet did not fight its master. The eye-less face shoved the insect inside Charlie’s mouth, and forced it shut. Charlie thrashed about as mad as ever, sweat pouring out of his wrappings. The insect forced its way down Charlie’s throat.

Immediately, Charlie began to feel light headed, and the color of the eye-less faces began to blur. He felt the insect wriggling in his stomach, clawing at him as if it no longer approved of its host. With each scrape Charlie's eyes lost focus a little more. The eye-less faces now blurred together completely, and all he could see was a mesh of bright colors swirling in patterns as intricate as the original paintings. They let go of his mouth, and Charlie felt three sharp stings in each eye lid. He tried to open them in spite of the tearing pain. But the thread was too strong. The colors continued to mix on the back of his lids until all was glowing bronze. Charlie let out a forceful scream.

“You Bastards!”

Charlie felt a light rocking sensation, and he heard a familiar voice. He couldn't make it out at first, so he listened more intently. It was his sister Nikki.

“She is just a child! If you bastards touch her…”

SLAP!

Charlie opened his eyes, and saw Nikki looking frightfully at him. He was in his bed drenched in sweat. Nikki quickly withdrew to the other side of the room.

“You scared me. Who were you screaming at?” Nikki’s face was wet with tears. She had never seen Charlie like this, and her 5 year old mind didn’t know how to accept it.

“No one. Don’t worry about it.” He rubbed his eyes carefully. The night terror’s were getting worse and more frequent. They were usually of the same event. The nit picky details would sometimes change: the colors on the faces, the trees, the altar, the sounds and smells. But the interaction with the old man was always the same, as was the encounter with the insect. He didn’t understand it himself, and he certainly didn’t want her to be bothered by the graphic content of his dreams.

“Mom said to tell you breakfast is ready," she said as she wiped her face dry. "I don’t think she heard you. I won’t tell her if you don’t want me to.” Her trust in Charlie had always been a source of comfort for him.

“OK, thanks," said Charlie. "I’ll be down in a bit. I need to shower first.”

Nikki ran out of the room where she bumped into Jerry, the oldest of the siblings. He passively glanced at her as she quickly apologized for the mishap. Jerry said nothing as he sluggishly continued down the hallway.

Jerry was one year older than Charlie, and suffered from a variety of mental disorders, which limited his abilities in school. Between the schizophrenia and assortment of learning disorders, Jerry was doing well to pass his classes and not be held back. Outwardly, he admired Charlie’s successes in activities that he could only imagine participating in. But inwardly, he had no place to hide his jealousy.

CHAPTER TWO: TO BE A GOD Updated July 29, 2010

2008-05-14T15:21:00.014-06:00

Charlie ran out the front door, almost forgetting about breakfast. But his body would need a burst of energy in the morning if he was to keep up with his rigorous daily schedule. He ran back and grabbed a bagel and a Gatorade.

“What about French toast?“ shouted his mother, Maggie. She stood dutifully at the gas stove flipping that last of the toast. “I got up early to make it for you.“

Charlie didn’t have time for a sit-down breakfast; the bus would pull up soon. But he knew how hard his mother had worked to have a nice breakfast with him. It wasn’t her fault he didn’t hear his alarm.

Maggie rarely saw him during the day, and relished every conversation they had. Between job searching, and taking Jerry to appointments with tutors and therapists, it was the highlight of her day. He sat down at the table and traded words with his now beaming mother, as he shoveled food in his mouth.

"So," Maggie started, "tell me about this guy everyone is talking about. You've played him before, right? Is he as good as everyone says?"

They would often talk about Charlie's upcoming wrestling matches--something Maggie knew very little about. But a lack of knowledge about the sport wasn't going to stop her from being interested.

"Well," Charlie began. He paused to swallow, and snickered at his mother's semantic mistake. "First, you don't play wrestling."

The word choice stood out to him like a sore thumb; he had never considered a sport as violent, and aggressive as wrestling to be a game. Maggie blushed upon realizing her mistake.

"His name is Johnson. He is pretty much my only competition, as far as I can tell. And Coach Moore says he isn't much better than he was last year. But i haven't seen him wrestle yet, so i don't know."

"Hmmm, well, I think you are going to crush him," Maggie smiled with confidence. Charlie wished he felt the same. Last year's match still left a sour taste in his mouth. No one else could be blamed for what happened, and Charlie knew it. That is what drew him to the sport. Charlie loved the feeling of absolute victory, almost as much as he despised absolute defeat.

Once the bus was in view down the road Charlie shot out of his chair, and sprinted through the door. He heard a faint “I love you,” as he ran the down the long drive way from their two-story duplex to the bus stop.

The bus smelled of diesel exhaust and dirt. Although it was empty, it would soon be crowded with kids from the neighboring middle school. Not usually the sort that associated with sophomores like Charlie. Most of his peers had their own cars given to them by their financially stable fathers. And those who did not have cars, lived close to those who did and they would mooch a ride.

"Morning, Charlie," said the bus driver. "Bagel and Gatorade again, eh?" Charlie looked down to see he still held his original breakfast.

"Ya, I guess."

"Well, it will help keep you lean, that's for sure. Gotta stay at the top of your game for Saturday's tourney, ya know. I heard that kid Johnson will be there. Good luck."

"Thanks." He made his way to the back of the bus, and began eating his second breakfast.

It seemed that everyone knew about Charlie's rival. Of course, they always supported Charlie--local loyalties being what they are. The bus driver meant well, and just wanted to be part of something special in a town where nothing of significance ever happened. But Charlie grew annoyed by the constant compliments and encouraging words of people who simply don't know what they are talking about. And how could they? People like the bus driver had never accomplished anything to the degree that Charlie had. Yet, he did his best to appear grateful.

Charlie’s family lived on the edge of town where rent was cheaper. His mother wasn’t able to drive him since Nikki’s school started at the same time, and was located in the opposite direction several miles away. But he didn’t really mind. He didn’t relate to his “peers” anyway, so the sev-ies and eight-ies on the middle school bus were no different to him. Besides, they looked up to him. Only his classmates would think less of him for it. Charlie never understood why that was.

Charlie would finish the day with two weightlifting classes in a row. There was about an hour break between school and wrestling practice, which he would use to work on his AP home work. This was fortunate for Charlie, since he often didn’t have time to do homework after practice. Evenings were a great opportunity for him to go running; afterwards, he would go straight to bed. Practice itself was long and grueling. Three hours of the most intense workouts his coach could scheme.

Coach Moore had wrestled in college for the air force and was no stranger to off the wall workout regimens designed to push a person to fatigue after the first hour, and push even further past it for the next two. Charlie would sometimes collapse, and vomit during particularly lengthy practices, but he didn’t mind. That was what it would take for him to win state this year. No more gasping for air. No more mental blocks. No more failures.

It was five weeks into the season and Charlie was undefeated. Not just undefeated. No one had scored a single point on him. But this was no surprise to Charlie, who always knew he was capable of beating his opponents before he even stepped onto the mat. One hundred and sixty five pounds was the perfect weight for him, giving him enough muscle mass to brutally man-handle anyone who opposed him yet light enough to have the grace and quickness to avoid anything the enemy could offer him. He was untouchable. Next year, as a junior, he would be a god.

CHAPTER THREE: "3-2-1-2-3": Updated July 29, 2010

2008-05-13T15:21:00.012-06:00

Coach Moore had discovered Charlie the year before as he scouted the football team for potential wrestlers. He was immediately drawn to Charlie, who was the varsity quarterback as a freshman. After a long talk about the personal satisfaction that could only be offered by a solitary sport that pitted athletes against opponents of their own size and ability, Charlie's interest perked. He became obsessed with it--absorbing everything he could squeeze out of his coach.

Learning sports like football and baseball came naturally to a gifted athlete like Charlie, but wrestling was different. Rather than relying on his teammates' abilities, he had to work for his own success. His determination, and work ethic were matched only by his ability to succeed. No victory on the field equaled Charlie’s ecstasy of truly dominating an opponent on the mat. And now he experienced that euphoria every time he stepped onto the mat.

Coach Moore often gawked at Charlie’s ability to learn, and soon started bringing in guest coaches for a day or two just to keep up with his learning curve. In the eye’s of his coach, Charlie was the perfect student. In spite of his late start into the sport, he should see plenty of scholarship offers the following years. This was good news to Charlie since it would relieve some financial stress on his family.

"DOWN!" shouted Moore, his face red with disgust. "UP!"

The team was arranged in a circle around Coach Moore, each boy evenly spaced, and in push-up position. The boys would usually gravitate towards other boys of their same grade level. Moore regularly used extra amounts of exercise as a form of punishment--or, as he would call it: discipline.

The crime committed had occurred before practice. Two seniors hog-tied a chubby freshman with jump ropes, and tapped their fingers on his forehead repeatedly, while demanding he name a certain number of candy bars. Coach Moore intentionally waited until the end of practice to have them fulfill their consequence, believing that punishing the group would reduce the misbehavior of individuals. The ethicacy of this philosophy never came into question.

"48!" The boys rang out in unison.

"NO!" Moore had spotted a freshman who had lowered his body only part way. The scrawny boy had joined the team to bulk up, and prove his worth to his tormentors. But he soon found that his new teammates were no different from his long list of bullies. Upon seeing his nearly hairless body in the locker room, the upperclassmen would rag on him for not starting puberty. He would try to stand up for himself, but that would usually result in an increase in the hazing he was so desperate to avoid.

His small arms were shaking uncontrollably as sweat freckled the dark red mat below him. "Your shirt is NOT part of your chest!" shouted Moore. "AGAIN! DOWN! UP!"

The boy bit his lip, lowered his body flush with the floor, and began to push the floor away from his panting chest.

"48!" he screamed.

Before his arms could lock in place, thus marking another successful push up, they buckled and he hit his head forcefully on the floor. Rolling to his side, his whole body began shaking uncontrollably. Charlie broke the carefully made formation, and ran to assist him. Coach Moore sighed as he followed Charlie's lead.

"Give him some room!" Charlie barked at the other freshmen surrounding the boy. But they were too tired to notice anything other than Moore's commands. "Move!" Coach Moore bellowed. A few of them began to crawl away only to drop themselves to the welcoming mat; an injury always meant relief for onlookers.

The boy's seizure was over as quickly as it had started. Knowing exactly what had happened, the boy turned red in his embarrassment, and ran out the emergency exit. Coach Moore quickly followed while giving the command for the next exercise.

"3-2-1-2-3!"

Immediately, the remaining boys grabbed their jump ropes and positioned themselves so they could see the training room clock over the main entrance. Everyone of them knew the meaning of the code: three singles, two doubles, one triple, two doubles and three singles.

"On the 12!" shouted the team captain, looking at the clock above the door.

Charlie felt a sense of panic as he fumbled with his partially tangled rope, trying to position the rope firmly in his slick hands. He preferred the thicker braided ropes to the speed ropes, feeling their increased weight would grant a better workout.

"GO!"

The boys began skipping. Some of the upperclassmen would throw in the occasional double jump to show off their expertise. The goal was 45 skips in 15 seconds, followed by 5 stick jumps, 5 up-downs, 5 push ups and 5 sit ups, ending in another 30 seconds--a single. Charlie was the first to finish the first series with nearly 15 seconds to spare before the next single.

"Damn you, Charlie," mumbled someone behind him. Charlie shrugged and gripped his rope tightly while waiting for the next series to begin. The next two series of singles and the doubles ended in the same way.

The triple was the most difficult part of the rope work out, and Coach Moore rarely assigned more than 1 in a workout. One minute to reach 120 skips, followed by 20 of each subsequent exercise in another minute. The coming singles and doubles would be a nice warm-down in comparison. Charlie felt his muscles burn as he began jumping. Most of the others had given up on reaching the goal of 120 skips. Two per second for a solid minute was more than they could handle after the previous series.

At the 30 second mark, Charlie was falling behind, so he responded by double skipping. But it wouldn't be enough to reach his mark. His eyes began to sting from the gushing sweat, as he spun the rope faster and faster until the rope passed under his feet three times for every jump. The color of the rope blurred into a transparent shield completely entrapping Charlie. At the 58 second mark the heavy rope snagged the tip of his toe and rotated his feet around the axis of his pelvis. He reached his arms out to stop the rotation, as his feet came crashing down. Without hesitation Charlie began the 20 push ups.

After the rope exercise finished, the boys started a staggering procession to the hallway for a traditional 2 minute water break. Coach Moore returned--notably alone. His face was stern and his eyes focused on nothing in particular. Team veterans knew what had happened; it was the same thing every season.

"Bring it in," said Moore. There was a sense of hesitation as the boys retreated from the watering hole prematurely. They gathered in a half circle around Moore; some on one knee, others completely sprawled out on the mat.

Charlie didn't pay much attention to Moore's plight. He, like most of the others, had heard it before. Loyalty, determination, strong will, and mind over matter were usually on the agenda. Coach Moore was an excellent wrestler, and his coaching equal to it, but inspirational sermons intended to motivate the young and unmotivated was not his strong suit. The problem, though, was that everyone knew it except for Coach Moore. For the boys, putting up with a dry speech beat doing extra push ups.

"Maybe it is his way of coping with these things," thought Charlie. "No one likes it when a student gives up and runs out the door, for any reason."

Moore ended the practice early, giving advice to get some good and sound rest. Charlie let out a soft sigh at that idea. It had been days since his last "good and sound rest." He was in a cycle of destruction. If it were up to him, he wouldn't sleep at all.

CHAPTER FOUR: THE EPISODE Updated July 29, 2010

2008-05-12T14:29:00.009-06:00

Dr. Wong was finishing his notes from a previous therapy session when his secretary phoned him. His next appointment had just arrived.

"Send him in," said the doctor, as he shuffled his papers and set them aside. He had been meeting with Jerry on a weekly basis for several months. There was a knock at the door. Clinching a small, worn-out notebook with both hands, Jerry entered Dr. Wong's office. The notebook had served as a therapeutic journal for Jerry to keep track of his thoughts and dreams. Although, recently fewer entries were being made.

"Hello, Jerry. Come on in," said Dr. Wong. The noonday sun lit up the dark brown carpet, turning some of the top fibers gold. The 12 foot wide window displayed a pleasant third story view of the city park. Jerry squinted his eyes as the sun's rays reflected off Dr. Wong's well-kept antique mahogany desk. He slowly walked to the over-stuffed leather couch and sat down, leaning forward slightly so as not to touch the couch with his back. Their therapy sessions had become increasingly one-sided since Jerry's suicide attempt six weeks prior, leaving Dr. Wong to do as much guess work as anything else.

(add more dialog leading up to the question)

"So," started Dr. Wong, "four weeks ago I asked you a question at the end of the session, and you refused to respond."

Dr. Wong was a firm believer in being frank and direct with his patients, especially when they were neither.

He continued, "I asked you the same question again last time we met. Have you given any thought to that question since our last session?"

Cracking his knuckles, Jerry stared vacantly at Dr. Wong's freshly polished shoes. It was clear to the doctor that the reminder had made Jerry uncomfortable. Jerry looked around the room for something, but failed to find it. After avoiding Dr. Wong's eyes for about 30 seconds, he mumbled a soft "no."

"No? Are you sure?" Dr. Wong inquired. "I mean, from my perspective it seemed like it caused quite a stir in you. You do remember the question, don't you? It was about your brother Charlie."

Dr. Wong had grown weary of Jerry avoiding the question for the past several sessions, but he wasn't willing to lose his temper with the boy. He felt especially invested in Jerry, and believed the answer would provide some insight into the suicide attempt. The more Jerry refused to answer the question, the more convinced he became of that possibility.

Closing his eyes, Jerry began to rock gently from side to side. Dr. Wong immediately noted the rocking as a cue that Jerry was having an episode. Previous episodes had given the doctor an opportunity to ask Jerry more direct questions--questions that Jerry might otherwise refuse to answer.

"What are they saying, Jerry?" Dr. Wong knew very little about the voices and their identities. Only that they numbered in the thousands, usually all crying out in unison. Rocking with greater intensity, Jerry closed his moist eyes, clinched his teeth and began to hum faintly.

"Jerry? Did you hear me? I asked you a question. What are they saying?" Dr. Wong grew concerned. In past episodes Jerry would readily respond to his questions, thus giving the doctor some idea of what was happening in the boy's mind. But Jerry continued to be non responsive, as the humming grew louder. Dr. Wong could make out a simple melody of long notes slurred together. It was slow and the pitch was as low, and deep as the boy could manage.

Suddenly, Jerry stood up, and approached Dr. Wong's chair, continuing to rock, and hum as he walked. Humming louder still, Jerry slowly swung his right arm into the open air, bent his torso towards Dr. Wong, and whispered something too quiet to hear. He then stood up, and backed away.

Dr. Wong waited patiently for the boy to reveal his intentions. Jerry began raising, and lowering his eye brows as if trying to force his eye lids apart. His lips separated slightly, and drool rolled down his chin. The rocking transitioned into partially resisted jerks, and the humming grew into low moans and grunts. Upon seeing the boy's struggle to regain control, Dr. Wong decided to intervene.

"Jerry! Snap out of it! Sit down, Jerry!"

At once, Jerry opened his eyes and looked around the room, as if he had awakened in a strange place, and was unsure of how he got there. He sniffled as he gently rubbed his eyes and mouth.

"Jerry, did you hear me? Please, sit down."

Anticipating Dr. Wong's inevitable query, Jerry positioned himself on the couch, this time sitting on the very edge. The doctor fidgeted with his note paper as he prepared his question.

"So, what just happened? What did they say to you?" Dr. Wong positioned his pen on the note paper, ready to record Jerry's response.

"I... I don't know," Jerry mumbled. "I mean, I don't really remember." He began cracking his knuckles again as he tried to concentrate.

"Well, what do you remember?" Dr. Wong's face was stern with determination.

Jerry didn't respond immediately. He flipped through his notebook feverishly, as though it might contain the answer. Squinting his eyes slightly on a random passage, he tried to recall the thoughts that had taken control of his consciousness only moments before.

Licking his lips, Jerry began, "There were lots of people. They were all speaking in unison." Unsure of his response, he paused to reorganize his thoughts. Accidentally dropping the book, he scrambled to pick it up and flipped to a different page.

"What did they say to you?" interrupted Dr. Wong, fearing the long silence might do more harm than good for Jerry's memory.

"I don't know," Jerry responded. "It was all gibberish. I couldn't understand it."

"OK, do you remember anything else?" Dr. Wong felt that he was close to something big--something revealing.

Something was on the tip of Jerry's subconscious, just barely out of reach. Thinking frantically, he closed his eyes, and put the book aside.

"I saw someone. He was... in pain," Jerry said as he quickly straightened his right arm, in an attempt to pop his elbow. "He wasn't one of them. I think they captured him. The voices surrounded him. I walked to him and pushed the voices away. I couldn't make out his face, so i leaned down to him, and he tried to bite me. So i slapped him. I don't know why, but I felt compelled to tell him to stay calm. Then I began singing."

"Singing?" Dr. Wong noted that as the humming on his paper.

"Yes, singing," Jerry continued. "I don't know why. 'Tame the savage beast' or something, I guess. Anyway, as soon as I could make out his face the voices pulled me back."

"Did you know who it was?" asked Dr. Wong, leaning forward slightly in anticipation.

"It was..." Jerry paused, struggling to move his lips, tears swelling up in his now open eyes. His eye brows tilted inward, and his upper lip recoiled slightly. Swallowing hard he muttered, "It was Charlie."

CHAPTER FIVE: (rough draft: jerry) july 30, 2010

2008-05-11T15:21:00.006-06:00

jerry is walking to the bus stop to go home after therapy. but he decides to go to the library instead. on his way jerry runs into some bullies who take his wallet including his library card. they grab jerry's notebook throw it in to the street where a couple cars run it over. jerry goes to the library and discovers books on meditation and thought control. the books tell jerry to save them. he decides to steal them. he almost gets caught, but the guard gets his by a car. jerry keeps running.

he gets home late because he didnt have money for the bus and his mother is worried. he ignores her and goes to his room. doors are locked and he puts on his head phones to listen to alice in chains. he pulls out the first book on thought control and his notebook and starts to read.

he reads for hours while taking notes in his book until the sun comes up and he decides to try meditating. he finds himself in a forest, wanders around for a while enjoying the breeze and smells. then he hears the voices whisper and guide him to a patch of trees. he sees some one in the distance and hides in a bush. the person runs away and voices tell him to follow him. he follows as the voices grow louder. finally, jerry shouts at the voices. he tells them to leave him alone. they die down momentarily and then get louder than before. he curls up in a ball covering his ears. then he jumps up and sticks his arms out and a gush of wind carries the voices away. jerry wakes up to his sister knocking on the door.

CHAPTER SIX: (rough draft: NIKKI) july 30, 2010

2008-05-10T15:20:00.006-06:00

maggie drops off nikki at the school. nikki runs off to meet her friends. she is holding a large poster with pics of pilgrims and indians. she and her friends talk about what they will do at recess and decide to play on the jungle gym. the bell rings and they go to class.

another quiet girl sits next to her. during a counting exercise, a girl named nelly pees her pants. she doesnt try to be mean to the girl, she just doesnt want to be next to her because she smells and nikki doesnt want to get it on her. she tells the teacher and one of the boys hears and exploits nelly. the class starts laughing and calling her names. (smelly nelly, pee pee girl, naughty potty, potty patty, stinky pants). nikki doesnt say anything. the teacher sends nelly to the nurses office to clean up.

at recess nikki and her friends are playing on the jungle gym. nikki goes to the highest slide and waits for two older boys to go down. the boys get in an argument about who's turn it is. nikki tells them to hurry. she gets impatient and she turns around to go to a different slide, but she is stopped by nelly who is wearing new cloths. nikki starts to appoligize for what happened in class, but nelly shoves nikki off the edge of the jungle gym, nikki slips through the railing and lands on her left shoulder. the two boys stop fighting and start yelling to the recess teachers that nelly is pushing people off the slide.

the teachers run over to nikki, one of them pulls out a cell phone and calls 911. nelly jumps off the jungle gym and runs to the edge of the field and goes through a hole in the fence. the ambulance comes and takes nikki.

at the hospital, maggie is talking to the doctor. the doctor explains that nikki was unconcious for a short while and her collar bone is broken. she will be on pain killers for a while and will need lots of rest.

(either have nikki explain this part to maggie or tie it in to the ambulance ride) while nikki is passed out, she has a dream where she is near a stream. she wanders around for a bit then notices a frog. the frog starts to croak then hops a few feet away. she tries to catch it and starts running down stream for it. the frog stops and turns to look at her. nikki approaches slowly. the frog starts to dig in the mud and disappears. nikki runs over to the hole and digs after the frog, but cant find it. she hears the frog croak behind her and she turns to see it staring at her. she tries again to catch it and it digs in the mud again, this time she grabs a leg and pulls the frog out of the mud. the frog doesnt resist and it looks at nikki as it drips a steady stream of mud from its belly. nikki looks into its endlessly dark eyes, then pets it on the nose. the frog bites her finger and she wakes up.

CHAPTER NINE: The Endless Race: Updated July 29, 2010

2008-05-07T15:21:00.003-06:00

Charlie walked carefully through the brush, his feet aching from his long trek. He knew the eye-less faces were close--their smell preceded them. He dropped down to his knees, and scurried to a nearby tree. Two dozen of the eye-less faces combed the area 100 yards to the south. Charlie looked around for a tree branch he could use in self-defense, but there were none to be found.

"How can there possibly be nothing with all these trees?" he asked himself. "There has to be something."

Continuing his search, he crossed a pile of small, conspicuously-placed stones. Instinctively, he grabbed two handfuls, and shoved them in his pockets. They would only be of use from as distractions, but it was better than the alternative. He was lucky to have evaded them for so long. The thought of his previous encounters with the old man and the insect haunted him.

"Not again," he thought. "I can't let it happen again."

The stench of primitive paint and body odor grew stronger. Looking around the tree, Charlie saw three eye-less faces slowly making their way to his sanctuary. He couldn't stay long; as with the stench of the eye-less faces, he was preceded by his own smell.

Charlie looked around the other side of the tree, noting the positions of the other eye-less faces. Some were walking aimlessly with their heads tilted back, swaying back and forth to take in all the surrounding smells. While others lowered themselves to the ground when they suspected something. All of them gradually inched their way closer to Charlie. Quickly, he turned around, mapped out his escape, and ran.

Immediately the eye-less faces raised up, and turned to the noise of Charlie's sprinting. They followed Charlie's lead, walking at first, but soon all were running at top speed. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the gap shrinking between him and the eye-less faces. He looked far ahead to a large boulder and steered towards it.

He reached the rock about 50 yards ahead of the eye-less faces and began climbing. Reaching the top of the rock, Charlie turned to see some of the eye-less faces at the base. The rest were close behind, sprinting at an inhuman rate, moving left and right to dodge any trees in their path. The leaders hesitated at the base of the rock, clawing at it confusedly and pointing their faces upward.

Charlie threw one of the small rocks at one of the eye-less faces. The rock grazed the side of it's head and left a small scrape on the top of it's ear. The eye-less face turned around and chased the rock to where it landed. Upon reaching the pebble, the eye-less face lowered it's body to the ground and breathed deep.

Realizing the result of throwing the rocks, Charlie hurled 5 more rocks in several directions, and watched as the eye-less faces scattered. He then took off his shirt, and tied it to a nearby tree branch. Hopefully the shirt would carry enough of his scent to confuse the eye-less faces, and give him some time to build up his lead again. With his shirt securely fastened, he began to climb the tree.

Eventually, the eye-less faces would discover Charlie's decoy and be after him again. Going from tree to tree was tedious, and they would surely catch up with him. Besides, he got lucky with the boulder; he might not be so lucky with the trees. They were tribesmen, after all. Hunters, probably. And what hunter didn't know how to climb a tree?

After traversing a dozen trees or so, Charlie noticed a brook where he could use the water to wash away some of his scent. He began his descent, but paused when he heard something move in a bush behind him. Moving closer to the trunk, Charlie scanned the surrounding area. The eye-less faces had reached his decoy, and began howling as they tore up the shirt. But this wasn't what Charlie had heard. No, the sound came from something much closer.

Charlie continued to look, but saw and heard nothing, yet, he couldn't escape the feeling that something was close. Very close, and it knew where, and, most importantly, who Charlie was. He looked again to the eye-less faces. They had finished shredding the shirt, and now each of them carried a small piece of it in one hand. Charlie regretted leaving his shirt behind.

They had not picked up his scent in the trees yet, but now they all had his scent in hand. It was just a matter of time--a race. Only, Charlie had no destination. His only goal was to stay away from the eye-less faces until he woke up. That's it! He needed to wake up. But how? How do you force yourself to wake? Even if you know you are dreaming, how do you stop it? At a complete loss, Charlie realized he was exactly where he was before: stuck in an endless race for his life, waiting for the dream to end.

The eye-less faces were now on the move. They all faced up to the line of trees where Charlie had crossed, gradually picking up speed. The scent from his shirt allowed them to focus more accurately. Having a definitive trace, they no longer swayed. Charlie knew he had to move.

He began climbing down again. Whatever or whoever was watching him was still hidden, and, for for the time being, it seemed it wanted to stay that way. Until Charlie was able to lose the eye-less faces permanently, he would have to settle for that. He reached the base of the tree, ran to the brook, and began washing himself as quickly as possible as he crossed the water. The added noise of the water splashing gave the eye-less faces a specific spot to run to now.

Charlie paused after he finished crossing the brook. He realized now that the noise of him running would give them his location, but the water would confuse the scent. When the eye-less faces reached the bank, they also paused.

"OK, it worked. Now what?" Charlie thought.

The eye-less faces began to sway again. He couldn't run, but the water would only confuse them for so long. He was stuck again. He needed a plan. A real plan that would put significant distance between him and them. He looked around for anything he could use--anything that could give him an idea. He slipped his hand in his pocket, and found he still had some rocks. Pulling a couple stones from his pocket, he threw them down river. The eye-less faces scurried to the edge of the bank where the rocks hit the water.

Charlie began slowly walking backwards upstream, occasionally throwing a rock into the water downstream. A loud noise came from another bush behind Charlie, and a sudden gust of wind from caused him to slip on a rock. He came crashing down into the brook. As suddenly as it came, the wind died as the eye-less faces charged towards Charlie.

Scrambling to his feet, Charlie tried to run away, but the eye-less faces were already upon him. He resisted their grabs, and with every attempt to subdue him, an eye-less face was met with a punch or a jab. The eye-less faces were not incredibly strong, and individually none could match Charlie's strength. But the sheer number of pagans outweighed any handicap. Charlie grabbed what remained of his pebbles from his pocket, and clinched them in his fist for added weight. Blindly swinging his arms, he felt the weight of the dozens of hands coming down on him, steadily bringing him to the ground.

In the confusion, one of the eye-less faces fell on top of Charlie. Face to face with one of his captors, Charlie began headbutting the eye-less face repeatedly as the others proceeded to bind his legs. Blood poured from the broken nose and shattered cheek bone on to Charlie's face. He managed to get a hand free, and shoved the remaining pebbles in to the mouth of the eye-less face, which was quickly met by Charlie's free elbow. The eye-less face slumped down unconscious. The others howled viciously as they began to drop their heavy hands on to Charlie's forehead. As he began to feel himself slip in to unconsciousness from the steady thumping on his head, he caught a glimpse of someone in the back of the mob he thought he recognized, then suddenly awoke.

CHAPTER TEN: (rough draft: CHARLIE) july 30, 2010

2008-05-06T13:35:00.005-06:00

charlie at the wrestling tournament.

charlie's first match is against a junior from a neighboring school. he grabs the other wrestler's neck and pulls it towards his chest while he kicks both legs backwards. charlie slams the boy's head into the ground and puts all his weight on the back of the boy's neck. the boy tries to grab charlie's leg but cant reach it. keeping his right hand on the back of the neck, charlie slips his left hand under the backside of the boy's left armpit and grabs his right wrist. he then pushes down with his right hand and lifts the boys left arm causing the boy's chin to dig into his own chest as he helplessly rolls over to his back. charlie readjusts his position and grabs the boy's leg and squeezes the boy's head and knee together. the ref calls it a pin. the match lasts ten seconds.

charlie helps the boy up and shakes his hand. he then runs over to coach moore who chimes "i see you are saving your strength for johnson, eh? good boy, let's do it again."

charlie walks passed the bleachers and sees johnson in the middle of his first match. johnson was toying with his opponent by taking him down and letting him up repeatedly. this was just a practice match for him to work on his technique. charlie stopped to watch. johnson throws his opponent and the boy breaks his wrist. johnson wins the match by forfeit. as the ref raised his hand in victory he noticed charlie standing there. with a sadistic grin he winks at charlie.

charlie wins his next three matches which sets him up against johnson for the finals. the gym is dark with a spot light hanging over the the center of the mat. the boys step on to the mat and the ref says to shake hands. whistle blows and the boys tie up--each one grabbing the other by the back of the neck with their right hand. they push and tug like two mountain goats fighting over a mate. johnson stands up to straighten out charlie and raise his center of gravity then he lets go, drops almost to his knees and grabs both of charlie's ankles and lurches his shoulders forward in to charlie's upper shins. charlie goes crashing down.

"TWO POINTS RED!" announces the referee--the first points scored on charlie all season.

charlie turns over to his belly and gets on all fours and johnson latches on to his back. johnson wraps his legs around charlie's torso and thrusts his feet downward to charlie's knees causing him to sprawl out. he grabs charlie's left wrist and pulls it behind his back and starts to inch it higher up the spine. charlie's shoulder screams with pain as he feels the increasing strain from the arm-bar as the wrist goes higher and higher. the ref blows the whistle and stops the match.

"red, that is your first warning," says the ref. "the next illegal move will cost you the match. keep the elbow at ninety degrees, red. ONE POINT BLUE!" the ref raises his right hand pointing his index finger upwards to signal the awarded point to the score keeper.

"BOTH UP!" shouts the ref. the whistle blows and the boys lock up again. charlie breaks the lock and shoots in for johnson's leg. johnson sprawls back, and tries to free his leg. charlie sucks the leg in as deep as he can but johnson wont go over. charlie stands up and johnson hops on one leg. after a few failed attempts to sweep johnsons free leg with his foot, charlie shifts his hands so that his right hand is behind the ankle and his left hand is on top of the knee. then he drops to his knees thus applying all of his body weight to johnsons captured knee. johnsons free leg buckles and he flops down. charlie jumps forward to johnsons chest and squeezes his head and right arm together while lowering johnsons shoulders towards the mat. johnson squirms until he can manage to bridge his back enough to spin out of the potential pin.

BEEP!

the buzzer ends the round and the referee awards charlie two points for the take down and two points for the near fall. charlie wins the coin toss and is allowed to choose his position for the next round--top, bottom or both standing. charlie chooses bottom, with hopes of gaining an extra point for escaping.

charlie gets in the bottom position and feels johnson grab his left elbow. as soon as johnsons right hand touches charlie's stomach the ref blows the whistle. charlie brings his right knee up and plants his foot while breaking johnsons grip on his elbow. johnson responds by pinning charlie's left ankle to the ground with his knee and pushes across charlies torso, knocking him off balance. charlie, finding himself on his side, reaches his left arm over johnsons left arm and then under his leg. this allows him to spin and pull himself out from under his opponent. johnson tries to spin along with charlie but he cant keep up and charlie manages to get on top of johnson.

"TWO POINTS BLUE!" bellows the ref.

charlie grabs johnons right ankle and left elbow and charges forward. johnson plants his right hand in front of him, stopping charlies move. johnson widens his legs to prevent charlie from using them against him. charlie shifts his weight to get better position but as he does so, johnson uses the same move on charlie and spins on top of him again.

"two points red!" announces the ref.

BEEP!

charlie looks to the score board to see that he is ahead: seven to four. but charlie has to stay ahead for the next round to win, some thing he wasnt able to do last year. and now it is johnsons turn to choose his starting position.

"he'll probably go bottom, like i did," thought charlie. "he has to make up points. starting on bottom is the quickest way to make up points."

"red, choose your position,"says the referee, anxious to get on to the next match.

johnson replies by raising both hands parallel to each other.

"both up?" question charlie to himself. "he must be up to something. or maybe he is trying to make a point--a message. i have to get the first take down so he cant do it."

the wrestlers step on to their respective lines in the middle of the mat and the ref blows the whistle. johnson jumps forward and wraps his arms around charlie's torso and places his head sideways in charlies chest and then just stands there. instinctually, charlie locks his arms around johnsons head and right arm--a "head and arm" throw. as charlie begins to twist his body for the throw, he glances to his coach who is waving his arms and shaking his head.

"STOP, CHARLIE!" screams coach moore. "break away! break away!" but all his wisdom and foresight could not stop charlie.

as charlie crossed his legs to finish setting up the move, he felt johnson finally react. forcefully johnson stands up straight and pops his hips in to charlie, causing him to go into the air. it was a ploy--a set up. johnson wanted charlie to try to throw him. it was the only way for him to set up his move. charlie felt his legs start to raise as his head went backwards. he was rotating upside down. he could do nothing as he watched his legs point to the ceiling and then as the ceiling drifted away.

charlie blacked out.