Perfection

The wind chimes reminded me of her house. When she died two years ago, I lost my last remaining connection to my family's past. The reminder was sweet.

The fire burned brightly, long into the night. The logs of crisped birch snapped repeatedly when it melted into ash as the flames shot high into the night sky. The constant crackling of the logs evolved into a rhythm - a constantly evolving beat, with surprising crescendos of destruction reverberating over us when each log changed its shape under the intense heat of the fire. The aroma of the musky wood, billowing every which way, filled our lungs with a warmth in stark contrast to the strong and pungent aroma we took in throughout the night. The altered state of bliss created was a release. For so long, I was afraid to release myself this way for fear it would take me back to when it controlled me. The aroma freed us from our senses - but in reality, it freed our senses from us. No longer prisoners to our perspective - our problems and worries - the open air rejuvenated our spirit. We have never been so free.

Overlooking a chasm of wood, we could see over the water and beyond the natural contrast of the land meeting up with it on the other side. Despite the darkness, we could see the reflection of natural light on the still pool. We looked up, following the embers that rose gently into the night sky, it felt like we were drifting up with them - letting the wind and the air currents pull them in every which direction before they burnt themselves out. As they extinguished, the stars just beyond them spun into a celestial maelstrom - pulling their light into an eye - at the centre - which was the spindle around which the light turned. The dizzying affect of the stars wrapping themselves into a whirlpool of light made it seem like we were looking at the face of G-d, and all of Her creations. They are all so beautiful. The light pulled us closer to her. The light - amidst the darkness here on earth.

The incessant laughter of friends broke the silence, but as the echoes faded, the silence returned. Every loon call was clear. Each breath of wind would make the chimes sing - and remind me of her again. Her chimes were so simple - and yet brought her so much joy. Their song was so sweet - the perfect balance of faint unnatural ringing imposed against the natural backdrop of the wild. It was so unnatural that it fit right in.

I waited to exhale. Drawing breath through my nose, the rich crispness of the deep forest gave me life. I could smell the evergreens, I could smell the dew, and I could see the temperature when I couldn't hold my breath in any longer. The surroundings changed our perspective. The surroundings set us free.

The Sorrow of Legends - Chapter Four

I have been an alcoholic for as long as I can remember. Every night, I would put on a tuxedo, and I would live the lavish lifestyle that was expected of an international playboy. I lived a hard, unfulfilled, lonely life. Men would dream to be me, just for a day. If they only knew.

I became a playboy because I didn't know what else to do with myself. I would work all day, and I would party all night. I've spent my life with with princesses, models, other industrialists- we live above the fray. From an early age I was never without anything I craved. Except actual guenuine human contact.

And then, at a comparatively young age, I had a heart attack. My doctors, the best in the world, told me that I would never be able to live a normal life again. I would be attached to a machine forever in order to survive. I would not be able to drink again- my heart was that weak. The same organ that was incapable of love was now incapable of life. How ironic.

I took it upon myself to use my mind to prove them wrong. I invented better equipment then they had at their hospital. It wasn't my drive to live that forced my scientific mind to use technology to solve my problem. It was my addiction to alcohol. I am not going to pretend the patents that came with it were not going to make me rich again. Throw it on the pile.

I wanted to live so I could continue to drink. If it wasn't for the drink, I wouldn't even be in this mess. If it wasn't for my addiction, I would still be the charming and affable playboy I have been for as long as I can remember. Except, I wouldn't be the same, now would I.

Now, years later, I am a slave to technology. I cannot survive without my chest plate the only thing that keeps my heart beating. The trade off is that with enough raw power, I can do anything. I can level mountains, I can destroy buildings. I can fly at the speed of sound. I am a walking war machine. I rely on my armour to survive, but I have used it to become so much more than everyone else around me.

But, every night, I come home and drink alone. I crave my next sip from the second I put the glass down. I have no close friends- only employees, clients and the empty socialites a billionaire is expected to be involved with in polite society. I make weapons of destruction and sell them. I am a purveyor of death by proxy. How many lives have been lost at the end of the barrels I have created? Polite society indeed.

It just drives me back to the bottle. A stark reminder of the evil that men do - I profit from it.

And every so often, someone points one of my guns at me. I disarm them, destroy the weapon, and know that tomorrow, they will order some more.

Some Hero. When I am not saving the world, I am helping them destroy each other.

When I am not saving the world, I am destroying myself. The same armour that I use to save the world, is also saving me.

The Sorrow of Legends - Chapter Three

I don't even remember when I started to see what he was doing.

When it started, I would awake in tattered clothes with a pounding headache, with no clue where I was. I would be placed in the impossible position of trying to explain whomever came across me that I was not a threat, and that I didn't have the power to control him.

At the very beginning I had no clue what was even going on, feeling that I was just a horrible sleep walker, and told others that they were imagining his existence. I was hounded by the military to help them stop him, and at first, I didn't even know what "him" was.

Now, I can see every thing that he does. Trapped inside, there is nothing I can do but pray that he stops. Uncontrollable rage, wanton destruction, mindless carnage- and I have no choice but to watch. I can't even close our eyes.

For some time I have been trying to will him to stop. With every lunge, I have pulled with all my might the other way. I have screamed from inside, but the only sound I can hear are his fists smashing against whatever happens to be in their way.

The army is only doing their job- they stand in his way to try to stop him. It is fruitless, and only enrages him further. I still have nightmares about the first one I saw him kill. The soldier was firing his weapon right at our eyes, I could see the bullets bouncing off of us. He strode towards the boy, he was so young, and the behemoth effortlessly snapped his spine. He tossed his lifeless body aside, glaring at the other soldiers - warning them that their fate would be the same. Their bravery was admirable, if not stupid, in the face of an unstoppable juggernaut.

There have been so many since that I have lost count. I am trapped inside the embodiment of death, with no choice but to watch. My sanity has been lost to the unimaginable body count. It is in the thousands.

It is my fault. I was responsible for the explosion that transformed us. I was a fool to dabble in such maniacal pursuits. I was a greater fool to let the army exploit me. And my reward? A life repeatedly witnessing unspeakable horrors from the best seat in the house.

Knowing what I know now, I have to assume responsibility for his actions. I am no longer willfully blind to everything that he does. I am the only one who bears the remorse for his actions- he feels nothing but rage, and the angrier he gets, the more he destroys. And I know it is going to happen again. I have a responsibility to his next victim.

I have tried to hide in the desert. I have tried to keep him away from anything of value to destroy. He lives on adrenaline, and when it exhausts him, or when he needs fuel, I take over again. Eating in the desert is a challenge, but the sacrifice is worth it - there is much death here, but none cause by our hands. Until they find us again. The so called heroes that think they can help me, us. He casts them aside. Those who have tried to use his strength to satiate their desperate greed for power have been thwarted. Everyone who comes into contact with him is hurt - or their loved ones are when they find out what happened.

I have tried to surrender. You can imagine how well that worked out. By surrendering, I only created more victims.

I tried to have myself sedated. That worked until the nightmares took over.

I have worked to find a cure, and for a brief time, I was in control. I could harness his strength and use it for, well, good. I used science to control the reaction that transformed us. I failed when the same science couldn't undo my madness, and when I lost control, he came back stronger and more resilient to run amok. It will never stop- unless I stop him now.

When I am gone, he will die with me. It is my soul trapped deep down inside of him. Without me, he will cease to exist. Many have thought that I have been lost inside forever- and they are right. I have lost all of the people close to me - either through his rage, or by electing to protect them. If I stay away, he can't hurt them, or destroy what is left of my legacy.

There is only one solution - my death. But how can I kill myself without him emerging? When I am threatened, he takes over. When I am injured, he takes over. When I get mad, I lose control, and he returns.

I am trapped, and powerless to do anything but watch. I grieve for the loss of life that I have caused. Betty, I'm so sorry.

Sorrow of Legends - Chapter 2

I have worn a mask for sixty years.

I have brandished the flag of freedom for as long as I can remember.

But today I plan to draw the line at what I have seen my country become and step out from behind this mask and truly lead my people.

When I was 18, I volunteered for a special assignment. By chemical process, I was transformed from a weakling into a robust symbol of freedom and democracy. With my new body, I led my friends into the breach to their deaths against a horrible enemy who threatened our way of life. They would have followed me into hell if I asked them to. They stood behind me and my shield.

After defeating the greatest evil the world has ever known, I stood up to defend freedom on America's shores. I have led a group of heroes and I have worked alone - but I have always been a symbol of what we believe in. Freedom, liberty and helping to spread that to the four corners of the globe. I have defeated fascists, communists, terrorists in the name of American Freedom.

When the President ordered me to lead my men into this war on terror, I didn't hesitate. Over time, our mission changed, and as each day passes, the international support we had at the outset is turning away. With what we know now, we used a horrific attack against our way of life to justify a ridiculous invasion for interests that were disparate from our national vision. What began as spreading freedom and democracy has turned into to avenging a failed invasion years ago with the lives of men and women who were barely old enough to do much more than look up to me at the time. As a direct result of our actions in the wake of the greatest tragedy our people have endured, we are less safe in our own homes today.

Today, its time to take off my mask, and let everyone who believes in me actually know what they are believing in. When they see me remove my mask, the people will know that I am more than just the symbol behind our ideals- but I am a man who can help to forge our vision of those ideals and refocus our people - galvanizing it, and returning it to the great society it was always meant to be.

My name is Steve Rogers, and I am running for President. I want you to take the trust you, your parents, and our nation has had in me as a symbol and invest it as me as a man. I think my dedication to our nation speaks for itself.

The Passion of People - When Harry got dumped by Sally

If this wasn't so sad, it would be hilarious. The Waiter only adds to it.

This isn't a story about Harry and Sally, who were in love where the operative word is "were." This is a story about circumstances. It is true.

Harry has been in love before, and one would assume that Sally had been to. Harry only knew that he still loved Sally. Sally has moved on. Sally still loves Harry, but not in the same way. Harry loves Sally as a close friend, but is still trying to hold on to the love they once shared- though they shared it at different intensity levels at different times.

There is a lot of history that is important to this story, but will really drag it down. The bottom line is that the relationship ended as a result of miscommunication. Repeated, serious, miscommunication. When Sally was fighting for Harry, Harry forgot Paris. When Harry was fighting for Sally, she had signed into AOL and had mail. Neither of them were Sleepless in Seattle at the same time.

They have since spent their time apart fighting over what went wrong. It wasn't any one's fault - it was circumstance.

Sally told Harry that she would have married him. Harry told sally if only he had been told how special he was she would have gotten the invitation. They passed each other in time- the only thing we can give to someone which can't be taken back, and the only thing we can't find more of.

Months after their love affair ended, they spent a day together, and as they had experienced for months, they had another difficult conversation. It seemed that every conversation got more and more difficult. Unintentionally, they hurt each other repeatedly. Unintentionally, these conversations led to the shedding of tears. Sometimes because they didn't understand - sometimes because Harry refused to. They still wanted to spend time with each other, though their purposes were, frankly, disparate. Neither could say that over meant forever. Both of them knew, deep down, that it would be.

Harry and Sally weren't perfect, but what fun was "perfect" anyway? Both of them were trying hard to be a friend to the other. It wasn't easy, but they were trying. It hurt, Harry said, for a reason because the people you love the most are the ones who are hurt the most. They are also the ones who are the happiest for you.

After a long day when smiles were had and tears were shed, Harry and Sally had dinner. They went to a new restaurant and tried to enjoy each other's company. This was despite mere moments earlier, they were holding each other in a pained frustration at how time had unravelled their passion - driving them apart. As you can imagine, when something is on the mind, it doesn't always go away so easily. Eventually, the facts came up again.

Earlier in the day, Harry had told Sally that had things been clearer things would have been different and that she would have been given his family ring. He had given it to someone else in the past, but got it back when it it didn't work out. Sally told Harry that had he asked, she would have been his forever. What does time really mean anyway?

For the same reason that songs make us weepy, there was something about the very direct way it was articulated to Harry that pinched a nerve. His eyes erupted in tears, streaming down his cheeks uncontrollably, at times slipping into his wine. Sally didn't understand what she had said - wasn't it something she had said before?

Losing his ability to hold his grief in, he got up, looking for somewhere to hide. We wasn't in his city, he wasn't sure of where he was going, he just had to get up and get away. Tears streaming down his face, he just had to gain some composure.

And, like a bad Tom Hanks/Billy Crystal/Meg Ryan movie he turned right into the last person who had worn his family ring. Prophetic doesn't even begin to describe it. It had been years since they had last seen each other, years since she had left him for another. They met in an awkward embrace reserved only for Life Insurance commercials and truly chance meetings where your instincts take over before you have time to realize "Holy fucking shit, what the fuck did I do to deserve this second dagger?"

"How are you," she asked.

"MPHM, UMBABLE" was the best Harry could muster under the circumstances. When you bump into your old flames, you worry about your hair, your dress, your breath. You don't tend to have to worry about the waterworks streaming down from your face.

"It is great to see you! What is new?" she asks, seemingly oblivious to the uncomfortable nature of the situation. She never was all that sharp.

Like any child who is trying to talk while stifling back tears, the words come out jumbled and remarkably slowly.

"ah, ah, ah-I am fiiiiiiiiiine," was the best Harry could do. His head spun, uncontrollably. The entire restaurant was like a ship adrift with a hole in its ballast.

"So, what are you up to?" she asked, obviously referring to Harry's career - which was difficult to explain at the best of times to someone who didn't know anything about what he did. Pulling himself together quickly, straightening his pants, wiping the tears away, and having a pleasant, yet strained conversation for a few minutes. He politely said hello to her new boyfriend and his parents, and then slowly moved back to his table where Sally patiently sat- interested, but not trying to pry.

Harry volunteered the information he could. He sat across from the woman he loved, and explained to her that mere moments after reminding him that she would have worn his ring proudly, mere metres away stood the last woman who had ever worn it. Now, neither of them wanted it.

If it wasn't so sad, it would be hilarious. The rush of emotions that swirled within Harry were not directed at either Sally or his former fiancee. They just came out - and where pointed at Sally because she happened to be there.

Sorrow of Legends - Chapter One

I was sent away for my protection, and I became their protector.

They can be a great people. I was sent to them to protect them from their own. I can walk among them as an equal, hiding as one of them- watching over their mundane existence like a Sheppard. They do not always know where I am, but they know that I am there.

I am celebrated for the ordinary feats that my strength allows me to do. They are only ordinary to me, in many cases, extra-ordinary. My greatest accomplishments go unheralded, though I am not interested in their praise. I am, in most respects, just a man with the same insecurities that many of them have about their daily lives. They just take on different forms. I desire love. I desire companionship. I desire to be human, and I now understand that being human is not just about being part of a species. I do not believe they are weak or feeble. I understand that the very things that make them vulnerable have nothing to do with their strength – and I am just as susceptible to them.

I stand over the bed of the only person left who knows my secret. She is dying a slow and painful death. A death I cannot stop, but a death which I have caused. She is dying of cancer.

For other reasons, I am, and always will be, dangerous to those around me, but she is dying because she cared for me. The cancer that grows inside of her is a result of being close to me. I have saved her life before, I have saved the planet before, and yet I am powerless to help her. Her physician wondered what could have caused this in an otherwise healthy woman- but lamented to us that cancer is unlike any other disease on earth. Sometimes, the cell growth just happens. Different people react differently to their environments – some people stave off otherwise carcinogenic variables. Environmental or genetic- there isn’t always an explanation, is what he said to my dying friend.

I know better. I am made strong by the very sun which gives their planet life. My body absorbs its radiation and increases my strength. I have known this for as long as I have been aware of my strength. The power coursing through me does not stay inside me. Like the source of my power, my body radiates that energy outwardly – and that energy does not have the same effect on others as it has on me. Prolonged exposure to any significant power source, unprotected, will lead to the inevitable result.

The very power that drew her close to me will be the cause of her death. My body is bursting with the sun’s radiation. My desire to spend time with her is what is killing her. My need to be close to her, her need to be held by me, our short time together has hastened our eternity apart.

This is the last time I will let myself grow close to anyone of them. The sorrow I have for her impending death is matched only by the knowledge that I will never grow old with them. While loving her, I have watched her gracefully blossom from a young flashy reporter to a middle aged woman. My appearance has not changed in years. I am trapped in a temporal immorality. I do not age. Anyone else I will ever draw close to will eventually die, leaving me alone. Her death will be premature, but was inevitable. My sorrow only arrived ahead of schedule – because of me.

For this to change, only I can elect to change the course of my history. Only I can make the decision to escape the trap of mortality. I can do so by leaving. I can escape the sun that gives me my strength. I can journey away, a cowardly act to avoid an endless loneliness on this earth. A selfish act to ease my pain.

I can’t leave them yet. I am their protector, and it is protecting me.