macblaze.ca

7:29
Beginnings are never easy. They aren’t pretty or charming or sweet. Beginnings are messy, chaotic and always treading on the razor fine edge of disastrous.

We like to think that that’s not true, to fool ourselves by rewriting our own histories to make the starting points glorious or beautiful or simply charming. But that’s what’s easy about beginnings: rewriting them. Looking back and saying in a sappy little voice “Oh my goodness, that was so easy, I have no idea why I didn’t do that earlier…” And it’s completely natural. No woman would bear another child if that beginning was really that fraught, no love affairs would spring up if the insecurities and fear were the lasting impression.

We never forget, but we remember our beginnings differently. And we see others fits and starts through the black lenses of a welders helmet: protected from the pain and soul-burning glare and thus able to judge the merit and quality of the new thing without scars.

But not all beginnings can be rewritten. Not all scars can be whisked away or masked by the medicinal properties of time. Sometimes the pain never goes away. Sometimes it is impossible to forget.

7:28
I remember the rain, the sound of it hitting the ground, the feel of it running down the back of my neck. I remember thinking that this was the bottom. I had hit the bottom. There was nothing or no one fucking lower. I remember the cold, and the icy wind, and the look on his face.

And that’s how I knew I was lost; because I wasn’t afraid. I was so utterly lost that I couldn’t even feel fear. And I knew is held be afraid. Anyone…any thing, would have been afraid of lie behind the sneer. But I wasn’t. I was just lost.

7:26

No, he hadn’t asked for it, but now that it was there, he might as well use it. Using things was really what Jakob did best.

First things first. It needs a name: a label. Hard to dish out orders if no one is listening. And you can’t guarantee they’ll be listening unless you take matters into your own hands. So. A name, a label, a title as it were. Several options twisted silently across Jakob’s tongue until one dripped off the tip. Shithead. Short, to the point, and useful as a reminder. Haid for public consumption; something to twist the blade and yet offer some small bit of hope.

Hope was also something Jacob understood. He had never encountered it; in fact, hope mostly felt it a mythological creature always spoken of in hushed tones, but never quite there, never quite real. But hope was the whip that drove his will over what obstacles the universe tried to throw in his face. Hope was the dream that could be used, crushed and then used again. Hope was an unending source of power to those who used it and an unquenchable source of weakness and espalier to those who would be used by it.

And hope is what would serve best to break this new beast of burden. A thorn bridle with velvet ties: unending pain with just enough softness to inspire an imaginary surcease.

Haid. It was done.

7:25

The Past
Jakob had not asked for an heir. He neither wanted nor could tolerate children. He asked for no son, desired no ward; he wanted no children, no students, no lover, no companion, no wife, no sister or brother, no parents, friends, cousins relatives of any sort. Jakob desired nothing from anyone. Jakob wanted to be left alone, and in the normal course of events that was a situation he was well capable of creating without aid or interference from the greater world.

For Jakob knew beyond any doubt that he was alone in a hostile place and nothing, not anyone, existed with any ability to change that. Not even Jakob himself could twist reality to accomplish that particular miracle.

And Jakob was a master at twisting reality. Because Jacob knew beyond any doubt he was alone, it followed that his reality must therefore subsume any other. And if it didn’t, well, there were things that could be done if one was determined or ruthless enough. The moon and stars revolved around Jakob’s whims, and he dedicated his unending struggle to keeping it so. And he always — always — won.

But in one small, tiny instance, in one unexpected and unforeseen turn, Jakob was forced to wrestle his reality to accommodate … a change. Jakob had not asked for an heir and he desired no student; but Jakob was going to make sure that this … anomaly … would be turned to the greater good of Jakob.

Because that’s the only thing that truly was real in the world that Jakob endured.