Chapter
1 – Going back to Thorny Roots
After about five years on my own, I’m
going back to live with my dad. So much for getting a good job after college.
They had to drop me because of financial issues. I’ve been working a job that
doesn’t pay me very well for the place I’ve been living in and have had to sell
off most of my possessions to get by. Now, I have to live with my dad. He lives
in a small house that’s only a single floor house with an even smaller bedroom
prepared for me. This isn’t even the house I grew up in. Because my dad doesn’t
work a particularly good job, he had to move to this small house that he can afford.
He primarily plays at bars, retirement homes, and restaurants while working a
part-time job on the side.
He’s a real relaxed sort of guy
that doesn’t mind living in poverty while also going to church and generously giving.
My mother was the complete opposite with a stressful job that gave her a lot of
money, but it ended up costing her life. While I followed in my mother’s
footsteps, my older brother followed my father’s who’s singing and making music
in his own little band with his wife with kids at home. I have to admit that I want
a life like my brother’s and father’s, but it’s probably too late for that now.
All I can do now is work a low paying job while supporting my dad until the day
I die.
I’ve just arrived at my dad’s house.
Even though it’s a small place, it’s well kept and clean like the houses around
it. Right now, my dad is out playing at a restaurant. He told me I could watch
him play, but I’d rather move my things in first and adjust to my new house.
Yup. This is definitely a house decorated by my dad. There are pictures and statues
of Jesus, Mary, and the saints everywhere with pictures of his favorite bands
and artists mixed in. He was always a child in the way he viewed life. It wasn’t
anything that really bothered anyone, but my mom and I always wished he would grow
up in certain ways. Bills and money were never a concern for him. Instead, he
only concerned himself with our happiness and God no matter the cost. He was definitely
the part of our family that kept us all together emotionally and spiritually while
mom kept us together financially.
I can’t help but remember the past
when being in this house especially with how my new room is decorated. My dad
got everything I left behind and decorated the room with them. Part of me feels
embarrassed while the other one feels nostalgic. Dad still thinks I’m a kid.
Well, I guess all parents never really see their children as fully grown up. My
old piano set is near the window, toys, games, comics, and other books are
neatly stacked on the shelves, and a box of my drawings and stories is on my
bed.
On my piano, I find a picture that I
drew of my brother, dad, mom, and I in a band with my brother playing the
drums, dad playing his guitar, mom singing, and me playing the piano. I’m not
sure if this is my dad asking me to play music with him or just something that
he’d think I’d be happy to remember. Either way, I put it on the side then begin
to look through my other drawings and stories. These were from a time when I wanted
to be a writer or rather an author. I didn’t like the actual process of writing
and drawing pictures for my stories that much if that makes sense. I liked
telling stories through my work. That was what I liked doing. Since writing
books isn’t that profitable, especially if I self-publish them, I decided not to
write or publish any of this. This was just a hobby and nothing more than a conversation
piece with family and friends.
These ideas were just ridiculous. They
definitely came from the mind of a child who was trying to deal with life. These
characters were drawn with an overarching theme of hearts and a cutesy, but horror look
to them always drew people to them. I’m surprised my parents didn’t see the
obvious themes and message I was trying to convey. It’s weird reading through my the written stories and comics. My old work appears to be criticizing me for my
actions and how I disregarded my God-given talents.
Hm. I don’t remember making some of
these. They appear to be staring at me with messages aimed at me. What’s this?
A space for you? What? Hey! The pages are sucking me into it! What’s going on?!
Ah! Where am I now? I’m in a black and white space lying down on the space that
was apparently made for me. A familiar animal appears to me as if drawn on the
page. It’s the creature of imagination and dreams. It has the head of an
elephant, ears of a mouse, and body of a cat.
“Hello. It’s been a while since we
last saw each other,” the creature says in a feminine voice mixed with a masculine
one.
“What’s going on here? How did I get
sucked into the pages of my old work?”
“How did your readers get sucked
into the work? It’s strangeness, the way it spoke to them, and your unique
touch sucked them in and because of that, you were sucked in as well.”
“That’s not a good answer for how I
was literally sucked into it.”
“Why does it matter now? What
matters is that you’re here. I am your guide, your favorite animal that you’ve
drawn.”
“Are you? I remember drawing a lot
of other animals that I liked.”
“No, I’m your favorite. Period.”
“Okay. Guide me to the exit then. I
want to get out of here.”
“You will in time, but the exit is
passed all of your stories.”
“Fine. I have an idea of what to
expect.”
“Do you now? Let’s hope you know
how to deal with your own work.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I walk forward and the page turns
on me. It goes through me and I appear in a small modern town with a castle at
the center. This is the main town that the story happens in with a castle decorated with hearts is
the home of the Queen of Hearts.
Because of how general this picture
looks with nothing going on, I ask, “What story is this supposed to be?”
“You’ll see soon.”
Huh? What’s going on with my head? Two
characters climb out of it; one being the hero with a heart for a brain and a
brain for a heart and a monster with a large heard and mouth and a small body.
The monster speaks with the mouths that
are in the place of its eyes, “You aren’t going to stop me this time, ‘hero’!”
“I have to stop you for justice and
for peace!”
Both fight each other with the
monster using his tongue to fight the hero. The skills of the hero allow him to
tie up the monster with his own tongue and restrain him.
“You have to keep that tongue of
yours under control.”
Someone comes out of one of the
buildings thinking it’s safe only to get their heart stolen by the monster’s
mouth eye.
“You let him take my heart! Get it
back!” the heartless citizen says.
The hero reaches into the monster
and takes out the stolen heart. He then seals the monster’s other mouths before
giving back the stolen heart to the citizen.
With the heart back in its place,
the citizen says, “I’m sorry I was so rude to you.”
“Don’t worry about it!”
He then salutes the citizen before
heading off. I follow him only to trip over something in the alleyway. Is…are
these dead bodies? These look to be the dead bodies of the hero. They look
either starved to death or beaten up. I see one coming down the end of the
alley. He looks through the garbage cans but finds nothing but papers and throws
them aside. Past the point of starving, he starts biting his hands. I pick up
the papers to see that they’re rejected resumes. I guess no one hires heroes
even in this place.
Huh? The hero starving hero has a
withered heart in his head and a withered brain. His mouth is now full of sharp
teeth, his eyes are crazed, and his hands are sharp bone-like claws. He must’ve
been eating his own hands. As I slowly back away, I accidentally walk into a
trash can. Hearing this noise, the starving hero smiles then starts running towards
me
“Hey, stay away from me!” I say as I
try running away only to suddenly find myself at a dead end.
More starving heroes find their way
to me and corner me with a hungry look in their eyes.
“You starved us!”
“You left us behind!”
“We never got to live.”
“Feed us!”
“Feed us!”
“Feed us!”
“Feed us!”
“Get away from me! Stop!”
My mind blanks as they reach me. Before
I know it, I hear the sound of a pencil drawing something. After that, I open my
eyes to see myself back in the town as if nothing happened with the creature of
imagination and dreams beside me looking at me.
“It wasn’t quite you remembered
writing, was it?”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“But it is what you imagined. This is
still your work and the product of your mind. Do you want to see more?”
“I’m guessing I don’t have a
choice.”
“Kind of, no.”
I must admit that I want to know
what happened anyway. What happened to my work? The creature said that this is
a product of my mind. Did something happen to me to make my work this way? What’s
wrong with me?
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