I Wanna Be Important

I don’t want to be Nobody anymore….

I don’t think there is someone, anyone, anywhere for that matter not just here or there, but everywhere that doesn’t want to be important. Important is subjective, is different for everybody. For me it’s important that you have values you actually stand for and represent, since it’s the thing I will judge you for. Maybe for others it’s important that you have stability, that can be seen through money, a job, some status, control or their type of loving, but it is usually the same way for all them. They want to be special for someone, something for whatever reason. Their reason for why they want what they want or how much of it they want, it depends. They might want more, they might want less, but they all want something to make them feel worthy. And is not worthy in the sense that they have something to prove, it’s their worth to their small world. That’s why we all have this wish that we need to be important, we need to be our main character in our own lives. But are we? Do we? Do you feel important in your life? This whole importance thing is disgusting if you think about it. 

I do not know what feeling you have, but I don’t think there is worth in fighting for something that isn’t worthy of you. But you can’t control this world, nor can you force the world to be yours, no matter your money, influence or power. And I don’t care what you think, honestly. You could be reading this thinking what the fuck is this weirdo talking about, and all I could think about is how fucking awesome I am, because I just learned something new and listened to some fucking awesome music. Thus you are not important to me no matter what you do. Your importance in regard to my well being or my world does not matter whatever impact you might get to have over it. Because in the end I am just as fucking awesome as I want to be and the fact that you will never get to fucking know how awesome I am, is your loss, whether I am addressing you or a society as a whole, it doesn’t even matter. There’s still a tomorrow. So whose importance is important if your importance in my world might be none? So why would we care for fucking losers that want to control our lives, what we say, who we love legally and consensually, or how fucking awesome and important we could be. And who the fuck am I to tell you what you could become? I wish everyone could be fucking awesome, intelligent, loving and anyone that wants to become that, they have my support. But that’s not why we are here, it’s about me…

I want to be important. So read the rest. Now, is the frustration I feel something most people feel as well? Yes, probably. But I wanna be important. I want to believe that I too can be important? Why? I have my own life, my own world, my own desires, ideas, wishes, dreams, wills, wants, things that are very important to me. And while I will always give whatever support I can to people around, I am not an infinite pool of effort, love, patience and care. I burnout as much as anyone. I breakdown just like you do. Now, don’t deny that. But, I am finite, so is my life. I am broken glass, as much as I am an indestructible unit of spite, love, care and my own brand of weirdness. And I deserve to be important. No, I demand I am important. Not against your will, but against my own fear of succeeding and then having to take even more responsibilities and then I have to deal with people and my social battery is leaking since I haven’t healed properly yet from all my trauma, because people keep fucking me up whether they want it or not, so I can’t stand a lot of people as I used to. So I want to be important, and I want my voice to be heard, I want to be loved, cared for as I care for others. But I just don’t want to be perceived, unless I am told beforehand or I feel like I can add something of value to the discussion or idea. Again, I don’t need to be important to stand in the way of people that know how to do things and have the drive to do it. I just need to be important that they listen if I have something important to say, or you know, support me when I need it. It’s not much, right? Do you want the same? Or are you so fucking insecure you need to control everyone and have them do your bidding like a little spoiled toddler? I don’t care… 

Why the hell is it so difficult?

Wear My Memories

When they said your body will remember everything you’ve done, they weren’t lying…

I’ve been dealing with anxiety this whole year, from panic attacks, to social anxiety, to many other problems and complications that come with such a mess. Yet one of the things I have learned, and you will learn too, if you are ever to venture into learning about anxiety, is that it affects your body. To what degree depends on you. You are the anxiety, you are the response to everything that is happening around you. You are whatever you want to be, including an anxiety riddled mess that can spiral into mania, depression, self-sabotage, and much more. But, I am not saying that as a blame, not on me, not on you, yet that remains the truth. We are out anxieties, we are our insecurities, we are our pain, our sorrows, our failures and our victories. How we deal with them is the problem. No one is teaching us from a young age what the right way to deal with them is. And that’s because we’ve come from broken people and we’ve developed into broken people. And we will create broken people, as we continue. And you can see that we are broken people in the way the world is, and looks. The world reflects our inner worth, yes, there is beauty, but there’s just as much broken ugliness that we don’t know how to deal with and we lash out. So when we’re all broken glass, when we’re all trying to fix ourselves up. And the world is the same, we can’t help but feel anxious, afraid, lonely, one against the world. When in reality, it’s the world against itself, it’s me against myself, it’s only me against someone else if you make it so. And then you create more broken pieces.

But, I’ve been healing. That is a fact. I know that I get scared if something hurts, I say it scared me. Because that’s what it did. I know when I get too fired up that I’m not anxious, I’m passionate, I’m way too into something that I care about, because that’s passion, right? I know that when something hurts, it’s because I’ve been sitting like a shrimp and not moving enough. I am getting better at figuring myself out. But what I also started to do is something I forgot to do, yet I used to do a lot. Talk to myself. I used to go to school six thirty in the morning because that’s when my parents had to go to work and they just couldn’t leave a child alone. And I used to talk to myself in the darkness. I used to be so comfortable with myself, and I love to dig deep and figure myself out. Yet I forgot how to do that. And once that happened, a lot of things started to take roots. I wish it was all good, but it wasn’t. Because when you don’t have someone to talk to, when you have no one to save you, there is only you, yourself and that’s it. And I forgot myself, I forgot to save myself. I fought to learn how to save others, how to make the world a better place, because if I did something, maybe then they would be nicer to me. But I was wrong. There is no saving others, if you can’t save yourself. Much like there isn’t loving others, if you can’t love yourself honestly. And let me tell you, since then, there has been one revelation after the next.

So, I’ve been healing, getting better, talking to myself. And when you get better, your body starts to ache. As years of anxiety, panic, flight or fight keeps your adrenaline pumping, your cortisol pumping, your teeth clenched, your shoulders up, your muscles tight. So when you let go, things start to feel numb, tingly, unreal, like something is wrong. But getting here wasn’t easy. It’s been a year since I’ve had that big first panic attack in years. And since then, I’ve had a rough summer, yet a nice autumn. With more happy days, with less anxious days. But with revelations, about emotional abuse, and how much of it I’ve been receiving. About the ways I’ve been traumatized, by who I’ve been traumatized. Some of those people I used to call close friends, now we do not talk anymore. Some of those are family, and they still won’t understand what they are doing wrong. Because they haven’t realized that it is wrong, what they are doing. Because when you’re surrounded by broken pieces, you never realize you need to get whole, you think you need to get sharper to cut better. But I’ve been getting better at dealing with all that.

So when your body feels tight, when your jaw is clenched, when you keep clenching your fists, tightening your abs, STOP. Listen to your body. You are making it carry something heavy that is not yours to wear on your back. That trauma they’ve brought onto you is not yours to hold onto. That pressure they’ve put on you to satisfy their needs and standards is not yours to bear. That toxicity, is not your fault. Their insecurities are not your fault, nor are they your responsibility. So when you wear your memories, be careful, once upon a twilight, take a peek, take a gander. You never know what you have been wearing upon your shoulders. What you weight you have been taking on. Look around, see who has been putting that weight on your shoulders. Who has been putting pressure and whose insecurities are you shouldering. Because you might have some dead weight around on your back and around your neck. As most pieces can have access and the tools needed to save themselves, but we do not nor can we not make that in their stead. They need to used the help, if given or available. Otherwise they will drag you to their level and they will put their whole weight on you.

But, I’ve been healing, I’ve been getting better. I do not know how much more trauma I have in me to deal with. But, with times, I guess I’ll find out. I’ve been through too much not to share this with the world. As it was the world that placed these things on me, and it is to the world that I am giving them back. The only things I wish to keep on my back, is a long jacket, which I can wear, of all my good memories, friends, family and successes. I have punished myself plenty for my past mistakes, you can read about them as I am literally an open book, been so for the past fifteen years. I came to peace with my mistakes and took an ownership over them. But, if you have been reading through 2024 and early, you can see that I have yet to make proper piece with the world and most its people. I do not know if I’ll ever be at peace with what has been happening or will be happening. But as long as I have myself to talk to. No one is going to stop me.

I am still healing…

Hope you liked this post.

A Note of Death An Unofficially Unlicensed Short Story

Hey, Ry. Is that what we should call you now? Ry? asks G. Yes. And I shall call you G from now on. I find it rather fascinating and though a bit confusing, yet fascinating, says Ry. Why do I get a letter but you get two now? asks G. R sounds boring, Ry sounds more mysterious. I like it more, says Ry. Say, Ry, have you ever thought of diversifying the places you visit? asks G. What do you mean? asks Ry. Have you tried the old continents? asks G. Hmm… Never really thought of it much. Used to have a lot of fun there a hundred years ago or so. Brilliant idea, G. I shall bring you a golden apple or maybe one of those green ones, says Ry as he takes off. Did you really have to do that? You know what may be waiting for him, says De. Oh look at you, two letter brothers holding out for each other, says G as he too takes his leave. You know you can simply not play the game if you do not like it, G, says De.

Some months later…

Tsk, he says as he leaves. With a frown on his face he looks down at the ground and in front of him a booklet seems to appear. The black cover, the text on it seems unreal. Pick it up, a voice commands him. As he leans down he sees the weird text and picks it up. Opening the notebook he sees a bunch of rules written down. He starts to flip through the book as he sees torn pages, names, Japanese writing he does not understand, some ripped pages. Well, what do you think? asks Ry as he stands in front of him. He looks up to see those wicked eyes, those long arms, the weird wings, and a smile to not be forgotten. Is any of this real or did I finally lose it? he asks. Why aren’t you freaked out? Usually people do not find my particular style appealing, says Ry. I don’t have an answer for you that won’t sound depressing, so let’s just say I’ve seen some stuff, he responds. So, what does a failed… Everything… Have in mind with that notebook? I have been watching you for a while clicking your tongue at this and that. You are rather fascinating. Smart enough to know when someone or something is wrong, but not smart enough to know how to use it to gain the power you seek, says Ry. So you are giving me a chance at wish fulfillment with this, is what you are saying, he responds. Clever, knew you’d understand. Yes, that is exactly what I am giving you. Now give me a show, I can see the gears turning inside that pretty little head of yours. It’s all I can ask for. Well, that and apples, says Ry. We’ve got a deal, he says as he rips an empty page from the notebook and stuffs it in his pocket.

I have some questions, he says to Ry. Can’t you simply use it and find out exactly what it does? asks Ry. Do you want a show or a whimper? he retorted. Fine, but you better give me something great in return, says Ry. Does anyone else have this type of notebook right now, right here on this planet? he asks. Not that I know off. Right now it’s only me, says Ry. You know, I heard about this notebook. It was all over the news here too when things went down in Japan. That must have been a fun time for you, he says. Mmm, yes. So it was, says Ry. I have a question about you. What are you? A god of death? You look different from the gods I read about. And what are you powers? Can you see my lifespan? Can you kill me? Or do you just observe? he asks. Yes, you could call me that. And let’s just say I can do lots of interesting things, responds Ry. So, I’ll take all that as a yes. Good, let’s get you some apples and let me buy some stuff to test what writing is, he says. Aren’t you ever going to ask me for my name? asks Ry. Why? I’ll make history, you’ll have your show and besides, you’ll be gone soon either way, he responds. So quite a grand plan you must be having to be done with this so soon, says Ry. Well, if what I think works, then yeah. It’ll be short, but it’ll be a blast, he says smirking.

Here are your apples. Bought a few kilos, hope they’ll keep you satiated for a while, he says as he sits down at his desk. What’s that weird glossy paper for? asks Ry. You see, with this paper you can write on it, put it over another piece of paper and it will nicely copy everything from one to the other, he explains. Oh, now that’s impressive, says Ry. You see, when things were happening over there I always thought he was inefficient. Of course you are going to get caught with pinpoint precision if your scope is that shallow. But then again, he was a teenager. Maybe if he had time to mature a little his scope would’ve broaden. That’s why I promised you a big show with a loud bang, but with a quick sendoff, he explains. Well consider me intrigued, says Ry as he bites an apple in half. He takes a pen, writes down a name and presses then the paper to the notebook. Oh, an actor. That’s very brave of you as a first death to note down, says Ry. Well, I have to see if it works quickly, he responds as he opens Twitter. Interesting strategy. Glad to have picked you, says Ry. That’s high praise. Thank you, he responds as the name of the person pops up and is trending a few minutes later. Bingo! Now onto the next test, he says with pride.

What’s that? asks Ry. A printer. But more specifically an ink printer. So, let’s see if this works, he says as he prints on that thin paper and then applies it to the notebook. This is what you meant to test what writing is, says Ry. Exactly. And if this works, we’re going to be doing this tonight and when the sun will shine, tomorrow morning, you’ll probably be leaving me with a changed world, he responds. As he finishes that sentence that name starts to trend as well. Perfect, he says. So what now? asks Ry. Now I am going to get a VPN, setup a virtual machine, start an excel sheet. And then write the name of every politician, every criminal that is known right now to have caused death or any harm to people and that is pushing and marginalizing large groups of people. But, they are going to be randomized on each type of this page and then put down in this notebook. And when the sun rises, we’ll have thousands of criminals dead. Not that I’ll know what will happen afterwards. Not that I’ll know how the world will react to it all. Not that I know if this will change anything for the better. But sure as hell this will send a message out there and some form of wicked justice will prevail for now, he says. You know, you could do this over and over again, if you wished so, says Ry. No, once is enough. I just might kill the wrong person or dig myself into a hole. I don’t want that. I want to see what effect this will do, if any. If there are other dictators to rise out of this situation, if the people do not take charge of this opportunity, then there is truly no hope for us as a species, he says.

After a long night, the skies slowly start to lighten up. So, are you ready god of death? he asks with a bunch of freshly printed papers ready to press them down in the notebook. As ready as I’ll ever be, says Ry with a devilish smile on his face. Well, after testing how many names on a page will work, I think this will be smooth sailing, he says while laughing after turning on the TV on a news channel to see the chaos unfold in real time with Twitter also opened on his monitor. Slowly but surely the news starts to come out that dictators, government officials, police officers, prime-ministers, oligarchs, corrupt news show presenters and every type of other criminal starts dying. One after another, the news cycle and the internet can’t keep track of the many deaths that are occurring. Whether it’s accidents or suicides, it seems chaos is completely taking over the world. Ry starts laughing. Incredible. You are truly incredible. So much death. So much confusion. Oh to think someone could pull all of this off, says Ry enthusiastically. Well, here you go, he says after scribbling on the piece of paper he ripped out from the notebook. What? asks Ry. I promised you a show. You got a show. Here’s your notebook. I have to burn this papers together with my laptop and printer. Enjoy the chaos, he says. Ry remains baffled at everything that is happening. As he throws the papers into the fire, together with it is the paper from the notebook which states that he should die 15 minutes before his lifespan is to end in sleep.

Hope you liked this longer short story based on a popular story for which I do not have the rights to, which is why I changed names and never really named anyone directly from that series. But Shueisha, if you wanna do a collab on this, I’d love it. Because I can easily expand this story in a manga format, if you can borrow me some talent that can draw. I wanted to write this because I had this idea while thinking what I’d do, if I had that coveted notebook and it seemed like a cool idea that remains very open ended in a way.

JACK - ANTHOLOGY OF A YOUNG WIZARD 18: Misery's Run

Let me go! Cristina says in an exasperated manner to the man. You are mine! he replies. Then marry me, you coward! Or is it that you only thirst for what you can’t have? asks Cristina. Aye, there’s nothing but your fucking flower between these legs that you can offer to this wretched world, replies the man. Look at you, fine fellow, sinning. May you burn in hell! says Cristina. I’ll gladly make you wait for me there, the man says followed by a thud. My legs are frozen in place, I can’t move. Fuck! I hear the man speak. Silence poisons the air around me as a million thoughts run through my head. Fuck, I tell myself as I start running in the opposite direction of where the two were. Why? Why did it have to happen? I ask myself. The more I run, the more familiar the setting becomes. I can’t understand this, I tell myself as I begin to slow down. What is it with this place and murders? I ask myself as I stop running. The clouded sky covers the moon turning the streets dark. I once more create flame in the darkness to see where I am. Trying to find my way towards Stephen’s Inn. A thought asking me why did I run popped into my head. The answer to which, I had none. Yet a jolt of fear struck my heart as I slowly made my way towards the inn. After an hour of wandering, I can finally see the inn and as my whole heart feels a little bit lighter.

I open the door to see Arcus, alone, drinking. Evening, I say. Arcus jolts up then turns with a defeated look on his face towards me. What do you want? he asks. To go sleep, I respond. Why here? Couldn’t you go anywhere else? he drunkenly asks. I do not know any other place to sleep, I respond. Why don’t ya sleep outside with the dogs… Or better… In the river with them fishes… says Arcus. That’d be uncomfortable, I snarkily respond. Yer right, probably, responds Arcus. Can I go now? I ask. Why does Stephen not listen? If he listened, he would have been doing so much better. But he always have to do whatever he feels is right, he stumbles in his words. You mean ha… I try to correct him before getting interrupted. Did you know he had a wife? No. You did not know that. How could you. You devilish wizard. Or maybe you knew. Of course you knew with yer magic and thoughts and stuff. Then I guess you knew she died. Childbirth. It was simply monstrous. The baby came out hanged and blue faced as she died. I pitied Stephen, such a tragedy… says Arcus. I am sorry to hear that, I respond. Of course yer sorry. Anyone would be. Even the devil’s spawn can’t shed a tear to such tragedy. Let me tell you something wizard. Whatever you came here looking for, good luck finding it. But pray that it doesn’t find you first… An unsettling silence sets after what Arcus just said. Here… Take these keys. Do whatever. See you never, says Arcus as he throws me the keys and leaves. I hate today, I tell myself before throwing myself in the bed and falling asleep instantly.

A much needed sleep, a much needed silent morning with the sweet chirping of birds gracing me with their voice. I either slept through people going to wherever they need going in the morning, or I woke up too early for noise to be a problem yet, I tell myself as I look at the bright blue sky. As I get up from my bed, I go to get dressed and get down for breakfast. Expecting Stephen to greet me with a big smile I go down the stairs yet there’s no one. It is dead quiet. Stephen? I shout. No answer. Maybe he is out and about, yet I do not see Arcus either around, I tell myself. Should I wait? Or should I find another place to eat? I ask myself. I should eat and leave him the money for the food and for the night after, I convince myself as my stomach feels like its chewing me out already. As I find myself some bread, some meats and a bit of cheese, another intrusive thought goes through my head asking if what I am doing is wrong. I take a kettle, add some water to it and start boiling it for a cup of tea. But at the same time another thought asks me if it is really wrong if I am paying for what I am consuming. I take my plate, set it on the table and sit in silence. As I sit, I can’t help but look at the light shinning through the window. I take a deep breath and start eating. A shadow appears before the window as the kettle starts whistling. As I raise my head, I see the Sheriff. This can’t be happening…

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JACK - ANTHOLOGY OF A YOUNG WIZARD 17: Lost in Death and Misery

If he confessed to his crimes, then we have nothing else to do but to take him to Newgate, says the Sheriff. I have not confessed to anything! I won’t go! You can’t take me from this church! Thomas protests. We can, and we will, says the Sheriff. Not if father here will grant me sanctuary, says Thomas. Father? asks the Sheriff. Please, I will do anything to repent and please, please, please, Thomas begs. I have a bad feeling about this. Fine, says the Priest. Thomas starts laughing. I was not done. You have only a day. You must pray, fast and do a confessional. If you do not or will not. I will hand you over to the Sheriff, says the Priest. I will, I will, I will, says Thomas on his knees. Get me a watchman or two to stay guard for a day here. He must not leave this place, says the Sheriff. Now I really do have a bad feeling about all of this, I slip my tongue as the Sheriff gave the order. I almost forgot. Please send word to that mob of people to inform them of the reality of the situation, says the Sheriff. Thank you, I tell the Sheriff. How do you always find yourself in these situations? asks the Sheriff. I don’t know. I just wanted to eat some lunch and go get my stuff from the inn. I never expected any of this to happen, I explain. You need to stop hanging out with a cutpurse and find better people to be around, says the Sheriff. Please reference me to someone that is a better people, I respond.

You asked for me? asks a Watchman. Yes, there will be another one coming to change with you around morning. Or do you wish to come in tomorrow morning since you have worked already? asks the Sheriff. I would prefer it that way, yes, says the Watchman. Okay, good. That’s settled than, see you tomorrow around this time of the day, says the Sheriff. The watchman leaves. So, Wizard, I will have to think of someone. Next time we meet, I might recommend you someone. And assuming on your good luck, we might just meet very soon, says the Sheriff. Does that mean that I may leave? I ask. Yes. I assume you’ll be at Stephen’s inn, right? asks the Sheriff. Yes, that is where I will reside, at least for now, I explain as I take my leave. Good, I’ll know where to look for you, says the Sheriff. Let’s hope you won’t need to find me soon enough, I whisper as I close the door to the church. As I move down the street, I enter the intersection where the people were gathered previously. A coroner and a couple of watchman pick the body of the dead man up in order to load in in a carriage and take it away. As I make a left, leaving that horrid place behind, I start to ponder about everything that has happened until now. If there are lessons to be learned here, I do not really know what they are. I mostly feel a victim of fate. Imprisoned, shamed, death stitched tot he back of my eyes, and no mere break from horror, I speak to myself as I get lost.

I don’t know how I did not get lost until now. Everything looks almost the same as everything else, unless it’s a tavern, church or someone important with an imposing house. It all starts to feel like a maze. I can’t even see where the river flows through. Or maybe I am too far from the riverside? I ask as I aimlessly roam the streets trying to find my way towards Stephen’s Inn. I should have paid more attention to my surroundings instead of letting myself get way into my own head, I tell myself as more and more noise is made around me. I raise my head to look around. I see people leaving as they chat about their day and the sun sets. As I take a few more steps forward, a giant building graces itself in the last few rays of sunlight. The murmur of the people now gone, I am left alone in this little square of London looking at this building simply wondering what it is. I hear a man and a woman chat at the corner of the building. Cristina, let us spend the night together. I have lodgings for the night, I hear the man say. I could not. It is Sunday. I am still young. I do not want to go against my mother’s wishes and ruin this. So you either marry me or I am leaving, she says. Come on, dear. There’s no need for that, yet, says the man. Then we can’t spend the night, she says. Where do you think you are going? he asks. Home. Now let my arm be or I will make a hue, she says. You whore! You wench! You dare sleep with others, but not with me? he says. Let me be! she insists. I’ll let you rot in hell, says the man…

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Hood: A Dead Man Walking - The Pilot Program 2022

A gunshot is echoing in the warehouse. Silence… Then a scream of a man followed by even more gunshots. Where is he? Don’t let him escape! screams a burly man. You must be mad to get yourself in this warehouse alone with us, says a tall man with a beard and a gun in his hand. The lights go out, a man starts screaming. The two start shooting. They see a shadow. The tall man follows the shadow with his gun shooting at him. Without realizing, the tall man shoots the burly man. As the burly man falls, from behind him jumps the man in the hood onto the tall man, throwing him on the ground and disarming him. Who are you? asks the tall man. They say justice is… Blind… But I’m not justice. I’m vengeance… With bloody fists, a heavy breath and a dozen man downed, the man in the hood said as he walked away from the warehouse with police sirens getting closer and closer. Log 045. The warehouse by the docks was a bust. Only drugs and small arms, nothing related to the location of Death’s Head. The info we got last week was correct, yet it was not what I was looking for. Note to self, find better informants, says the hooded man as he closes his audio log and gets on his bike. Years in the fucking FBI and all I could get was this lousy informant and a warehouse full of drugs when that mad man is killing thousands and gaining power by the minute, the hooded man thinks to himself as he drives home.

Morning, Craig. What happened to your hands? asks John. Well, you know sparring, training and I blew off some steam, says Craig. Looks like you blew out a fuse not just some steam, don’t you ever take a break? asks John as he leans on the desk. This is me taking a break, says Craig jokingly. By the way, have you heard about the news? It seems a lunatic in a hood went in Death’s Head’s warehouse, beat up like fifteen guys, then called the police on the whole operation. James and Chuck are down there right now taking on this case, says John. Man in a hood, huh? says Craig as he touches his bruised knuckles. Craig, I have something for you, says Arthur. This is my cue to leave, says John. Here, says Arthur as he hands me a folder. Craig opens the folder and starts looking through it. What am I supposed to do with all this information? asks Craig. That’s exactly your job now. We must find a way to find the fuckers that planted those bombs in the subway stations. You have there locations, firms, names, addresses and we need to get a lead on this. Any lead, honestly, says Arthur. What the rest of the squad doing? asks Craig. They’re still interviewing people from the scenes. Workers, people in the vicinity, cameras, forums, the usual, says Arthur. Why me? asks Craig. You always had a broader perspective and we might need that, if we’re to find who’s behind this, says Arthur. Understood. Thank you and I’ll get on it, says Craig.

Ten thousand dead and many more injured as the major New York subway stations were targeted with bombs by a terrorist attack. Black smoke from the underground is pouring into the surface as police try to evacuate the zone and first responders prepare to go down. We go down to our live correspondent… Craig… Craig… John pulls on Craig as he thinks back on what happened in early February. What? Sorry, I was thinking, says Craig. Can you believe it? James let those fuckers down at the docks go. It seems they had contracts that stated that they shouldn’t go inside the warehouse unless it was an emergency, so technically they weren’t involved in the drugs that were handled there, says John. That sounds like fucking bullshit to me, says Craig. And guess who I have to go after? The hood, says John. What? asks Craig as he touches his knuckles. Yeah, it seems they deem the hood worse than literal fucking henchmen for a drug and arms dealer, says John. Motherfucker… says Craig as he gets up from his desk and leaves. Where are you going? asks John. I have something to do, says Craig. As Craig gets to the parking lot, he opens the compartment of his bike, takes out the bloody hood, changes into it and leaves. James, you corrupt piece of fucking shit. You wanna throw down? I’ll be there to take you and your whole operation down by force, says Hood.

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JACK - ANTHOLOGY OF A YOUNG WIZARD 16: Vengeance, Forgiveness and All

You unholy things should have all died back then. But you were lucky that cowards hid you in their homes and had you lost so that you can blend in with people again. Hear my name, I Thomas of Bristol will have you and all your kind dead, says Thomas. A bit too dramatic for my taste when it comes to a confession. But not that I care much as long as that priest there listened to what you had to say, I tell Thomas. What? A Priest? Where? asks Thomas. You do realize this is a church, right? I ask. Sadly, I am no priest. I am a coroner. John of Sherbourne is my name and yes, I did hear the confession, says John. Well, this feels a bit underwhelming, I say. Stay away from me! I am warning you! says Thomas. You do not have the courage. If you kill me, they’ll know it was you who killed that poor man, I tell Thomas. But if I kill him, then they’ll know that it was you, says Thomas. Why? If it was you who I tried to kill, yet I killed him, what sense would that make? Why wouldn’t I just kill the both of you? I ask. He is right. No one is going to believe you as long as I live or you live, says John. Then I’ll kill myself, says Thomas. Good, you are making this easier for us, says John. What? asks Thomas bewildered. As I said, as long as either of us live, you will be the guilty one, John explains. What did I do? What did I do to deserve this? asks Thomas. You killed an innocent man, I respond. Give yourself up, says John. What about my mission? What about his demise? Why did this go so badly? asks Thomas. There is no justice in killing innocent people. And there is no mission that warrants such actions, says John.

I do not know what drove you to do this, not that it matters much anymore considering what you have done. But what happened long ago, has nothing to do with me or any others like me. Nor has it anything to do with you at this point. Unless you make it so it has everything to do with you by repeating the same actions of those that came before you. We just want to live and I do not imagine that I did anything to harm you or anyone you know, I tell Thomas. This has nothing to do with who you are, but what you are. You control the unholy, the satanic, the unnatural, the unhuman. And those like you should not exist and never should have existed in the first place. You and your kind have brought nothing but misfortune everywhere you went. Look at you… How many people have you seen die in London since you arrived? Seven? Eight? Ten? asks Thomas. Three dead, one wounded and I heard a story of a beautiful woman dying. And all the dead were from the will of wicked people like you, I respond. How dare you? asks Thomas. How dare I? How dare you to insult me and those my kind? How dare you tell anyone that they should not exist? That is something only God can decide. It is not on you or me to decide that. And I can say with certainty that I see no god before me, I respond. Thomas starts running towards me, trips and falls. John, the Coroner, comes and holds him down. Get off me! screams Thomas. John ties his hands behind his back. I will go after the Sheriff, says John. Please and thank you, I responds.

This won’t be the end of it, says Thomas. This is an end of this part of your life. It is up to you to change whatever comes after your punishment. And here I thought you were a friend, I tell Thomas as I sit down on a bench. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, says Thomas. A priest arrives at the church and I start explaining to him the situation. He is a liar, a wizard, a satanic spawn of the devil! I simply came here to seek sanctuary, says Thomas. But if he is lying, why would you need sanctuary? asks the Priest. Because he has them under his spell. He has the Coroner, the Sheriff, the Judge, them all under his spell. And they are coming for me! says Thomas exasperatedly. In God I trust that whatever the world is, whatever the people decide, it is for them to be judged by God in the afterlife. It is not my duty, nor is it in my power to judge. If you want sanctuary, we can give you sanctuary, but whether you face your punishment now or in the afterlife, it is up to you. Because sanctuary here, does not guarantee you entrance into the heavenly kingdom. To repent for your sins or to seek forgiveness from God are two different things from getting shelter by the church, explains the Priest. The Coroner enters the church together with the Sheriff. I may have not spoken soon enough, says the Sheriff. I will have my revenge, Thomas says looking directly into my eyes.

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JACK - ANTHOLOGY OF A YOUNG WIZARD 15: Almighty, All Powerful, All Helpless

Do you know why I hate magic? asks the Bald man as he points at me with his knife. Why do you hate magic? I ask. Because if it is God’s will, as you said, he is doing a horrible job at being God, says the Bald man as he turns towards the sleeping man. What do you mean? I ask. I mean that… He says as he goes to stab the sleeping man in the belly… He is cruel… Vain… Useless… He says with each stab. Unable to speak, I stand there looking at his bloody hand and knife. See? He was a cutpursue, a man without home, without hope, without food or anything to his name. John MIilard… A… Fucking… Coward… says the Bald man as he kicks the body. Yet God could not save him and neither did you, continued the Bald man. What have you done? I ask. I see you finally found some words, says the Bald man. What’s wrong with you? I ask. Why would you care? He is but a poor man, nobody loved him. He was just a poor man, from a poor family. I just spared him his life from this monstrosity, says the Bald man. What have you done? I ask as I make a giant fire ball above my head. The Bald man starts making a hue and screaming for help. Help, help! This wizard killed a man and now is threatening to burn me alive! he shouts. What have you done? I ask getting closer and closer to him. Help! This wizard has lost it! Someone, please! shouts the Bald man. No one is going to believe you, I tell the Bald man as I extinguish the fire ball. We’ll see about that, he says looking intensely at me before shoving the knife into his right eye.

Slowly people gathered around us to see the theatrics of the Bald man screaming and shouting as I stand there with no idea of what to do. What happened? asks an older man. He stabbed that poor cutpursue and then when I confronted him, he came to stab me in the eye, the Bald man responds. If I had stabbed you both, why would I be standing here? I ask stupidly. Because you’re a wicked wizard sent by the devil himself, says the Bald man. I am no such thing! I exclaim. But yes you are, I hear a familiar voice say in a happy tone. Oh no, I sigh. I was right! I was right from the beginning! The wizard is a killer! Everywhere you go, someone died. You are a curse bearer and a killer! You killed a woman with a ripper when you first got here, and now you killed another man! exclaims Richard the Watchman. The crowd gets more and more volatile as Richard keeps spouting his nonsense. Burn the Wizard! Burn the Wizard! the Bald man starts shouting. Shut up! I in turn shout at him. The Bald man cowers behind some people. Is it true? someone asks. You a wizard? another asks. You the devil? another asks. Why you killed them? and another ask. God will smite you, another says. You will be trialed, says Richard the Watchman as he pulls on me. I look around to find the Bald man only to see him gone. Where’s the Bald man? I ask. You wanna kill him for good? asks someone. We won’t let you, added someone else. No! He’s the killer! He stabbed that poor man! I try to explain it. Tell that to the jury, judge and sheriff, says Richard the Watchman as he pulls on my wrist.

I don’t think I can argue my way out of this one, I think to myself as I yank my hand out of Richard’s moist grip. Lumino! I shout as I put my left hand over my eyes and blind everyone around me with a burst of light. What is happening? asks someone. I can’t see anything, another man bemoans as the crowd grows more confused as they are blinded by the light. Levitum, I whisper as I start slowly getting off the ground and above the crowd. I quickly start looking around trying spot the Bald man. A blood splatter I see leading away from the crowd of people who are starting to see again. That’s the problem with being a wizard and not being a full fledged magician, light magic doesn’t last that much, I tell myself as I follow the blood trail. Where is he? someone asks. Find him, I hear Richard shouting. He must have escaped to hell, I hear someone else explain making me almost burst into laughter as I turn the corner to a church. Church of the Friars of St. Mary of Mount Camel, long name for such a church, I whisper as I read the sign on the door as I open it. How? How are you here? asks the Bald man. I simply followed you, I tell him. But how did you escape them? he asks bewildered. Magic, I smugly respond. You won’t get away with this, he says. I wouldn’t worry about that, I tell him. What? he asks. Neither of us are leaving here until you confess to your sins in front of everyone, I tell him as I close the door to the church. I will kill you, the Bald man says angrily.

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JACK - ANTHOLOGY OF A YOUNG WIZARD 14: Fate, Death and Godliness

As de Glenham sat there with a bloddy face on the bench, the crowd had calmed down as they restrained with some rope le Taverner. From the crowd, one went after the Sheriff, one went after a priest, one after a jury of good men and one after a doctor. From the chatter it seemed that there were quite a few of de Glenham’s colleagues in law. The rest started looking for de Oxen, only to realize he had squeezed in through the crowd and left. My thoughts started running wild as I could not fathom what just happened in front of my eyes, again. Bringer of death, I hear a familiar voice whisper. What? I ask as I turn around to see a bald head with a grin on his face. It seems wherever you go, death follows, lad, says the Bald man. What are you doing here? I ask. Aye, well, I was bout to visit you at the Newgate, yet the Sheriff told me you were free. And when I heard a commotion I knew it was bound to take me to you, lad, says the Bald man. I start to look around behind him. Who are you looking for? The fat man? I wouldn’t worry. He was busy stuffing his face, says the Bald man laughing as he goes to sit right across from me. So why does death follow you? asks the Bald man. Death is everywhere. People die every minute. That doesn’t mean that death is following me, I try to explain. And how would you know that? asks the Bald man. It is simple, everything that was born, dies. Trees, bees, humans, fish, you and me, I tell the Bald man. But somehow, lad, wherever you stepped foot death followed, says the Bald man. Not everywhere, I rebuttal telling him about the Stephen’s Inn as the Sheriff enters the tavern.

I should have known you two are here witnessing this as well, says the Sheriff as he looks at me and the Bald man. I can’t help but let my head down as he looks directly at me. As the people explain to him the situation, the Doctor makes his way in to de Glenham. It seems I might have been wrong, lad. He might just survive this, says the Bald man. For how long? I ask as I watch the Doctor wrap some bandages around his forehead. Can’t you heal him, since you’re a wizard? asks the Bald man. Not unless you have the power of gods. Otherwise you’d have to give your own flesh, skin and blood of your own to help heal him. Or if there’s a good Samaritan that would do that instead, but otherwise no, I explain. What about those freshly dead? asks the Bald man. You’re quite imaginative, but no. It would just get infected and the wound would get worse. When the genocide of everything magical broke out, master told me that they tried healing magic and experimented. The only way to help is willingly give up what the other needs. We can’t take it, we can’t force it, I tell the Bald man. Quite inconvenient, I’d say, says the Bald man. Magic protects against magic. We can’t harm the man that slashed his forehead to heal the wounded, even if we wanted to and it was the right thing to do, I tell him. This magic of yours seems to be quite useless, says the Bald man. I give you that if you put a fish to climb a tree, it will do a terrible job. But have it swim, and he’ll do just what needs to be done, I tell the Bald man. I don’t care much for your riddles, lad, he says as he turns towards the crowd.

Take him to Newgate, says the Sheriff to a couple of watchmen that arrived to the tavern. Well glad to see this get solved this quickly and no particular drama come out of it, I tell the Bald man. Somehow that feels like you’ve sealed your own deal there, lad, says the Bald man. Please try and stay out of trouble, the Sheriff says looking at me. I don’t know how, apparently, I respond. You better stop talking before you find yourself in your own grave, says the Bald man. I don’t want no one young like you be burnt at stake, says the Sheriff as he leaves. I would not want that either, I respond. So what are you going to do next? asks the Bald man. Pay and leave. I do feel quite tired after everything that happened, I explain as I get up. As I pay the Lady I tell her how sorry I am for what perspired here and wish her calmer days. Out the door I turn to go towards Stephen’s Inn, but following me is the Bald man. Do you have anymore questions for me? Or why are you following me? I ask. We simply walk in the same direction, says the Bald man. I forgot to ask you. What is your name? I ask the Bald man. Names matter not these days. It is what you do with yourself that counts. A man with nothing to his name went to do a job, and a servant to a duke slashed a man’s forehead. A wizard brings death everywhere he goes, and a man simply follows to see the destruction. If the wizard perishes, so shall it be. If the man perishes whilst with the wizard, then so shall it be. Yet there is always the uncertainty of what lays before us, says the Bald man as we reach a man sleeping by a house. Quite poetic, I respond. Well, let’s see what the future holds for the wizard and the man, says the Bald man as he pulls out a knife.

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JACK - ANTHOLOGY OF A YOUNG WIZARD 13: God, Death and Justice

Where is that prune? asks the man in the doorway. The Lady comes to meet with him. What do you two want with him? she asks. We have to talk and settle something. My friend will wait here so nothing will get a rise in here, he explains as he takes another step inside the tavern. Please let this be something minor, I think as I look to see other people’s reactions. God throw some brains or stone from heaven, hopefully something hits, she says as she turns to call for Wolfel. Lady, how many times have I got to tell you that there can be no people coming in to get lodging until after lunch. It’s still lunch. Let me do my business, screams Wolfel from somewhere in the back. There is someone looking for you, screams the Lady back. No wonder William sent us to talk to him. He seems thicker in the head, says the man. He has to wait then. I ain’t done here, says Wolfel. I am gonna go drag him out by his feet, says the man outside. Keep your wits about. William sent us to talk some sense into him not just kill him over the matter, says the man inside. Well, I think death may be upon him, I think as I leave my spoon down. What did he do now? asks the Lady. Oh no, don’t ask him that, I think as try to turn my back to the situation. He got in some quarrel with William de Cornwell a few nights ago. The details I know not, but I know William wants him to apologize, says the man. You speak nicely for someone with no home, says the Lady. It’s all God’s words I am using, says the man. Which church you going to? she asks. The church at Greyfriars, I usually go when William is doing service, explains the man. Great, if he finds out I'm a wizard, they’ll lynch me too, I think as I listen to their conversation.

Wolfel do not make these men wait in vein here, the Lady shouts. I am going to be there in a bit. Let a man have some dignity, he shouts back. The apprentice John now seems perturbed by the noise and puts down his book. And your friend? The same as you, a church goer? asks the Lady. Indeed, we both visit the same church, it is how we met. He is a fine lad, always able to land a hand when in need. Of course being the servant of William de Sandal does help, now doesn’t it, William de Taverner? asks the man as he chuckles. And what is your name, if you do not mine me asking, says the woman. John de Oxon, nice to meet you, says John. Good heavens thank you he gave out their names, let us hope their smart enough not to do something tragically stupid now, I think as don’t know what to do with myself. How did you know that I had no home? asks John de Oxon. In my line of work, you see all kind of people. And I have seen your kind before. There are signs that tell, she says. Who are you? asks Wolfel. Look whose face decided to be respectful and show his face, says the Lady as she leaves. So you are Jonh Wolfel, as I John myself I am disappointed in you, says John de Oxon. What do you want disappointed John? asks Wolfel. I want you to apologize, says de Oxon. Apologize for what? Taking a fat shit? asks Wolfel. You are disgusting. That is not what I am talking to you. It’s what you did and said to William de Cornwell, explains de Oxon. And who are you to him? asks Wolfel. I was sent here to get your sense together and do the right thing, apologize, says de Oxon. If I have sinned to someone God may judge me when I die, says Wolfel. Or you can just apologize, says de Oxon.

Ain’t words going through his head. So maybe I should make a new hole for the words to get into his head, says William de Taverner. Who are you? And what’s your problem? asks Wolfel. My problem is your thick birch skull if you do not come to apologize, says de Taverner as he draws his sword. Now hold your horses, says John de Glemham. Why’s there always someone trying to be a hero, I think as I lay my head in the palm of my hands. John Wolfel starts to scream and shout as he is held in place by de Oxon. Stop screaming or I will give you something to scream about, says de Taverner. As I said, calm down you two, says John. I am calm, respond both de Oxen and de Taverner. I am being attack! cries out Wolfel. Will you shut up! screams de Taverner in Wolfel’s face. People gather at the entrance of the tavern looking in curiously. I hate this town, I whisper as I look in horror at the four. Help! Help! Wolfel keeps on screaming. Just apologize! insists de Oxen. Let him and he’ll apologize, says John de Glemham as he puts his hand on de Oxen. You stay out of this, says de Taverner. Don’t do something you might regret, says de Glemham. All you shut up! I want him to come apologize and that’s the end of it, says de Oxen. That’s not how you get anyone to apologize, says de Glemham. You get back if you know what is good for you, says de Taverner as he swings his sword at de Glemham. John Wolfel faints as de Oxen let’s go of him. What have you done, you maniac! I told you not to bring that with you, says de Oxen. With a bloody face and a gash on his forehead John de Glemham staggers slowly back as he falls onto a bench. The crowd that gathered outside the door barges in jumping and holding de Taverner down. Why does this feel like a deja-vu? I ask myself as I see de Oxen flee the tavern.

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