Pseudo Vita

ACT I: The Birth of a Curse

Seldom have I wondered of the good anymore, only to know the bad. I have been plagued by the unfortunate events that have taken the place of good deeds. I was staring at the wall of blank ambiguity, and gave into what it fed. Never was I the young man I aspired to be, forever lost without what I had.

It was the eve of Thanksgiving when it all began. In a sanatorium, for those to be born. Mother was giving birth to a small frail baby boy. He was fighting to stay inside, to develop a little bit more. The doctors rushed him out, stating he may not live anymore. For Father prepared to fight this statement, grasping every doctor in sight. Mother’s eyes ran full of tears in a frantic fright. “Only two more weeks!” she cried and cried. The doctors didn’t want to hear anymore, as they slowly pulled the baby boy out. Father had collapsed on the floor. Silence filled the busy room, as if stuck in an abysmal daze. The doctor slapped the boy’s bottom; no sound, he wasn’t amazed. They performed CPR; resuscitation even failed. Mother, now aware of the situation, screamed bloody hell. She leapt to her baby boy. Loud booms came from my now awaked Father as he roared thunderous, deathly curses. The baby boy shrieked to life from the bellows of his parents’ voices. Mother gave a grim look at the doctors, hair wild and unruly. Father thundered with a terrifying howl as he brought down more deadly curses. They sprinted out the doorway, to freedom as they knew it. Down the corridor of the transient white walls. Mother and Father flew past the security, whose attempt to capture them had faltered. I.V.’s dangling from Mother, as if they where angel clothes drenched in red wine. Her gown was soaked in my baby blood dripping a trail. Father picked her up to gain more speed as she kissed his cheek, like all was well. The guard’s futile attempt to lock the doors only angered Father. He busted through them mightily, never to let them be a hinder. They arrived in the cold, vast, streets of San Junipero heart, where they scurried off to a land where none have sought.

ACT II: Mysterious Disappearance

I’ve always marveled at my parents’ unique gifts, if only to have their abilities for my own. I can’t walk, run, jump, hop or skip. I just sit, sit, and sit. In a mesmerized state as I gaze at my majestic Mother and powerful Father. When will I develop such amazing talents of my own? Will I be able to glide through the skies or swim the oceans? Or maybe I can race across deserts just to stop at some oasis? Skip through prairies and the lowlands, dash through the marshes and swamps. Hop over hills and jump through the mountain ranges. Wrestle with bears and drink from the Ganges. I’d sing with mother and watch the sun rise while we sow the seeds of morning dew.

I dreamt the dreams of any normal person, but the only person I know is I. Is this normal to be abnormal without ever being around normal? Father used to pick me up, I’d see the twin towers from across the land. I was higher than the arch, and we flew faster than jets. We swam past the sharks and the humpbacks. I thought we were limitless, boundless, and free. Until, Father had left, Mother and me. I screamed for the first time. I was only nine. Mother cries filled the earth that day, the skies didn’t shine. Dark grey tinted the earth for seven long gloomy days, as mother prepared our grievance in the misty haze. I felt only pain. However this new pain became present. Mother calls it hurt, because pain had been taken. Weeping and in a heap of tears, I asked Mother why. She replied sorrowfully, “It was his time to die.” Die was a word that encumbered the reality of Father’s departure. Father was taken and gone. Mother’s all I had. That day I learned those new terms, which always seemed to follow me wherever I go.

ACT III: Mother, where are you...

I sat in the bright sunlit room, didn’t know what to do. Curiosity slowly, steadily grew; I wondered if this was the last. I scooted my bottom from my earthly chair. Trying my best to get up from the wooden chair that was made from pines. I called upon Mother’s voice, through the thick grape vines. Still air didn’t vibrate; I didn’t hear Mothers’ symphonious voice. Distortion of a wicked chuckle was replacing her beautiful chords.

“Mother is that you? What happened to your melodious sound?” I panicked with a terrified cry. I searched around for her pleasant aurora. Creeping slowly, the floor is now cold. My heart is pounding as I whisper her name, “Mother….Mother….”

I go towards her garden where

Only to be answered with a sinister reply.

“Your Mother is off on a vacation my boy, it's just you and I. Don’t be afraid my child, I don’t tell any lies.” His voice was unbalanced, not smooth or soft. Then words snapped the vines with a malicious wrath.

“I fear you not evil being, you are just make believe! Why don’t you show yourself if you truly say what you mean.” I backed up to a corner in my room and to my surprise I found a magic broom. Old runes and characters covered its shaft. It glowed, faint lavender as I wildly stare.

“My boy, dear son, it is I, your father. Why don’t you come out where we can finally be together?” I distrusted, not blinded by his malice. I picked up the broom as my chalice. I prepared myself for a ferocious battle. I prayed to the heavens, “Help me smite this deceiving evil!”

“Son do you disobey me? Come to your father by our beloved giving tree. I have come back from the dead, you see, to be reunited with thee.” I knew these where false words he spoke. My Mother was gone, too; it broke my heart. I shed my final tears and charged into battle, to find a blue room and a golden hearth and no mantle.

“My boy, do you think I’m foolish, I know. You carry a weapon that can hurt me so. Why not unhand your deadly comrade and come to your father with open hands?”

“You’re not my father; I know this to be true! My Father wouldn’t be a coward, not at all like you! What did you do to my Mother?!” I screamed. I yearned for her essence, her heartbeat and song. “If you don’t tell me, you deceitful creature, I’ll make sure you suffer a terrible fate!” I never felt this before. It was fiery and strong. It was brave and courageous. I felt like my Father felt the day he carried me and Mother away from the doctors.

“Ah! I see. You want the truth? I am your father who looks just like you! With dainty arms, a skinny torso and wobbly legs that can’t hold my body no longer. How dare you speak of your father so inadequately! I am the one who planted those memories so precisely.” I winced a bit at those sharp unloving words. Could he speak the truth about how my life was? Did I not have such powerful parents? Was I not born in such a tremendous, holy way” I combed through the memories to bring up what the wicked man spoke. To only find no hope in the truth I wrote. He revealed himself, to my dismay; he looked just as he said. His arms were frail, his torso weak, his legs looked as though they were about to break.

“My lord, in heaven, why have you punished me?”

“Your lord was makeshift. Your faith was fabricated. I raised you my boy, to be a sorry, pitiful, tragedy. You may want to believe I was a lie. But the lie has only covered you in a veil, to keep you alive. Stand up my child, look at me contently. I am the God, the Father, and the Mother you yearn for dearly.” As he spoke these words, I heard their voices instead of his. The Demon, my creator, was all I heard. As he crept towards me with a vicious stare. I was frozen in place, wanting to leave. But my legs kept me there like a stone on a leaf.

“This isn’t true, this must me a dream! I have to wake up, I must scream!”

“Dear son, please don’t bother. Wait till you wake up in the morning.”