Part I
Slipping through the cracks of wind, I am blown to a new dimension; now windless, now barren — an almost solitary location in the middle of night. Then I see him— a hooded figure. With swift precision he strikes a blow aiming for my chest; I am hit, or so I believe, the spear snaps and I buckle over…
I awake to bleeding shock and acid tears, tears eroding layers of happiness from my face, digging furrows… no trenches. Trenches of my falling, pits of abysmal anguish a foreboding of my death.
He stood there with a taunting grin. A grin that seemed to shout; get up! Get up my boy! I wine and pine, wallowing in the mud of my blood. Come and fight me you fool. Get up! You need to grow up! It is time for you to be a man! A real man! He said
Crawling to my knees, I reach out to his legs for support in getting up. He jabs at my hands with the broken stick. Jabs that are more painful than the initial blow. I recoil in pain. You’re nothing! A useless pig! Get up you scum bag! You filthy son-of- a-…
I strike out. I lash at him with my head! I strike out with my heart, my cracking heart, my broken hands and my furrowed face. I strike out at the ghost of a monk standing in front of me. I strike so hard it shocks me, it shocks us. He falls. The hood falls back for the revelation. I see the face of the ghost that haunted me all these years; I see Samuel’s face. I had struck my father.