Beliefs

It was some sort of underground treasury. A cross between a treasury and a bank. There was a long, spiral stairwell that led you to the main room of the building. There were paintings on every wall, sculptures in every corner, and people at work. Simple transactions were made here daily. Things such as withdrawals, deposits, and loans. Deep beneath the building was where they kept the gold standard, among other things. There was always heavy traffic in and out of the building.

Thousands of people walked down that spiral staircase but not one of them knew what that building actually was. Davis was only slightly different. He had never been inside, mostly because he had no need for anything that happened inside. He had seen and passed this building almost every day for 20 years but never thought twice about what happens in there. There was no reason for him to think anything. It was just an institution that handled money.

This particular institution had been around for hundreds of years. Before there was a society in this town, that building sat just below the surface of the Earth. Men and women worked inside this building years before any traces of modern life existed. These people were able to adapt easily to new and passing trends. They stayed relevant in every society that died around them. Much like the actual daily functions that took place within the walls of the building, little was known about the men and women that worked there. They were smart and knew what they were talking about, which had always been just enough to keep the general public censored.

Members of the bank adhered loosely to a set of rules. These rules were set in stone, however they were not strictly enforced. If a lonely widow defaulted on a loan, the bank was lenient on their punishment. They would reach out to the person in need in hopes of establishing a long lasting relationship built on trust, customer service, and second chances. Loyal customers were always taken care of, mostly because the bank had enough sources of income to overlook petty mistakes.

Davis didn’t care enough to open up any kind of account with this bank. Everyone in the town talked about how great it was to work with this bank, but he never needed that sense of security. He was very comfortable handling his own money on his own time in his own house. He was not brought up wealthy, so the idea of having excess money was foreign to him. However, you always want what you cannot have, and deep down Davis wanted to be a part of that bank. He just wouldn’t let himself give in.

Eventually Davis decided he would enter the bank. Weeks went by and with every day that passed the idea of entering that building grew heavier and heavier on Davis’ shoulders. On a Monday evening Davis stopped right in front of the building. His heart was beating through his chest. His palms were sweaty. He walked into the building and before he could shut the door behind him a tall, powerful looking old man in long white robes was there to greet him.

“Davis, we’ve been expecting you. Come with me.”

Davis spoke no words and made no sounds. He followed the old man down the spiral staircase that was so new to him. He entered the large atrium and saw all of the paintings and sculptures and was amazed at how beautiful the inside was. He saw all of the small offices where the inner workings of the bank took place. The old man took Davis down another spiral staircase lit by candles to a small and empty room. No paintings littered the walls and no sculptures haunted the corners. For some reason Davis was not at ease. He felt a strong burning deep in his gut. He knew this was not for him.

The old man sat down in the single chair that was in the room and said, “Davis, we’ve been watching you for years now. We know the people you interact with. We know where you spend your time. We know what you’ve done. We think you are the perfect candidate for us and would feel right at home if you switched your funds to our bank.”

Davis was speechless at first. “Sir, I’m not really sure what to say. I don’t have much money. I don’t have much of anything to offer you. How do you know…”

He was interrupted by the old man who had yet to give a name. He said “I’m not going to sit here and waste our time telling you how I know you. But I will tell you what I know. I know you’ve stolen from the rich, robbed from the poor, lied to the ones you love, and cheated your way through life. We are offering you a second chance.”

Davis responded, “Sir, I’ve never… none of that is true, why are you offering me a chance I don‘t need? Why do you care?”

“Because we are the forgivers, not the sinners. We know the truth. You could find a whole new life with us. We live our life by a set of rules, which you can look over on this sheet of paper.”

The old man took out a sheet of paper and it read like this:

1 “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage. You shall have no other gods before Me.
2 “You shall not make for yourself a carved image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth; you shall not bow down to them nor serve them. For I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children to the third and fourth generations of those who hate Me, but showing mercy to thousands, to those who love Me and keep My Commandments.
3 “You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain, for the Lord will not hold him guiltless who takes His name in vain.
4 “Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord your God. In it you shall do no work: you, nor your son, nor your daughter, nor your male servant, nor your female servant, nor your cattle, nor your stranger who is within your gates. For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and hallowed it.
5 “Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long upon the land which the Lord your God is giving you.
6 “You shall not murder.
7 “You shall not commit adultery.
8 “You shall not steal.
9 “You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.
10 “You shall not covet your neighbor's house; you shall not covet your neighbor's wife, nor his male servant, nor his female servant, nor his ox, nor his donkey, nor anything that is your neighbor's.”

Davis looked over the list a few times. He said to the old man, “are you trying to tell me that I am a sinner and you can help me?”

The old man stood up and in a deep, powerful tone said “I am your God. I am here to help you. I am in charge of this massive institution and with your signature here and a small donation, we can help you.”

Davis became angry. “Fuck you, you aren’t my God.”

“And what makes you believe that?”

Davis then took a set of keys he had in his pocket and carved a gaping hole in his stomach. He took the cold blood and wrote his answer on the paper. It said: “For years I’ve seen you let pure men starve and filthy men feast. I’ve seen you take away the vision of an entire world. I sat back and watched you lead the blind into the darkness. I’ve seen children lose their fathers in wars fought in your name. I read newspaper stories about men that committed murder, adultery, and theft only to be forgiven for a small price. Forgiveness is what you offer? For a fee? I refuse to let you steal from me. My God would never ask for a donation. My God would never let the rich get richer and the poor get poorer. My God would never punish me and tell me that everything happens for a reason. My God would never starve me of answers just so I asked a question. My God would never make me ask for forgiveness. My God would not cater to the thousands. My God would not come to me on his knees and he would not make me come to him on mine. So, fuck you. Fuck your institution. I don’t ever want to be a part of this.”

After the he read the paper the old man in the white robes fell down and vanished and the only thing left on the floor was the whole world and everything in it. Davis put it in his pocket and fell to his knees…

William Wallace.

Landslide.

The Mockingbird

For Dustin. Inspired by ????????.


If all the world is a stage, then the setting will be a fishbowl. I’ve got the blue rocks, the plastic astronaut, the toy ship, and the sunken treasure. My fishbowl is bigger, though. There are real predators out here. There are real victims.

When you are one of many you learn safety in numbers, but I missed that. We all did. The only thing I’ve ever learned is that real leaders learn to adapt. Change can be progression or digression. It can be whatever you want it to be. I’ve always chosen progression over anything. Being a stagnant body of water was never attractive to me. I live in one and it never changes.

Down here there are no cardboard cut-outs. We live so many leagues down that the water pressure is too great for many other species. No aircraft carriers interrupt our sleep and no fishing hooks offer fake meals. We are so far down that at times everything can be completely dark.

It’s so deep out here that we don’t even have tears. But we know what the fuck we’re doing down here.

Even though I was so far beneath the surface, I could always sense that there was something else out there. I always felt like if the sun was shining just right and I looked hard enough, that I could see a Mockingbird flying right above me. And sometimes I did.

It sang such sad songs. In between it’s verses and choruses I would talk to the Mockingbird and ask why it was so sad. The bird had beautiful stories and would tell me about the best laid plans of mice and men. It would reach out to me and I would try my best to help. Being from these depths you have a lot of time to think and formulate thoughts.

I would tell the Mockingbird not to worry about the past and the future but to focus on the present and the bird would listen and take it all in. But it seemed as if every night the bird forgot everything I said. All of our conversations started and ended the same. I was not familiar with the way things worked in the sky. I’d never felt the wind at my back or the clouds on my wings, therefore nothing I said held any true weight. All my words got swept away in the tide. This bird was not familiar with the way we did things in the water.

I was determined to help this Mockingbird. However, the first step in helping a bird is convincing it not to fly away and this bird had an issue with staying grounded. I can only help those who want to be helped. I can only help those who come to me. But this bird kept coming back.

It was like the bird was addicted to the pain and the sorrow and the emptiness. Eventually I decided to stop writing all my responses in the sand and looked for something more permanent. I came up with a story and etched it in stone. I thought my action would speak louder than the words. It didn’t matter. The bird was hopeless and helpless.

It hit me one day. This mockingbird was unoriginal. It was the same songs in a different voice. This mockingbird was in denial. It wasn’t unique. I am unique because I don’t sing. I am not a beggar or a chooser and I still refuse to participate in this game. This bird couldn’t be helped. Deep down I knew I was the one that could do it, but I refuse to live my life like that. Maybe some other time.

I decided I would rather drown than go unheard, so I said good-bye to the mockingbird and left. Every once in awhile when I’m by myself I can still hear the mockingbirds songs. They never change. Things never change. People never change. And the world remains a stage.

William Wallace.

Next.