I believe everything you tell me about yourself.
Maybe it's true or maybe you just want it to be true.

There Can Be Only One (2nd Installment)

The young man walked out of the small grocery store with a full bag of his purchases. He planned to take the bag back to his tent and try to fathom how he was to establish a place for himself in this college town.

A familiar electric tingle sprang up inside of him at that moment filling him with a feeling of dread bordering on fear. There was another immortal nearby!

A voice from behind him coughed and said, “Are you hunting?”

The young man turned toward the voice and asked, “Who wants to know?”

“David Palmer.”

Doc had always told him to identify himself to another immortal in situations such as these, so the young man said, “I am Phil Castor.”

David Palmer offered his hand. “You seem new to being an immortal, but must have had someone teach you what that means.”

Phil shifted his grocery bag and shook hands with the immortal. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, large but not muscle bound, but still possessing strength. There was strength implied in the way he carried himself.

“Call me Dave. I live in that old gray house across the street there.” He pointed and shrugged. “I bought it for its large front porch where I can watch all the people come and go.”

Phil decided to trust him when he saw Dave’s openness about himself. “I’m new in town as well and I need to acquire a certain item that guys like us need.” Dave’s left eyebrow rose.

“Let’s go up onto my porch and I’ll get you a soda and we’ll talk about this.”

Sitting on a lawn chair, Phil sipped the Pepsi that Dave had given him as he gazed at the grocery’s parking lot across the street.

“You know about holy ground?” asked Dave.

“No fighting on holy ground and not in front of mortals.”

“So you need a sword?” asked Dave.

“Yes, but I haven’t seen Doc carry a sword around. His sword was always in his apartment for the time I knew him. You don’t seem to carry one either,” remarked Phil.

“There are laws about sharpened blades of a certain length and even if you could carry a sword, it would provoke trouble or just too many questions. I keep mine under a blanket in my car when I’m out and about. I take the chance of being caught separated from my blade, but it’s better than trouble or the questions. When I sense another immortal, I either stay in public or run for my car or holy ground.”

“How do I get a sword of my own?”

“I have a fencing instructor that knows where to get the best blades. I think he would be more likely to help you, if you enrolled in one of his classes.”

“Ok, sounds good,” said Phil.

“If you need a place to stay, you can stay here,” offered Dave. “It’s something to think about for when winter comes.”

Phil took his leave of Dave saying only that he would consider his offer. On the way back to his camp, he realized there many contingencies he needed to be prepared for. Getting training and a sword would take time and money. He needed to have a plan for the time between now and then.

Stay tuned....

There Can Be Only One

After walking an hour along the two-lane highway, the young man stopped along the guardrail where the road crossed a small creek. He took off the backpack that contained a tent, a few clothes, a flashlight with spare batteries, several books and a journal.

His money was holding out pretty well. It wasn’t much, but it had brought him this far.

There was a wood just a stone’s throw from the bridge and the road where the creek flowed. He could just make out a carpet of old fallen leaves as the floor. It seemed to call to him as a place to explore. It may contain an ideal campsite that wouldn’t be visible to anyone passing by. He slipped into the trees and in a few moments the greenery muffled all traffic noise.

The ground was not flat in here. There were small hills and a gradual slope to the creek that ran through the center of the grove. It was dry for the most part if he stayed back from the water with his camp.

It wasn’t long until his tent was up and he was making sure his camp wouldn’t be easily spotted by anyone passing by. There were no walking paths or sidewalks here, so he was sure there would be few pedestrians.

It was September, but there was no sign of autumn yet. The young man drew off his t-shirt and used it for a towel for perspiration. He tossed it into the tent with his backpack and crawled in after it to take a nap.

As he lay there listening to the birds the events of the last couple of days came back to his mind. His friend had disappeared and had been missing for more than a day. This had been something his friend had tried to prepare him for. Money had been set a side in a coffee can in the kitchen for emergencies, and he had taken it as his friend had instructed, if he never returned home one day.

He never knew his friend by anything other than “Doc”. He could only assume it was short for “Doctor”, but Doc never told him how he earned the name. There had been too many other things that Doc wanted him to worry about.

The first thing was that Doc had pulled him out a car at the bottom of a lake out in the countryside of Illinois several weeks ago. His parents had been left for dead, and Doc had said he had died, too. So why was he not dead? Because he was immortal just as Doc had been.

The next thing was he wouldn’t die unless someone took off his head. There were other immortals out there seeking to do just that. Doc said there could be only one, and that one was destined to rule the earth. He needed to learn how to used a heavy sword to defend himself from any hunting him.

He and Doc had stayed in an apartment in the suburbs of Chicago those few weeks they had been together. His only task had been some beginning weight training and some very basic martial arts to hone his coordination.

The worst thing about the result of finding oneself an immortal was he couldn’t go back to any of his family because he was supposed to be missing, and there was no feasible story to give them or the authorities without his being perpetually 18 years old noticed over time. Another trait that hadn’t quite sunk in yet was the fact that he could never father children, but being young, that wasn’t the priority it could have become later in life.

Now that Doc was gone so soon from his life, he hadn’t even acquired a sword, not to mention beginning his training so he had a chance to survive. His sword may have been on the way from the Asian sword forger who provided the finest in sharpened blades for those who offered the right price, and the way Doc understood it, this Asian was an immortal himself. Now that he was supposed to disappear again, he would never see that sword.

His bus ticket had gotten him from Chicago into the state of Michigan. Now he found himself on the outskirts of some college town. He could possibly blend in here somewhere for a time posing as a high school student or even a first or second year college student.

Doc had been good for thinking of ways for him to have an identity without having to establish himself too extensively into public records. He could always keep the status of a minor and not have much in the way of public records at all except for maybe some high school or other. He did manage to have an Illinois driver’s license, but his social security card number wasn’t good anymore, so Doc had those documents altered for him.

The shadows of tree branches swayed back and forth on the walls of his tent. He wasn’t sleepy, but the rest had done him some good. It was time to go into town to find supplies and some sort of life for himself.

To be continued….

The graceful way you speak compliments your shy smile, and the sound of your voice is a carress upon my skin.

Bohemian Avenue #6

I looked up from my book while the bus was stopped somewhere along Hiawatha Avenue. It hadn’t held my attention very well anyway, because I could still hear the gangbangers at the back of the bus commenting on my short haircut. They made comments such as I could be “5-O”, which is code for “cop” taken from reruns of “Hawaii 5-O”. I guess this had replaced calling white people “honkey” or something.

I looked out my window as the bus pulled up to the stoplight, and right next to me was a man on a motorcycle. He wasn’t the stereotypical “biker”, but just a regular guy out for a ride. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, because helmets were optional in Minnesota.

Our eyes met and I thought he looked a bit tired. It was after ten and I was on the way to work my midnight shift, and I guess he was going home.

The light turned green and since he was faster than the bus, he pulled out into the intersection just ahead of the bus, but in his own lane.

Just then, an oncoming car decided to run the left turn light and slammed right into the motorcycle sending the biker sliding along the street. The motorcycle was wedged under the offending car.

Everything was still. The biker didn’t move.

My bus turned to detour around the block and go on its way.

I’m sure that was the first time I ever looked into the eyes of someone about to die.

I have missed you for a long time now. I leave my window open as often as I can on the chance that I might hear the sound of your voice or catch a glimpse of your face.

I pass by your neighborhood everyday, and I think of you. My heart aches each time I do. Sometimes I wish I could shut you out of my mind, but you are in my heart. I banish all bitterness by choosing not to blame you for seeming to stay away. With this choice, I know that it would be all the sweeter to see you again.