Why

by Michael Edward

  “There, but he’s gone now Daddy, its ok, you’re safe.”

  She was talking in such a sweet voice but I know she didn’t see anything. Maybe it wasn’t real.

  I wake sweating. I’m lying on my bed and my awareness is slowly becoming complete. Oh man that was rough. I look across the room and see the time on the clock. I know Savannah is still at preschool so I know it was a dream.

  Hours later I’m in the basement and I’m going to end this but I don’t know how. It is in my memory, I know it, and I will find it. I will know why? The dream was wrong and my arm still hurts. It’s like the Being pulled my arm out of socket but I know it wasn’t real.

  I know what’s real. I was never in the basement. There was never a Being telling me to write. That’s where the dream began, not on the couch with Savannah. The entire memory was a dream. I know this but my arm still hurts, probably slept on it wrong.

  Mental, Physical, and Spiritual, do I possess all three at once? No. Sometimes yes but never for a length of consistent time. Why? Why can I not clear my thoughts? Why can’t I keep focus? There is nothing, there is always nothing and I know that. I can do nothing. Nothing. That word. It inspires thoughts, memories. Memories of my Mom are what it inspires.

  I remember. I was eight years old and we were living in Kentucky. It was the middle of the day, and my father was sleeping. I was in the kitchen with my Mom and little brother, Joey. Our Mom was talking to us. We were sitting on the kitchen table listening to every word.

  Mom was talking about our Dad, I mean complaining. My mom she’s the type who will always remember the good in things well when there is good and on this day after about ten minutes of complaining she changes her tone. She speaks of our Dad and she speaks positive about him. We listen as she tells us a memory of hers.

  “You’re Dad and I weren’t always like this. He wasn’t always like this. He once told me that you could be anything you want. If you don’t like yourself, then change.”

  I remember sitting on that table listening to those words. You can be anything you want. If you don’t like yourself then change. Throughout our lives Mom has told that story hundreds of times. Anything you want you can change. I hear those words in my Mom’s voice over and over again until I yell out and break free until I hear only the music through my headphones.

  They have always said that we would have to change. They said that we’d have to add cussing, gore, sex, drugs. We don’t though. If someone doesn’t want to like our story then they won’t. We give them too many targets, from our lack of education to the style in which we chose to tell the story.

  Fault is easy to find. The Beginning of the End One, has a very good beginning, a beginning of an epic adventure that should be told, should be experienced. When? Before my time is over? I doubt it. My dream says no. My dream says after my death the stories will become popular. I don’t know what’s real, what’s self-created, but I do know our story is that good.

  Time? Every now and then I believe time is an entity. A being of conscious thought that lives by boundaries humans cannot comprehend or imagine. Of Course I always have that thought when I’m completely exhausted mentally and physically. I’ve got to stop. I have to think. I need to clear my head. Distraction is all around and I cannot allow that. Not now.

  A lie can have many forms. One is not volunteering information that’s needed to be known. I did that this morning. My wife was up like three times throughout the night because of the dogs, Pal and Dasha, so when I saw her waking for work I couldn’t say anything. She had to go to work an hour early and she got no sleep last night.

  My wife doesn’t need my silliness. Not today. I want to call her and tell her what happened. I’m not going to. She can read it if I type it and I won’t talk to her about it if I do.

  It was less than ten minutes ago that I was waking on the floor in the basement. I wasn’t near my computer. I was on the other side of the couch near the wall. Why I was there or how, I don’t know. I haven’t had time to think about it.

  I see blackness and I hear loud roars from all around. Blue triangles and white circles form all around as the roars fade and my vision clears. My presence is my awareness and I’m hovering above the couch in the basement. I see myself at the computer typing and then I see myself stand up and yell.

  My presence flashes forward through the memory and I see myself pacing around the basement. Around and around I walk, yelling out to the nothing that is present. I flash forward and see myself on the floor against the wall.

  Quick flashes of images are all I can see now. I see the blue-black outline of the being that’s been my fears. It slams me back to the floor and again and again it hits me in the chest. My ability to breathe ceases and my vision clears.

  I’m on the floor looking up at the ceiling. My chest and back hurt but my breath is easy to catch. I regain my balance and take a couple steps and my focus returns within minutes. I go upstairs to start coffee then my wife comes down and well, she didn’t need the distraction. Neither did I.

  I’m in the basement and my wife is at work. Last night she asked me if I knew what the ending was going to be. I told her no but I did. I know I’ve been here before so I believe I know what’s next.

  The lights flash but I don’t respond. A second later they flash again and I have to. I spin my chair around and yell.

  “Yeah!”

  It’s the phone and it’s my wife. I’ll always take her call. She’s not on the Do-Not–Disturb-me-for-this–person-list. We talk about nothing for a couple minutes then we say our love yous and end the call.

  Wait a second. I think I’m lying to myself. Yeah, I’m lying to myself. I lie. Why? Why? I’m stupid. This is stupid. The truth is simple. It wasn’t her who called me. I actually went upstairs and called her, she didn’t answer.

  The other way is the way I really wanted it to go. I was going to tell her that I loved her and that in less than an hour I was going to be done with this, whatever this is. I like the other way better so that’s how I’m recording it.

  What I thought would only take three or four days took twenty. It was a weird twenty days and it’s been a weird, long four years. In four years we’ve broken five stereos, four headphones, two computers, eight keyboards, and me.

  We wrote six screenplays then turned them into six stories. One was rewritten seven times. Two were rewritten five times. Three were rewritten at least four times but I’m pretty sure Five and Six were only rewritten three times.

  I began T.B.O.T.E. seventeen years ago and since then part One has had many forms. In a box not more than twenty feet behind me I have the five original handwritten notebooks that contain the original version.

  In the past I’ve had to change the name of the leading female character to whatever current girlfriend I had at the time. But I’m married to my wife now. Her name isn’t in the story nor is the original Tammy, who I will never forget.

  I’m not done. I know that. I know after this there is much to do; I wonder if I will, if we will? Time will tell. Time will show our character. Our character, where does it come from? My character, where, from where do I come and where am I going?

  I know. I know one thing. Our character is not written. We can be anybody we want. If you do not like something, change it and for some reason I’ve allowed life’s distractions to overwhelm me causing me to forget what I know.

  I know what I am, who I am and I think I learned why I am or I’m learning why I am. My demon, a demon can be many things, and I know mine. I know my fears, my insecurities, my truths and my dreams.

  While working on the story I forgot to take care of myself. It had side affects and they may last a little longer than I want but they will fade. I know my family, my friends, and I’m not afraid of the past. I accept the present and I will conquer the future. There are good people all around me and together there is nothing we can’t do. Loyalty and faith are as powerful as trust and love. And we have all four.

  We have only
a month and a half before I go back to work and my wife hopefully comes home. She will. If I have to get three jobs she’ll come home.

  Time, we were given four years and still we are here with little progress. I don’t know what we are going to do about The Beginning of the End One. I know between now and January we will figure it out. We have to. I’m done.

  There are only two candles still burning and I have nothing left. For me this is over. I know this and I know I can’t say it enough; The Beginning of the End is a story that needs to be told. I know I have only until January but I’m taking a week off and then we’ll see what’s next. For now, I understand that Why, is a question that can be answered if one wants to remember. I know memories are there for an individual to travel through and experience, it’s an ability that every human has, one of many.

  For me, I think I know why, or partially why. I do believe that sometimes one must travel to the past so they can save the current and protect the future. I will say. I’m curious to see how it all ends.

  Later, Love’ya, Bye

  The End

  A story by Michael Edward

  That’s what I wrote. It’s twenty-three hours of my life that I do not remember. It has been five years since the night WHY was created. I don’t know why and I don’t know the reason. I still have never read it. When we decided to release this story we made the decision to limit the editing, leaving it in raw form, being true to that night. I’m still here, still sitting in front of my computer, still staring at the screen, battling my demons, seeking answers...seeking reasons.