WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE
By: Charles Blair
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Charles Blair
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form except for the inclusion of brief quotations in review without permission in writing from the author.
Printed in U.S by Amazon
ISBN-13: 978-0692471982
ISBN-10: 0692471987
Art & design by Ashton Krow
Manufactured in the United States of America
Chapter 1: THE DAY I DIED
Chapter 2: MORE ALIVE WHEN I WAS DEAD
Chapter 3: EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON
Chapter 4: YOU CAN CALL ME SHAWN WALTERS
Chapter 5: THE DREAM
Chapter 6: THE INTAKE
Chapter 7: DON’T LEAVE ME
Chapter 8: THE APPARITION
Chapter 9: ARE YOU A BELIEVER?
Chapter 10: THE WRITING ON THE WALL
Chapter 11: A CALL FROM AN OLD FRIEND
Chapter 12: A CHANGE OF HEART
Chapter 13: WE’VE MET BEFORE
Chapter 14: DANGEROUS COMMUNICATION
Chapter 15: TWO OF A KIND
Chapter 16: WORSE BEFORE BETTER
Chapter 17: DOCTOR SHOLVIN HAS TO DIE
Chapter 18: ENJOY YOUR SWIM
Chapter 19: SAME GAME DIFFERENT PLAYERS
Chapter 20: SHUT UP AND KISS ME
Chapter 21: WHAT’S THE PURPOSE?
Chapter 22: WALKING CONTRADICTION
Chapter 23: ALTERNATIVE PERCEPTION
Chapter 24: ENJOY YOUR TRAVELS
Chapter 25: THE TIME HAS COME
Chapter 26: NEW BEGINNING
WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE is dedicated to the one I've never met, but know all so well.
“Although the psychological world and the spiritual world function on different planes, sometimes, and only sometimes, they collide.”
-Patrick Lucid
What would you do for a second chance?
Chapter 1
THE DAY I DIED
I apologize for the informal introduction, but I cannot appropriately introduce myself at this time. As strange as this may sound, my reason is valid because I don't know my name, age, or even the gender of my body. You see; I haven't been born yet. I'm fully aware I should provide my audience with a certain level of conflict to make my story interesting, but I can't, because life is beautiful. My perspective of life drastically differs from yours, which is one of the reasons I am compelled to tell my story. Where I stand, I'm able to observe the beautiful aspects of life that elude your vision. Unfortunately, many of you fail to comprehend; the light doesn't need to be turned on to see. You may not understand what I'm referring to right now, but I live in the DARKNESS. If the darkness is accepted, you'll see clearer, and much further into reality. The beauty you perceive in the light is full of illusion and fantasy. Therefore, the false realities in which you live your life have been created by your own defenses. Your light generates an overwhelming blindness that doesn't allow you to see the truth. The truth hasn't been unearthed yet, until now. There will be a day when I will walk along side of you again. And when that day comes, I won't have everything I want, but I'll have exactly what I need. I hope by the story's end, you will be able to apprehend my fundamental way of life.
I'm not going to begin my story with a typical sequence. I'm not going to begin in a far-off land, or once upon a time. I'm not going share a romantic walk with you on the beach, nor have a picnic in the park. Honestly, there aren't too many places I can start, which leaves me with one option. I will begin my story from a place, where many refuse to go, the truth. The truth of my whole life can be explained on the day of my death. Sometimes, starting from the finish line can give you an understanding of why you entered the race in the first place.
In order to understand me, you must understand my death. I vividly remember the day I died. My departure from the light was on June 6th, 2011. Many people say your entire life flashes before your eyes when you are taking your last breath. However, they couldn't be more wrong. My death arrived with an unexpected vengeance that I couldn't see coming even if I had a crystal ball. I could get angry and seek revenge, but my agenda is much more benevolent.
I wasn't your average twelve-year-old child. To be honest with you, I was well below average. I had to contest just to keep my head above water, no pun intended. Don't feel bad if you didn't pick up on my dark humour, because you'll understand in a few minutes. My emotional instability was to blame for my failures, because I didn't have enough strength to surpass my own obstacles. At the time, I placed censure on my parents, siblings, and teachers, but the determinants were caused by the one whom was staring back at me in the mirror.
On June 6th, 2011, my mother hosted a pool party for me. The pool party was my mother's version of a positive reinforcement for passing the sixth grade. The problem with this; I didn't deserve to pass the sixth grade. If I didn't deserve to pass the sixth grade, I sure as hell didn't deserve the pool party. My mother didn't understand that my teachers had pushed me through without ever attaining their expectations. I used to think my teacher's heedless decision was great, but now I acknowledge it differently. I'm going to say it again; I didn't deserve the pool party. The question I want you to think about, did I deserve the wrath of hell coming my way?
My mother invited a few of my friends to the party. She also invited my father and my brother. Neither of them showed up, but their absence wasn't surprising. Both my father and my brother were selfish idiots. They were egotistical and only engaged in activities that held a level of self-benefit. My brother was taking summer courses at the local community college, but I didn't accept his excuse. If he wanted to be there, he could have made it happen. My father, well; I have no idea where he was. My father was a pathetic man, truly. The unfortunate reality; I was much like him, and it scared the crap out of me.
My sister was at the party, but she never made herself visible to my friends. My sister thought she was better than everyone. She had many unique and unparalleled abilities that could make your head spin, so it made sense how her overbearing pride developed. I could talk about her positive traits all day long, but I don't want to give her a big head. She's already confident enough, and more compliments would only cause her head to explode.
Then there was my mother. Talk about a whirlwind, my God, she was a tornado. Sincerely, she was the most distracted person I have ever met. My mother survived her subsistence by keeping busy, and never allowing herself a dull moment. Go, go, go, there goes my mother, I used to say to myself. Seriously, she couldn't stop for one second. Well, I think she could have stopped, but I don't think she could have handled the emotional stillness. My mother had terrible thoughts in her mind from which she tried to run. Trust me, you cannot run from yourself.
On the day of the party, my mother was primarily on grill duty.
I wasn't appreciative for my party, or anything else for that matter. My personality was rotten at the core. I'm going to be straight forward with you; I was a piece of work. My extrinsic appearance was nothing other than a facade. If you were to have opened the door to my internalized thoughts, you would have seen a cesspool of shit. I didn't like a single characteristic about myself, and I spent all day fantasizing about transforming into someone else. There were even times when I thought about suicide. I thought maybe death would be better. Unfortunately, my thoughts were going to maintain their own identity before the party was over.
Although m
y excitement wasn't jumping for the party, my heart rate did increase when Emily walked through the back gate. Emily was a classmate of mine. She had the prettiest smile and the hottest ass in the entire school. She and I enjoyed many of the same things, and shared similar experiences. Emily was abused by her father, until her mother exterminated his rights as a parent. My father abused me too, but my mother didn't have the back bone Emily's mom did. My mother waited too long to extinguish my pathetic excuse of a father from our home. What was my mother waiting for?
She had to realize my father was a detrimental cancer but then again, she did have her distractions. My mother eventually kicked him out of our home, about six months before the pool party. Something changed inside of my mother during that time, well, something changed in all of us around that time. I wish my mother would have kicked my father out sooner, but we all made our share of mistakes back then.
The party started with a game of horseshoes. Horseshoes weren't my cup of tea, but we had to entertain ourselves somehow. My opposition standing across the dirt pit was my best friend Andy. I said best friend, but I should have said my only friend. Andy could see beyond my crude exterior, but no one else even tried. Most people neglected the actuality that I was hurting inside.
During the game of horseshoes, I was wearing a pair of sunglasses. I referred to my glasses as eye jackets. I used my eye jackets to cover my eyes, because I was cheating at horseshoes. Don't ask me how I was cheating because I won't tell, but I wanted my eyes concealed for misdirection. Someone once told me, "Our eyes are the windows into our soul." Trust me, this isn't true, but life is full of MISDIRECTION. We're not even finished with the first chapter yet, and I have you looking in the wrong direction. To understand me you must listen, because hearing won't be enough. Another reason I wanted my eyes covered was to steal glimpses at certain regions of Emily's body. I'll tell you what; those eye jackets covered my soul like a tarp.
I won the horseshoe games, but it didn't make me happy.
What is happiness?
When I was twelve years old, I hadn't a clue. I was dependent on outside material to make me happy, and so are many of you. The unpredictable world can and will leave us with a vacant selection to choose from at one point or another. When this happens, we are forced to produce our own supply of happiness, but we quickly realize not a single drop is there to quench our thirst. I became metaphorically dehydrated about six months before the pool party. During that time, my mother sent me to therapy.
My therapist's name was Doctor Sholvin. She was not a good therapist, nor was she a quality person. She preached about free-will and choice for ninety consecutive minutes. Sholvin didn't understand the psychology of the mind, and couldn't comprehend there was more to human behavior than free-will. I am not expecting you to understand what I am talking about right now, but you will, in time. Sholvin was also a hypocrite, because she told me to make better choices. All-the-while, she cheated on her husband with a wealthy architect. Her affair would eventually lead to her death, but we'll discuss that later. The fact about the matter was; Sholvin's therapy didn't help, and I was suicidal.
At the party, my true colors were coming out.
Politely, my mother asked, “Can you please set the table?"
My response was harsh and completely senseless. "Do it yourself bitch."
I was one of those snot-nose children whom you would see throwing a tantrum in the middle of the grocery store, because money-strapped mom couldn't afford to buy an extra box of overpriced corn-dogs. I provided nothing positive to an already negative world. I pledge to you I wasn't born this way. I was created.
Emily didn't appreciate my word vomit either, because it reminded her of her father. It's too bad we can't undo a memory. Once something happens, the memory of it, whatever it was, is with us forever. Sometimes, we become our memories.
My mother set the table without me, but she should have smacked me directly in the mouth. As everyone sat around the picnic table wadding food down their throats, I continued fornicating over Emily's body. I attempted to be as discrete as possible, but I was finally busted. Emily caught me red handed, and she wasn't happy. She never said this, but I could tell by the expression upon her face.
Who was I fooling?
Emily didn't want to be at my party. She wasn't interested in a loser like me. Emily never said this either, but her body language was screaming it in a frenzied way. Trust me when I say, we speak even when our lips are silent. Emily wasn't at the pool party because she liked me. She was there because she felt sorry for me.
Was I really that messed up?
You know what, it wasn't a pool party. It was a pity party. My pity party, support group, or whatever the heck it was made me sick.
I stormed through the house with intentions of isolating in my bedroom when I bumped into my sister in the upstairs hallway. She was never one to speak many words, so it surprised me when she asked, "Why aren't you outside with your friends?" Before I had a chance to reply, my sister continued with angst, "Let me guess, you're drowning in your own self-misery again. Your perception of yourself makes me sick!"
I responded like the brat I was, "Eat me bitch."
My sister shook her head in disappointment and told me I was a pathetic waste of human life. She pointed her finger in the direction of the window, which overlooked our pool, and said, "Go back to your friends. Perhaps, you can go for a swim and cool yourself off."
Everything was alright when I was in the pool. My self-defeating thoughts vanished, and the cold water reminded me of the good times. I remember swimming in our pool when I was somewhat normal, and my family members weren't killing each other yet. It's hard to believe I was once happy. Our lives can go from zero to sixty in a fraction of a second and never realize it until we're a hundred miles down the road. Sometimes we end up in a completely different state. As for me, I crossed the state line.
I reminisced for so long I didn't realize I was the only one in the pool, not only was I the only one in the pool; I was the only one outside. I felt like I was in a Hitchcock movie, where I traveled through a timeless vortex, because I didn't remember seeing anyone leave. Please listen to this irony. I was alone and miserable in the same pool where I was once unified and happy. To make things worse, I was about to die in this pool.
Without warning, I felt a sharp pain shoot across my chest. The pain was like nothing I had ever felt before. The affliction intensified until I lost all control of my motor functioning. I flipped off the raft, and sank toward the bottom of the pool. As the water filled my lungs, I knew I was going to die. I tried so hard to fight death at first, but my efforts were short lived. My mind became fixated, maybe death would be better? I prayed for this moment to come several times throughout my life and there it was. It's rare, but a prayer got answered. Death was staring me right in the face. When I made eye contact with the darkness, I decided to stop fighting. I allowed death to enter, with arms wide open.
*
My spirit left my body well before the ambulance arrived. The medical professionals rushed my lifeless body to the hospital where they tried to revive it, but they didn't have any luck. I was dead. And it wasn't long until there was a white sheet covering my corpse.
A few minutes in the spiritual realm are an eternity compared to a human in biological form. While everyone was sobbing about the loss of my life, my spirit couldn't have been any more active. My spirit was active because the spiritual world was in turmoil. Many things occurred in the spiritual world that changed the outcome of what was about to happen next.
A wave of air filled the lungs of my dead body, causing it to convulse. Lying on the hospital slab, I flopped several times like a fish out of water. A disengaged doctor, who was writing data into his documents, was startled beyond explanation. He jumped several inches in the air like an elderly grandmother who just saw a mouse scoot across the kitchen floor. After dropping his clipboard (and a bowel movement in his underwear) the doctor ran across the room and
ripped the white sheet from my body.
I was alive.
After the electric-chair-like tremors were finished, I remember opening my eyes and seeing my mother and my sister in tears. Hardly comprehending a damn thing, I heard my sister's voice.
"I am so sorry. This was my fault, because I told you to go swimming."
I wanted to respond, but I was too weak and feeble. Instead of expressing what I wanted, I was forced to hear more of my sister’s nonsense.
"Please don't be scared. You'll get a second chance."
After she spoke, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.
My sister told me I would get a second chance, and I did, but it didn't come that day at the hospital. I said before I couldn't tell you my name, and I still can't. However, I can tell you who I used to be.
Chapter 2
MORE ALIVE WHEN I WAS DEAD
December, 2nd 2012
Hello, my name is Shawn Walters, and I am fourteen years old.
Today I am being discharged from Mountain Springs Psychiatric Hospital, nestled against the mountains in Pennsylvania. I don't care for the name Shawn because it doesn't suit me well, but since the pool party incident, I have learned to pick my battles.
At some point in your life you'll want what I received, and that is a second chance. Today, when I walk through the electronic doors that have imprisoned me for nearly a year and a half, I'll get my second chance. Confessing how I came across my freedom will be difficult for me to explain, and for you to understand.
Someone you will meet during my story once asked me, "Who are you?"
I answered him by saying, "Shawn Walters."
His response to my answer was confusing.
"No you’re not. Shawn is only a label and doesn't signify who you are."
When Worlds Collide Page 1