Portfolio: Finalities

Jesus Christ Pro Skater

In the year of our Board 2016, the son of man will appear to teach the worthy how to kickflip. And he will be shunned and cast out and none but the wisest may understand his true virtue. Read this gospel all ye faithful and rejoice for the most righteous skater loves you all.

(Mark 10:25)

The Tree of the Empty Lot

In the yard of a house that has long stood empty, an apple tree watches over an old grave. Weathering the heat of summer, the tree stands resolute for its dear friend, buried near its roots. But the winds change and memories are forgotten. The apple tree of the empty lot may not survive without a friendly hand.

(A Tree with a Solitary Grave)

A Warning of Shadows

Why do you run out of your basement at night. Why do you hesitate before walking into a dark room. Why do you sometimes feel you're being watched when you know you're alone. Is it possible that something is watching you from the shadows? Investigate at your own peril.

(The Shadows Watch You)

Falling Skies

Merle has had a dream that he will soon meet his end. Because he is a wise man, he knows not to trifle with the fates. He knows that his dark end will find him whether he runs from it or not, but by accepting his fate so quickly, might he be ushering it in?

(On Old Man Contemplates the Future)

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This project has been my attempt to write four very different kinds of stories all based in a similar setting. Each takes place outside of the context of its original myth and in an average suburban neighborhood. At first I had hoped they might all appear to take place in the same neighborhood but I don't believe that message came across very well. What I hope did come across, however, is the idea that stories, regardless of how preposterous they seem, are, in fact, actually very close to us. We create stories to learn more about ourselves and I think that bringing them out of fantasy land and closer to ourselves might even help us to understand them better. I have written here a comedy based on a well known Christian story, a bittersweet allegory based on a lesser known story from the same faith, a horror story based on elements a South African myth, and a story somewhere between comedy and tragedy from the ancient British tale of Merlin. 

I don't know what any readers have taken away from these stories. At the very least, I hope each provoked some emotion in people. If, however, I wrote for no other purpose than to please myself and flex my writing skills, I can be happy with the state of this project. 

Story: Falling Skies

I am fated to die.

I know this and I accept it. I had a dream about it once. I closed my eyes and I saw it all – the sky, black and heavy, fell upon me and swallowed me up, and I waited in darkness for my last breath to leave me.

            My friend, Arthur, says I am being dramatic. He says that if I can see my death coming, then why am I so calm about it? Why don’t I try to avoid it? But the truth is that things like this cannot be outrun. If the sky chooses to swallow me whole, then I will let it and be content. One cannot fight the sky after all.

            I thought my end was coming today as I left my house. I stood at the crosswalk and felt my time was near. The cross-light turned green and as I began to set foot in the road I saw a truck, bright and red and angry, speeding down the street.

           

“So this is how it ends,” I thought. “A squeal of black tires and a flash of red and it’s over. If this is how it ends, then I march boldly forward to meet it.” I spoke these words aloud to myself as I crossed slowly, slowly, waiting for the end.

WHEEERRRRRR!!!

            I stood in the road, staring up at the bright red fire engine, now halted in front of me.

WHEEEEERRRRRRRR!!!

            It blasted its horn again at me. As I stood there, contemplating my new turn of fortune, the driver of the truck hung his head out of the window.

            “Hey! Move it won’tcha! We’ve got a fire to put out and you’re standing in the middle of the bloody road!”

            He was clearly put out. I stood there a few seconds longer contemplating this twist of fate as his face grew redder and redder. I thought he might pass out before he threw the engine in reverse and pulled out around me.

            I was alive, for now, and for how much longer I didn’t know. Any second could be my last. I drifted the rest of the way across the street in a daze as I made my way to the park. I looked up at the clouds above me. I was wrong. My end would come from the sky, not the street. I thought about my dream as I wandered into the neighborhood park. The sky. In thought, I looked down at the ground and surprised myself to see the clouds and sun shining at me from below my feet. My legs had carried me to the small dock hanging out over the edge of the pond.

            The sky. The sky. But what if it had not been the sky falling down to meet me? What if I had fallen to meet the sky – the sky reflected at me in this water hole? As I contemplated this, standing on the edge of the deck I felt overwhelmed. Vertigo set in as I wobbled where I stood.

            “Merle? Oi, Merle!” someone called. I think it was Arthur. His voice startled me. I jumped only a bit but it was enough to send me off balance. Ah, my fate at last. I did not fight to stay upright as I tumbled into my abyss. With a hard splash, I hit the water. Drifting there in the cool water I felt myself running low on breath.

            “Not much longer,” I thought to myself as I floated there, face down, waiting for my end. All around me I heard splashing and shouting. Not mine, I believe. I simply floated, calmly, calmly, accepting a fate I could not change.

            Suddenly and with much angry yelling, I was hefted from the water and shook about until my head rattled. As the cacophony sounded in my ears and my vision slid back into focus I saw my friend Arthur standing above me, visibly peeved. He was shouting,

            “What’re you doing, you daft bastard?! Why were you just floating there?!”

            Oh Arthur, he didn’t understand. Fate is not something you can run from, but as I searched for the words to explain this to him he kept shaking me, thoroughly rattling me about.

            “Please, Arthur, let me go,” I asked him calmly. He was stood waist deep in the pond still holding me by the arm and covered in pond scum. As I tugged free and pulled my feet underneath me I realized the pond was easily shallow enough to stand in.

            “You’re not still on again about the fate shite are ya? I told you it was a bunch of rubbish and now I’m covered in pond scum because you want to splash about in the fish pond. I’m tired of it ya know!”

            “Yeah, I know,” I said as I walked away from him. I needed to return to my house and think about what had happened. Every time I thought fate had finally caught up with me, something impeded it. Perhaps, perhaps it had not been so inevitable as I thought. Every pitfall today I had avoided. Perhaps Arthur was right. Maybe I am not doomed.

            I hurried home as the fluffy white clouds above me grew grey and heavy with rain. I pulled open the door to my flat as the sky opened up and the wind began to howl. In deep contemplation I trudged up the stairs to my room and laid down in my bed.

Drip. . . Drip. . . Drip. . .

The rain leaked through the ceiling and onto my pillow. Years of water damage had weakened the roof and the leak grew steadily larger. As I lay in bed and contemplated the ceiling, I heard it creak and shudder. Slowly, I watched the ceiling above me buckle and groan.

“Ah,” I thought, “not so inevitable then. As I suspected,” and I lay there and waited as the roof strained, and broke, and caved in above me, and the sky fell, and darkened my world.

(A collapsed roof)

Author’s Note: This story is based specifically on the death of Merlin in the larger myth of King Arthur. In the story, Merlin has a premonition that he's going to die by being buried. King Arthur tries to encourage him to avoid this fate since he knows it's coming but Merlin sees it all as inevitable. When the evil Vivien asks him to climb under a boulder to look for something, he knows he going to die but does it anyways. Then she traps him and leaves him for dead. I chose to retell the story like this out of frustration with the original. I didn’t understand why Merlin told Arthur that he was doomed to die by being buried alive and clearly knew a trap was being set for him when Morgan encouraged him to squeeze in under that big rock but he still went and did it anyways. So I thought I’d play up my frustrations to a bit of an absurd level with this little story.  I really wanted to keep the ending something close to being buried alive so even though his house collapsing is a bit dramatic I think it worked fairly well with the story. I hope it wasn’t too awfully morbid!

King Arthur: Tales of the Round Table by Andrew Lang

Story: A Warning of the Shadows

Beware the thief of masks for he hunts in the shadows.

You know him because you have seen him before. He stands only just out of sight, and he does not move, and he does not speak. He follows and he hides. He hides in the dark corners of your home and you know this, and you do not go there. You fly from your basement – quickly, quickly up the stairs, and you’ve escaped. You turn to look back down the stairs, to make sure he hasn’t followed. And he is never there, but you knew; you knew he followed, so you ran. And you were smart.

You have seen him, but you cannot remember what he looks like. He is not a man but he stands like one. He is dark and his fingers are long. He stands, just out of the corner of your eye. You know that if you turned your head you’d see him. If you could only focus on that bit of black in the corner of your vision, you would catch him. If you were quick enough, you’d see your companion, but when you look, he is no longer there. He is gone again, but not for long. Ever persistent, he returns. Perhaps he will stand just a little closer this time, and perhaps he will move, and perhaps the hairs on the back of your neck will prickle and stand on end, and you will dare yourself to turn around, to check just once more that you are truly alone. And perhaps you will turn again, to find no one there. And you may go back to your book and think of him no more.

But sometimes, sometimes, the thief will grow bored. Sometimes he will cease his game, and he will not move, and you will turn and meet him eye to eye. He will pretend that you have offended him, that your gaze has unveiled him and you must pay the price for brazen intrusion. Should this happen, know that your time is short, for only the wisest of people have seen the thief and escaped, and you are not among them.
 The thief is capricious, and he is cruel. His favored trick, should you offend him, is your demise. Should you look at the thief, should you take the anonymity he covets, you will see him, and nothing else. He will make quick work of stripping you of your skin. He will eat you, and your heart will beat as his. When he is full, he will don your remains. He will wear your skin and assume your life. He will attend your job, and eat your food, and kiss your loved ones. None will miss you, for they will not know that you have gone, and you will rest forever in his stomach.

Watch closely your loved ones, for they may not be who they once were. You will know the thief when he becomes bored, and he shirks his duties. Be wary should animals run from them, for creatures can see the thief and have more respect for him than we. Perhaps he will move too quietly, and perhaps he will not laugh at your jokes, and perhaps you may catch just the smallest glimpse of his true form, and you will know that the thief has taken them.

Should you decide to confront the thief there is but one way to kill him. When he sleeps and you see that he does not stir, place kindling around your loved one. Be strong and light the blaze. Watch as they are engulfed in flames and, just as the fire has eaten them whole, you must cut out the heart.

You must be strong and kill the thief, or else be content to live a lie. Should your will run short you may content yourself to harbor this monster. They look like the one you have lost; they sound like them. How can you be sure they are not them? Do not ask this question for the seed of doubt will grow in your mind and once doubt takes root, you may never fully kill it. Strike once and be done with it. See the killer burn and die and know that you have avenged the one you loved.

Or you may live with your doubt. Touch the one you love and wonder if their flesh is still theirs. Share your meals with them and wonder if they taste with their own tongue. One day, perhaps, the thief will grow bored with his lie and with you, and you may turn your head to see him, and you will wish that you had lit the flame.

(a hand, reaching from the darkness)

Author's Note: This story was very loosely based on the story of The Lion Who Took the Woman's Shape, from South African mythology. In the story, a woman offends a lion and the two chase each other. When the lion finally pounces on her and eats her, he wears her skin, returns to her family and resumes her life, although he acts very strangely. Eventually, the woman's mother sees some of the lion's fur sticking out from under her skin. She gathers the village and they burn the lion and cut out its heart. The mother then places the heart in a jar with some milk and the daughter reappears from the jar some days later. I decided to make it a little spookier. I think most people tend to see things out of the corner of their eye even when they know that nothing is there. I thought that if this entity were more sinister, and especially if they took your skin, if would make a great urban legend sort of myth. In the end, there's no reviving the person you lost because that loses a bit of the spookiness of the story and regeneration feels kind of silly in the context of urban myths. It is also, of course, not a lion because that's not a creature you see much in suburban life.

 South African Folk-Tales by James Honey (1910)

Story: The Tree of the Empty Lot

     The sun was bright and hot as Eve dug the grave for her precious dog, Adam. A deep pit in the backyard swallowed him up and over the grave she planted the small seedling she had picked out especially for this occasion. It was the fresh beginning of a new summer and the blazing sun beat down on the little tree. Her only memento of her best friend, she watered it tenaciously until it had grown into a thing of beauty – a sturdy tree that bore sweet apples, a tribute to her lost pup.

     But she was young and restless, and after a few years she moved from that place. The little tree had grown strong alongside her and now it stood strong for her, weathering the harsh sunlight rooted in the dry, cracking earth, standing tall and proud for Eve's friend, Adam. No new owner moved to the house and there the tree stood, tall and alone, as weeds grew and trash collected in the yard. The sun shone hot for many summers and the rain refused to fall and the tree sagged under the oppression. The leaves yellowed and the roots ached for nourishment but Adam's tree never wavered, always producing fresh apples and shading the grave of its ward. For years it stood sturdy as Adam's body returned to the earth until it was the only physical monument to testify to his existence.

     In time, a group of children, still learning their times-tables, saw the glistening apples hanging from its branches and approached. Pulling down the sweet, red fruit, the three boys noticed how the branches hung desolately in the sun and agreed among themselves to bring it water. Gathering three buckets which sat long abandoned in the yard, they trekked to their own houses, each filling their pail with cool, clean water.

     In the trek, the first child found a cat, also suffering from the summer heat. Forgetting the tree, he stopped and tipped the bucket so the cat could drink. Forgetting the weight of the bucket, he accidentally tipped it over and, although the cat drank plentifully from what spilled to the ground, there was none left for the tree. The second child walked further and, about halfway to the house, he found a bush in dire need of water. Being kindhearted, he stopped and dumped his bucket out for the bush, and so the bush drank but the tree went thirsty. The third child, in all his strength, carried his bucket the farthest but, when he had gotten to the edge of the property, he saw a man, destitute and thirsty, peeking just out from the corner of the window inside the house. Although no one should be living there for the house was unowned, this man had hidden there from the sun as he had no home of his own. Being gentle and sweet, the child brought his bucket over to the house and left it beside the door. Tentatively, the man opened the door and took the bucket inside, drinking generously of the water for he had none of his own. The water had long since been cut off from this abandoned house.

     Forgetting Adam's tree but having done three good deeds, each child was satisfied with himself and left. Adam’s tree remained, thirsty and slowly withering, yet resolute to the end beneath the evening sky. The man in the house, having watched the boys and their efforts, saw the tree and its shining apples. Pitying it, he stepped outside and, with the last of the water remaining in the bucket, dumped it at the base of the tree. It was a sprinkling, only, but the tree, determined to forever protect the grave over which it stood, gratefully absorbed what it could and survived. In its due course, the harsh summer ended and cool autumn finally blessed the tree with much needed rain, bringing it back to life.

     Eventually, another family moved into the house and, seeing the apples, marveled at the beauty of the tenacious tree and took great care of it although they had no knowledge of its purpose. They pruned the weeds from its base and cleaned the garbage from around its roots and daily watered it when none fell from the sky. The tree grew stronger, and its branches blossomed and its apples grew sweeter than ever. Its leaves were broad and green and soft apple blossom petals adorned Adam's grave, now hidden beneath the lush green grass below the tree.

     One spring, when the tree was at its most beautiful and the blossoms rained down upon the yard like soft pink snow, the sky fell dark. The winds picked up and the clouds crowded among themselves and a tornado touched down upon the neighborhood. Swirling and angry, it lifted the tree from its roots and flipped it onto its side in the yard. When the funnel had fled and the skies cleared, the family emerged from their shelter to see the destruction. Having nothing more to give to the tree that had once stood over Adam’s grave, they cut it down and the planks they made into a house for their new dog.

     Adam's grave now stands bare, forgotten among the grass in the yard. His successor, Chris, stands watch over the family, guarding his house and the lot from all threats to come.

(image of an apple tree, standing alone)

Author's note: This story was massively rewritten from the original. I wanted to translate the story of Lot and the Tree of Adam into a suburban setting that seemed ordinary next its ancient sacred source material. In the story, the tree is planted over the grave of the ancestral Adam, and Lot has to water the tree to atone for his sins. At every turn he finds that he is thwarted in this endeavor by the devil who keeps drinking his water in the guise of a poor peasant. Because he failed his task out of kindness to thirsty strangers, angels ended up watering the tree and Lot was forgiven. Later, the tree is cut down and used to make the cross that Jesus died on. In my story, I replaced Lot with the three children who lived in the neighborhood. They weren’t atoning for anything. They just wanted to do a good deed. Because they’re children, however, they weren’t exactly super resolute in their duty and forgot that they were supposed to water the tree. The homeless man stands in for the angels when he sees that the water was meant for the tree and gives it his last bit from the bucket.

Lot and the Tree of the Cross by J. E. Hanauer 

Story: Jesus Christ - Pro Skater

The most righteous of skaters did come one day to the skate park next to the school and he did have the most wicked kickflips of all time and all were amazed and came to see.

And lo, he said to those skaters who idled there, “You, John and Simon and Peter, follow me and I will teach you how to bust some sick air over on the rail.”

And verily twelve of them did congregate because he was indeed busting some sick air over on the rail and they declared him Master of the Skate Park and promised that they would follow him. Now Jesus and his bros did skate often at the park and straightway many came to them so much that the park grew overfull. They came unto him with their less than gnarly tailspins and their total wipeouts, and they did plead that he should teach them to bang out some perfect ollies. And he did for he had love for even the poser and the newbie.

And the Pharisees, who pleased themselves to skate there after school, saw him do these things and they grew angry. And they asked him why he should invite all the multitudes to the park when a good many of them should not even know how to stay on the board and Jesus said unto them,

“Should the child crawl fresh from the cradle and forthwith know how to fliptrick? Did your brothers refuse to teach you even when you fell and wept? I do not call the many to arrive here at the skatepark but as they arrive I shall teach them for the half-pipe is not only for the few who know how to ride it now, but also those who may learn it in time.”

And with this he shamed them and they were bitter in their departure for the park was still too full to skate in.

A child came unto Jesus weeping and lo Jesus asked him wherefore he shed tears and the child told him that although he wanted very much to skate with him, the wheels had long ago come off his board and thus he could watch the others learn to spinflip but could not do it himself. There Jesus bade he bring forth the board and at once Jesus took it and before his eyes he did reattach the wheels to the board though he had no tools with which to do it. And the boy was amazed and he did spread the good news to all who would listen and Jesus fixed many a skateboard although none could tell how he did it.

Another day as the multitudes did congregate at the skatepark to hear Jesus they grew hungry, but among them they could come up with no more than $15.26 which should not feed a skatepark full of people. Without delay, Jesus did take this money and walked to the convenience store and shortly reappeared laden with honeybuns and Cokes for all. Surely Peter and John were amazed for $15 should not have fed the scores of people in attendance. And they asked him how he came upon such a bounty and for they worried he had stolen it.

And Jesus grew weary of their lack of faith and said unto them, “Dudes, my coupon game is sick.”

And they did believe him and were humbled and all ate and had a good time. And after they had eaten their fill, more food yet sat in the grass before them, so bounteous was this feast. The skaters of the park were amazed and spread the word of the Board further still.

The Pharisees saw all of these things and they grew jealous for the people loved Jesus and forever occupied the park. And they vandalized the park and spray-painted over the blacktop. At night's end and their deed done, they left very much satisfied that the people should stop coming to the park.

Now in the morning all the usual people did come and they saw the travesty and they were angry for the blessed skate park had been desecrated by vandals. Judas did know who had abused the park for he had been witness to it at night and he approached them, and the Pharisees promised to buy him dinner if he should tell the police that Jesus had done it. And wickedness grew in Judas’s heart and also hunger in his stomach and he agreed.

Judas did fetch the cops and led them to the skatepark and there he said whosoever does pull off a righteous bigspin is the one who is responsible and Jesus did bigspin at that moment and forthwith they arrested him.

And Jesus spake, “You Judas, whom I did teach to 360 spin off the jump even though you kept falling off the board? You have told the cops to take me!”

And the cops did take him away and his bros scattered for they didn’t want the cops to think they were accomplices and after much trial Jesus was straightway banned from the skatepark. And his bros felt super bad about it.

On the third day of his ban, much to the surprise of his bros, Jesus did reappear and they rejoiced and asked him if he should stay. He said unto them that he must not, for the cops would probably kick him out again but that he wanted to lay down a few more sick moves before he departed.

And he did skate most admirably and his disciples watched him bomb a hill and before he left he told them to spread the word that one day he would return to teach the newbies once more how to skate. And he did tell his bros to keep catching some gnarly air and to instruct all who were willing to learn how to grind a rail. And then his mom pulled up in her car and once again he departed.

(image of Jesus skateboarding, Major Crew)

Author's note:  I kinda wish I could have made this longer. It was pretty fun to write. Now I'm not a skater so I probably didn't use all the slang entirely correctly but this is just meant to be humorous and not necessarily accurate. I went a little beyond the gospel of Mark because that gospel doesn't actually include the resurrection but I think it's a pretty commonly known element of the story. I was only able to include a few miracles from the book of Mark due to the lack of space. The ones I did reference, I think were some of the best known ones. Jesus fixes the kid's skateboard just as he healed the paralyzed man and let him walk again. He also made way more food out of the very little bit of money than should have been possible like the story of him feeding the multitudes with fish and bread. Of course I could have written for a full day to include more miracles. I would have liked to include walking on water but I struggled a bit to come up with a good parallel for it. As it was, I hope it was still fun to read. The whole story was supposed to be humorous enough that it throws the old story of the Christian savior into a new light so that it’s fun to read for both people who have read it a thousand times, and people who have never read the gospel before. For reference for the skateboard tricks, here are some videos.

Gospel of Mark, King James Version