2004-06-13-2:45 p.m.
This is be workshopped a second time on Weds. This story is probably a little over a month old. Enjoy.

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The White

The four walls are white. They are white. The sleek walls, connected without lines, towered into white clouds. The sun never burned the clouds away.

The walls were monuments that rippled. Fragments of the entire world emerged from them. At times, a non-existent drop made a circle expand until it wasn’t visible or a wave arched up and crashed into it self. It could implode into a white hole and explode into a wobble. Shapes thrust out only to collapse back into the mold. Faces rose up with closed eyes and pressed lips; skinless masks that did not breathe, melting away back into the white as if never formed.

In the center sat a young man under a cherry-wood desk. His upper-body was lean with pale skin and muscles that lacked definition. He only had a pair of white pants that were never stained. His black hair was greasy and fell to his shoulders dead. A chain gripped his neck that made his body always bend down. His arms and legs also were chained to the floor; he was a spider dragging legs that didn’t work. They reached six-feet giving him the ability to slug partly around his desk or to crawl to a white wall with his out-stretched arm. A mirror laid under the desk and he would often run his hand slowly across his face and move his head to see the different angles.

The young man wasn’t alone. Visitors of all races, men and women, cultures from the most hidden caves and glaciers, religions that barked of truth and others who said the Master of All commanded a human sacrifice. They would come at any time, even when the young man was curled up asleep under his desk, always waking him with a slight cough, an angry tribal yell, or with opera singing. Then there were times that no one came and the young man burned the hours away by staring at the mirror mumbling.

And it happened when the young man was sleeping on his side under the cherry-wood desk, there was a thump noise on the outside. The young man rose up with one eye half open and the other closed. He saw a man with a white turban and a tan complexion of clean skin. His beard gray and trimmed with careful detail and in his arm a large volume that appeared at first glance to be an artifact from a museum. The young man rubbed his eyes and yawned, the dark bags and wrinkles magnified in appearance.

“Young master, I am deeply sorry to have awakened you. I have stolen sleep from you, please forgive me,” said Avraham, the man in the white turban.

The young man coughed to clear his throat of snot and didn’t make eye contact, “Shit, people do it all the time so I’m use to it. You’re one of the few people to actually say you’re sorry about waking me up. Usually, they wake me up only to start blabbing about their fucking life. I mean, what do I look like, a goddam dumping ground?”

Avraham nodded at each sentence and hugged his old volume tightly. “It must be so very hard for you.”

“I am, I mean, I know I am more than that. I’m just tired of hearing about whatever the fuck someone wants to sell. Did they ever think for a second that maybe it wasn’t for me? They just push it in your face and expect that it’s so great that you have no choice but to go along.”

“Some positions in life are not for everyone.”

The young man stopped talking, listening to sounds emerge and ebb into the white. He waited. If time existed, then minutes flowed by. The young man spoke up, “I’m surprised you’re not bullshitting.”

“I was only concerned about what you had to say young master. The Lord God listens to every prayer uttered from the mouth of man. From the beggar who lies on the ground, to the rich man who desires nothing. Thus, I will only listen.”

“What are you, some type of holy man? You sound pretty holier than thou.”

“I am nothing!”

“Nothing?”

“I was created from a small speck of nothing. Even in my advanced years, I am still nothing. The Lord our God, He is infused within every fiber of the world, gives nourishment to all flesh, is beyond comprehension, and yet looks upon man and gives him blessings even though he does not deserve it, in His mercy.”

The young man lowered his gaze. His chains rattled as he brushed back his black hair from his face and then rested his fingertips on his lips. “The Lord. My spine is fucking bent; my skin is the same as the walls around me. When I sleep, I have nightmares of everything in the world tearing me apart but they don’t kill me. No, they slash my fingers off, one by one and then each toe with a smile that was for me. Their nails constantly dig into my stomach until they find blood and my guts are scooped to the ground. When I wake up, my eyes hurt watching the white dance and my ears ache over its constant singing. God encompasses everything but I can’t stand seeing everything.”

“Young master, you should not become fearful from so many ideas. A story about our father will explain this. He would watch the sun rise and said that it was God. Then when the moon replaced the sun, he said that the moon must be God. Yet the next day, the sun replaced the moon and he said that there must be a Being who controlled it all, who was beyond the universe. After our father said this, he spent his life understanding, in his own way, how the Lord our God would want us to live our lives but we are not required to live just like our father. Thus every branch of an idea came from a single principle.”

The young man hit his manacles together. “What the fuck is my principle? ‘Don’t be chained to a desk?’ That’s pretty good, maybe that can inspire someone. Just the other day an island-man came with some human flesh stuck between his front teeth and the next day someone floated in with his legs crossed over and his hands together proclaiming that human life was sacred. Who the fuck can make principles when all of that is coming in each day?”

“But one must make a decision…”

“Decision. Sure, I made mine and look what I got!” The young man spread his limp arms encompassing the room and then dropped them. “This is the place of decision. So either I decide to stay here in my own personal hell or I decide to go out there to someone else’s hell. What a fucking great opportunity.”

Avraham hugged his volume tighter and stepped closer to the young man. “Oh my, it does not have to be this way. For if the Lord our God listens to even the prayers of the backsliders, so certainly you cannot give up hope. Please do not give up for your pain will break my heart.”

“It’s not your problem.”

Avraham started to wipe his eyes against his robe sleeve. “Young master! If you do not care, then who will? The world is built for every single person and if you do not care then the world will collapse.”

The young man glanced at the imprints of chicken feet walking down a wall. “I doubt the world will collapse because of me.”

“But it was created just for you. How can you deny or even push away such an honor?”

“What honor does the world have? I’ve seen many ideas and they all don’t fit together. I want to stay here. Alone.”

Avraham slightly bowed toward the young man and started to walk to a wall. “I will go but please reconsider these ideas. It is not good for man to be alone. Go to peace, my friend.” He was absorbed into the white and the room was empty.

Feeling an itch under his ankle bracelet, he tired to slip his pinky under it but there was no room. He reached for the chain, trying to pull up from a squat position but only accomplished falling back. He stayed on his side with his eyes closed, not moving.

“Well kid, looks like those things aren’t coming off any time soon,” a voice twanged.

The young man opened his eyes and saw bright red boots and dusty blue jeans. When he stood he saw a rainbow of colors on his shirt with stars scattered. His face was covered in white makeup, the dark eye-shadow making him look worn out, his nose painted red to match his boots, and a single teardrop painted on his cheek. His lips were painted down in a frown and he wore a pink cowboy hat slanted. The young man touched his own face just in case this was a special disease he didn’t know about.

“Jesus, where the fuck did you come from?” Said the young man.

“Just an old clown from the rodeo. I guess not many folks dress up like this and walk around.” The rodeo clown smiled but it was hard to tell if it was real. “Hey, how come you’re wearing those chains anyways?”

The young man raised his hands. His wrists went limp. “I don’t have a principal on life so my charm bracelets stay on. That’s at least what someone told me.”

“You don’t have a principul? Dang boy, what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing is wrong…”

“I’ve got a whole bag of principuls from the little I know. Some I pick up from the people I met like the ones in the stands or at the bar, which is only a little ways from the rodeo. They say ‘rodeo clown you sure got your ass kicked tonight.’ And I says ‘I know!’ And I know because they know it. And other principuls I have just come around me. Like one I have is ‘never take a shit in a proto-potty.’ So you might be thinking ‘Well rodeo clown why not?’ Its because you never know who’s going to tip that thing over and you’ll be trapped in it and you might have to eat your own arm in case no one finds you. That’s just one, but you get the idea. Most importantly, I get my principuls from reading. It’s important to read good books because it helps clear out all the cobwebs in your head and all that other junk. I mainly read Readers Digest and TV Guide because they are filled with stuff I can take away for later. I just read an article about talking to teens about sex. I don’t got any kids, but hell, I’ll remember it when it’s time to talk about the birds and bees. Of course women don’t really remind me of birds and bees, so I probably won’t say that to my kid. I’ll say ‘watch out if she has fangs’ and also what the article said about wearing a condom because they really were right about that one.”

The young man stared at the rodeo clown.

“Well, I don’t mean to talk your ear off about my principuls but what I’m trying to say is that you need’em. Don’t matter what they are, they could be wrong, and that’s ok. I’m sure I’ve had a plenty of wrong principles that the bull taught me first hand. You act like a cowboy though; get up, dust off your clothes, and say to the bull ‘Come on you sonofbitch!’ And you ride’em, just like a woman will never fall off you in bed so you never let go of that bull. The guys in the bar taught me that onalogy.”

The young man shook his head and final spoke up. “I don’t know if those are really principals. None of that even made sense to me.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to make sense because you’re not me and I’m not you. What you should remember though is that you are you and if you allow it you can live one crazy life and from it come your own ideas.”

“But…”

“You only say ‘but’ when a nice one trots by and I don’t see a filly here. Just remember what I told’ya!” The rodeo clown then melted into the wall and the young man watched where it smoothed out.

He laid on the ground, with the mirror near, noticing he had islands of facial hair that were stubby and black. Fingers ran over the islands and eyes narrowed seeing the blemishes. His hair, tangled with oil, made his bottom lip curl back. He pushed it away but it only limped. The black bags shone the more he stared at them and wrinkles started forming like cracks in cement that never end in their branching. He mumbled in low tones at the mirror, fixed by his own image, trying to stare right into himself through the reflection of his eyes.

Standing behind him was a young woman with red hair that fell to her shoulders. “Hey, what are you doing?”

The young man jumped up, dropping the mirror. “I was just looking at my reflection. Do you always try to scare the shit out of people?”

“No silly, your back was turned. All I did was ask a question.” She smiled and he noticed and then he noticed her tight blue tank top that covered her breasts. He turned his eyes away and looked back at her face. “By the way, my name is Rachel. Nice place you have here.”

“No it’s not, this place is damnation.”

“Oh, well, then sorry my mistake.” She sat under the desk across from the young man. “It just doesn’t look so bad. This is a really nice desk, do you use it for writing?”

“No, it’s my house.”

“Your house? And those chains? Let me guess, just to liven the place up?”

“Yah, a fucking party. My chains and my house work just fine for me.”

“Wait, you’re happy with all this? I mean, it’s nice and all but is this everything you want?”

“Hell, I don’t know what I want. No, I’m not happy but why go anywhere else?”

She leaned forward and the young man’s eyes dipped again in reflex but he turned his face away. “The world has so much! Why not just try something?”

“I’ve seen it all conflict. I don’t want to choose.”

“You don’t have to choose. Give me your hand.”

“What?”

“Just give me your hand.” She said.

She ran her finger tips along his palm to his wrist tracing the skin along the manacle line then moved along the back of his hand, touching the knuckles. Her hand then laced with his and her thumb rubbed in small circles.

“Have you ever felt this before?” She asked.

“No, I haven’t…”

“Then what’s stopping you from other things?”

“Would other things feel this good?”

“They might.” She said

“What if they don’t?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

They held hands walking to a wall and the young man was yanked back by his chains. He watched the wall mold itself into a door but this time the shape stayed firm. “I want to go with you.” He said.

She hugged him. “You can’t go with me.”

“But why?”

“This is yours alone. Nobody else’s.”

“Then how will I find you?”

“I’ll show up when your back is turned again.”

She held his hand again and with her other hand she reached for the doorknob. His hand shook in hers, he licked his dry lips, and he closed his eyes. Her hand gripped his to ease the shaking and she turned the doorknob. They disappeared into the white together. His chains did not go with him.

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