The First Three Months

Reflecting back upon the day I began this blog, it amazes me to think of how things have surpassed my expectations. I figured this would be a small blog where a few family and friends would read occasionally because they feel the need to be kind and read a post or two. That was the status of my previous attempt at a blog almost two years ago. I think that one made it a month before it died off, much like my attempt at creating a website.

That tends to happen a lot. The grand visions fizzle out when the initial excitement wears off.

The excitement for this one hasn't fizzled yet. Instead it is exceeding what I aspired to accomplish when I created Scholarly Scribe. So, in celebration of reaching this first minor milestone, I will answer a few questions that were put forward by some of the readers of my Guys' Night post on Friday.

The following questions were asked by Youngman Brown:

1. What was your original reason for starting a blog?

My original reason for starting a blog was actually highlighted in my first post, Why I Write. I created this as a place to share my thoughts on writing and being a writer. I wanted to be able to share some literary opinions and make book recommendations for other readers (which I still haven't done!). And, most importantly, I wanted a place to share my writing with the world.

Like I mentioned in that post, I don't care whether or not I become a rich or famous writer. I write because I want to share my poems and stories with others. If I were to measure the success of that over the past three months, I would have to say I've succeeded. I've had almost 800 page views in three months. That is much better than I anticipated, and a lot of that is courtesy of Yeah Write. But people are reading some of these posts, which means I've met that goal.

2. Have you always been interested in writing/sharing your life, or was it something encouraged by others?

I have been interested in writing itself since about my Sophomore year of high school. That would date around 1999 or so. My earliest poems and stories come from that time frame, and some of them are still among my favorites. For years I have dreamed of getting things published so others could read what I've written. I have made websites and a blog over the past few years where I would tease with a portion of a story, or with some of my poems that I didn't expect to submit.

I was worried about First Electronic Rights for future submissions. So I posted subpar material or general blogs with my thoughts on a certain topic. But I never really shared the ones that I loved. That ended when I started this blog. I've shared a few of my favorites so far, and have even more to come (and others that I've yet to write!)

3. And would you say that now, three months later, that your motivation for blogging has stayed the same or has it changed?

I would say that it has evolved. Originally my intent was to do nothing but post short stories and poems and occasionally throw in something blogish, like my post From Skeptical to Faithful. Today I still have some original writings, such as my Serial Novel that I started a few weeks ago, but I also have a fair mix of regular blog posts about my life or my thoughts on certain topics. I'm sure over the next nine months it will continue to evolve as I find my style and my voice as a blogger.

But I don't think I'll ever lose my desire to share my writing with everyone. I love getting feedback on poems and stories. The good and the bad. Those comments help me to continuously grow as a writer and hone my skills.

The next set of questions come from Shiftless Mommie:

1. What were your biggest concerns when you first got started?

I was concerned about several things when I first started this blog. The first concern was that I would lost interest, yet again, in an attempt to share my thoughts and writing with others. As I mentioned above, I have had several failed attempts at starting blogs and websites with a similar purpose in mind. Thankfully it only takes one exception to break the cycle, and I think that is going to happen with Scholarly Scribe.

My second concern was that no one would take notice. My blog is still small enough and new enough that I get a sense of excitement when I see any new comment, or notice that any single post is getting a fair number of views. It gives me a feeling of accomplishment that aligns with the goals that I had for this blog. As long as I continue to get some views and some comments, I believe I'll continue to have a reason to post.

My third concern was that my greatest fears would become realized. My self-confidence would take a beating. The comments I would get would all be negative and along the lines of telling me to stick to a real job and that I couldn't make it as a writer. Finding acceptance and a sense of belonging never really came easy to me growing up. For the most part I have left that sense of insecurity in the past, but it is always ready to sprout up at the (not so) perfect moment and crush my hopes.

2. What is drawing you to WordPress?

Comparitively there aren't many major differences between Blogger and Wordpress. At least that is what I have been led to believe from the bit of research I have done into the matter. Blogger is newbie-friendly and has some great features. Wordpress, from what I have read and seen so far, takes most things a little bit further in what you can do. I like the designs offered on Wordpress, and they have a free account that gives the same sort of address choice that Blogger allows.

In the end it is just those minor things that Blogger doesn't do that draws me to try it out. I think the biggest appeal is the ability to create Pages, which will make it easy for readers to access each part of my Serial Novel. I'm 98% certain I'm going to enjoy the change to Wordpress and stay there for a long time. Now I just need to get enough skill to create a passable-looking banner for the top of my blog. I've never been able to do things in Paint, much less any of the more advanced photo/image creation/modification programs.


Many thanks to the two bloggers who presented some questions. Any others that happen to pop up over the next few days will be addressed in a future blog post. Feedback is always welcome, as are any other questions you may have thought of!

Guys' Night

Before I begin my post for today, I'm going to make three announcements:

1. Tonight I've been busy with babysitting and homework, so I'm pushing back my third installment of my Serial Novel until Sunday night.

2. April 17 marks the three-month anniversary of this blog. It has far surpassed my expectations, so I will be making a special post on Tuesday night where I will answer some questions about me. They can be about who I am, the blog, my writing...anything, really. The only condition is that I need you to post some questions in the comments of this post and I will answer them all on Tuesday. Don't feel like asking a question? Leave a writing prompt instead and I will hit that sometime in the next week or two (time permitting).

3. I am considering making a transition from Blogger to WordPress in the near future. At some point, once I have things in a format I like over there, I will provide a link to the future site and post on both for 2-3 weeks before I make the move for good. Any tips about WordPress are welcome!

----------

Almost a week ago my fiancee and I decided to bring a child into our home. Her cousin has been rehabilitating from a surgery and there is no telling how soon she'll be able to take care of her three children. Prior to Saturday the extent of our help in all of this was praying for them and visiting a few times during the week. We agreed to watch her six-month old boy, Michael, for a night. It is almost a week later and he is still here.

He is such a happy, smiling boy. It is impossible not to fall in love with him almost immediately. He is a lot of fun to have around in spite of our busy (and unusual) schedules. We've found ways to juggle things adequately enough to continue our activities like normal. But I have to confess that it is tough going from no baby to having one around without much notice or time to mentally (and emotionally) prepare for the task.

A few weeks ago my fiancee signed up to attend a women's function at our church with one of her friends. That meant she would be away all evening, leaving me alone with Michael at home. It has been years since I've watched a baby for any amount of time. Being alone with him for hours tonight was, on some level, a scary thought. But I mustered enough courage to encourage her to go anyway.

So we've enjoyed guys' night tonight. We played on the floor and in his walker. We had Avatar: The Last Airbender playing in the background, which is a fitting cartoon for the guys' night. We've danced and sang and tickled. We've pet the cats (one of them finally warmed up to him enough tonight to let him pet her. She did good, even when he grabbed a handful of fur) and had raspberries blown on his tummy. He had a bath and got ready for bed. He got his nightly dose of Albuterol with the respiration machine. Many nights he screams and fights that. Not tonight.

Tonight he fell asleep during it. He was so tired that he stayed asleep when I set him down in the car seat long enough to make his bottle. He has been sleeping sound for almost two hours no. This was, by far, the easiest night for getting him to sleep.

Maybe we just played too hard and had too much fun for him to stay awake and fight his sleep. We enjoyed getting to bond tonight. I love this baby and now I can't wait for us to have some of our own filling up our house.

Maybe we should have guys' night more often. I think he'd like that. What do you think?

Entering this post in Yeah Write #53 this week. Stop by and check out all the awesome blogs. I'm sure you'll find at least one you like.

The Princess and the Poet

Today I celebrate the birth of my better half, Nicole. Words can't do justice to how much I love her and how blessed my life has become since she became a part of it. In celebration of this great day I thought I would share the story of my proposal to her last year.

It started by me asking her parents to eat lunch with me once I purchased the ring. We ate at a sushi place in West Des Moines and I asked their permission to marry their daughter. They gave me permission, and that night I came home and we were both doing homework. The whole time I was mulling over how to propose. I knew one thing was certain:

She didn't want any sort of public proposal. She had mentioned that before in passing.

I kept coming up with all these grand, elaborate ideas like proposing after going skydiving. But the more I thought about it the more I realized I didn't want to wait any longer. I wanted to ask her that night.

And then it hit me: I should propose in a story.

And so I wrote a short story and, when she was done with her homework I asked her if she would let me read her a story and tell me what she thought about it.

And here is how it goes:

---------------------------------

            Once upon a time there was a beautiful young princess who was the envy of the kingdom. She had long brown hair and a smile that could melt any man’s heart. Her brown eyes sparkled brighter than any star in the sky. Her skin was smooth and fair in complexion and as soft as silk. When she sang it left men enchanted by her angelic voice. She had a great many suitors during the prime years of her youth, but she never met a prince in the four corners of the earth that could win her heart.

            One day a young poet was in the courtyard when he heard the young princess singing. It filled him with such rapture that words flowed freely from his quill onto the parchment, filling it with such perfect lines of poetry that he became convinced that he must meet the source of such a sweet melody. Every day he came back to the same courtyard, hoping to hear that sweet voice. Nearly a week passed until he once again heard the wonderful singing, and although his urge to write inspired poetry was great, he instead followed the sound of the voice until he came across its source.

            When he first laid eyes on the young princess he instantly believed that she was an angel sent from heaven, so great was her beauty to match her voice. He admired her from behind a bush, and watched as several men tried in vain to get her attention. She ignored them all and continued singing, and the poet had an idea and began to write a new poem. When the singing ceased, and the men all dispersed, he walked over toward the window where she had stood and began to recite his poem.

            The young princess had never heard words filled with such fire and emotion, so she came to the window to see what manner of prince was making these claims. When she saw the poor poet, she took an instant liking to him because he was nothing like all the boring princes she had rejected. For over a year the two continued to meet in secret, since it was forbidden for the young princess to take an interest in anyone but a prince. Yet her heart sang every time she was with the poet, and the poet’s soul was filled with such sweet verse that neither one wanted things to come to an end.

            One warm spring day the poet professed his undying love to the young princess, saying he wanted her to run away with him and live down by the sea in his hut. While she loved the poet, she could not bear to leave her family and her castle behind. She ached to do as he asked, but before she could give up her life she decided to test the poet to determine his commitment.

            The next day, when the poet came and proclaimed his love for the princess and once more asked her to run away with him, she presented her challenge to him. He had thirty days to prove to her his love and, if he could do this, she would run away with him. If he could not do this, she would have no choice but to accept he did not love her and they would never speak to each other again.

            Over the next twenty-nine days the poor poet tried everything he could think of. He wrote her songs and poems about his love for her, but that could not move the princess to be convinced of his commitment. He brought her jewels and flowers, but she was still not convinced. He begged and pleaded for her to change her mind, or to give him a hint, but she stood firm by her decision. On the final day of the test, the princess woke up feeling sick with despair, knowing that this might be the day she would have to say good bye to the poet forever. While her heart ached to consider the idea, she knew she could never leave her life behind. She put on her best dress and went to her window, and there was the poor poet waiting for her.

            He looked up into her eyes and smiled, certain he had finally figured out what he needed to do. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small box and opened it up, dropping to one knee as he spoke to her, saying:

            “You are a wonderful woman and I am so happy to be with you. I am so happy you are a part of my life and I want you to be part of my life forever. I love you so much. Would you do me the absolute honor of marrying me?”

--------------------------

At this point I was on one knee with the ring in my hand as I said that last paragraph. She cried and said yes. And then we tried taking a good picture of the ring for about half an hour. It was dark and the flash wasn't cooperating. Then we watched her favorite movie: Twilight.

Ten months later we're still happily engaged and celebrating her birthday today. I love her so much and can't wait to find out where our lives will take us as we journey together. Forever.

 Happy Birthday Nicole. I love you. :)

Hero Wanted?

I love the Fantasy genre. I love knights and dragons and magic and elves and all of that stuff. I love the idea that one person, or a small group of people, can help save the world. Even the most unlikely person could end up being a hero, like Frodo and Sam. Maybe part of me hopes that I can accomplish similar deeds in today's world.

But then I got to thinking about something while I was working out at Planet Fitness today: I'd never make it as a hero.

I'm out of shape. I don't eat very well some days and my daily fitness regiment is more like an "on occasion" affair. Which usually means a week or two of doing it and then a month or two of not. It is a lot easier to just enjoy life and utilize that hour doing other things.

Like reading or video games or watching The Biggest Loser. Great choice, trading active for sedentary.

Everyone knows the Number One rule in Zombieland:

And I know I wouldn't last if the zombie apocalypse occurred today.

If the world needed me to strap on a suit of armor and ride a horse for miles and then face off with an evil wizard, I would probably fail somewhere between putting on armor and riding the first mile on a horse. If I had to fight with a sword for more than a minute or two I'd probably end up dropping my sword from exhaustion.

Goblin Horde: 1, Knight David: 0

I'm not anywhere near the physical shape I should be. I'm overweight and at the rate I'm going I am more likely to look like this

Than I am to look like this

Is this madness? No, this is the sad reality of life as it stands. And I know I'm not the only one struggling with the same problems. Unhealthy lifestyles have become an epidemic in this nation, from what I can see. And I won't stand for it any more.

In July I might not look quite as good as Leonidas or any of the Spartans did. But I intend to look more like that than someone who belongs on The Biggest Loser.

And if I can complete this quest, maybe slaying a dragon or saving the world won't be such a challenge in comparison.

On Education

I wish I would have listened to my dad years ago when he emphasized the importance of doing good in school. It was a topic he brought up several times during my high school years, and each time I simply heard the words without the importance sinking in. I didn't really see the need.

I didn't understand how much of a difference it would be to get an 'A' instead of a 'B'. The former would require effort to obtain, while the latter I could get without studying or applying myself beyond showing up for class and doing homework at the last possible minute.

Then I went to college for a semester. One miserable semester where I felt overwhelmed and inferior. Suddenly those 'B' grades were becoming 'C' grades. I didn't get dumber overnight. The material and the grading standards simply increased. I did not return to Simpson College for the Spring semester in 2003.

I kicked myself for years after that. I tried to succeed in life with what skills and opportunities presented themselves to me. I did manage to thrive for a few years until I had a life-changing realization: I hated my job and the industry I was working in.

I needed a change.

At the time I was single, living with my best friend, so I really had nothing to lose by taking a pay cut and returning to the college world. I enrolled at the local community college and came to another realization: "just enough" wasn't good enough for me.

My dad's advice finally made sense.

Over the past three years I've been paving my way toward a college education that I could have obtained years ago. Last May I graduated from Des Moines Area Community College with an Associate of Arts degree. I was inducted into the Phi Theta Kappa honor society. I graduated with honors.

All while working full-time.

I decided last fall to return to Simpson College. Yes, the same place I departed from after a lackluster 2002 Fall term. Then I learned I would retain my GPA and the credits earned from that semester. Yikes!

But I've viewed this as an opportunity to repair the error in my past and finish what I started. And I fully intend to finish in 2013 with honors, in spite of the obstacle.

With this resurgence of focus on education in my life recently, I've paid particular attention to that topic with Obama's current presidency and what the possible Republican candidates have said. And something I read tonight really bothered me.

Rick Santorum came out and said that Obama is a "snob" because he encourages everyone in America to go to college.

An article on Forbes quotes another part of Santorum's speech: “There are good, decent men and women who work hard every day and put their skills to the test that aren’t taught by some liberal college professor… That’s why he wants you to go to college. He wants to remake you in his image,” Santorum said. “I want to create jobs so people can remake their children into their image, not his.”

Wait a minute, Obama wants us to go to college so we can be remade in his image? Really?

 And then I do some more digging into Santorum's educational views. I don't like what I'm finding. He believes that we should reduce government funding for public education and revert to homeschooling.

I don't want to see the quality of education decline.

I value education. It is a value that I hope to foster in my children when my fiancee and I begin to have a family. It is something I encourage everyone to value, because I feel it is important. It is something that President Obama supports, and it is something that the current governor of Iowa supports as well.

And I like that.

What I don't like is being hearing that a possible candidate for the Presidency does not value it. He would probably not get my vote if he beats Romney.

Because I think a quality education is that important in today's world.

Writing Goal Tracker

An odd set of coincidences has convinced me to create this post. A few nights ago I was falling asleep and thought about making a blog post to establish my writing-related goals for 2012. I figured this would be a way of keeping myself accountable, since I would have my readers to encourage me to achieve these goals.

The next morning there was a prompt on The Lightning and the Lightning Bug for "Commitment Device". Coincidence? I hardly believe it could be. It was certainly a sign to get motivated and put an action plan into words.

For those who read my last post about the fear of submission, I will provide a status update. I got a response for three of the seven poems I submitted. They were all rejected by an "Emerging Writers" publication. The kicker? Two were rejected solely because they rhyme even though the submission guidelines mentioned nothing about not wanting rhyming poems.

They don't deserve to publish my poems anyway.

I've decided to break this down into six categories: books read, poems written, stories written, works submitted, works accepted, and works rejected.

An important part of being a writer is reading a lot as well. It helps us to grow and develop ideas and voice in our own writing. This is never an issue for me because I love to read. I decided to finally create a GoodReads account last night, where you can see my collection and which books I've read this year.

I tend to write a lot more poems than stories, but I think it would be best for me to continue to generate new work in both categories. That is why there will be a lot more poems than stories for the goals, and for these categories I'm tracking from today through 12/31/2012.

For the submission-related ones, the reason should be fairly self-explanatory. I'll never become published if I don't submit, and I'll hopefully fail to meet my rejection goal.

Check back often because I'll be editing this page every time any of these numbers change!

-----------------------

Books Read: 17/52           Last Book Completed: The Importance of Being Earnest and Four Other Plays by Oscar Wilde

Poems Written: 2/65

Stories Written: 1/12

Works Submitted: 17/100

Works Accepted: 0/5

Works Rejected: 10/95

Poem - Facing Fear

Last night, during the breaks in my class, I submitted 7 poems for publication. This marked the first time in over a year that I finally broke down and submitted my writing. For some reason the idea of facing another rejection was something I was intimidated by. Last night, while falling asleep, I had the spark of an idea for this poem. It is unedited, in its purest form. It may not be perfect, but that is facing yet another fear. I want things to be perfect before I share them. But sometimes you just have to jump in and do it anyway.

Facing Fear

A shadow freezes the blood

Flowing through my veins,

Giving my hand pause as my

Mind dwells upon dark fears.

 Hesitation lurks around the corner,

Always there to comfort me with

A pessimistic perspective.

I can't do it. I'm not good enough.

Who would take them, anyway?

You really think it is worth

The monetary prize?

For each thrust from the

Pessimist my mind attempts to

Counter with a quick parry

To drive back this gloomy fog that

I have succumbed to so easily.

This is what I am meant to do.

It is my hobby, my passion, the one thing

That is my calling in life.

I am a writer, not some novice who

Quivers in intimidation and

Cowers in the corner with a tail

Between my legs.

This fear that threatens me daily is

Not something new; it is merely taking

A new form. I have always sought

Acceptance, encouragement, success

And hoped to avoid failure.

It took the form of isolation from intimacy,

Keeping me locked in bad relationships

That never should have thrived.

It took the form of hesitation to leave a job

That I loathed, dreaded, hated

Each day. I forced myself to get up and return

To the grind of a retail void where

Creativity and motivation where sucked

Out and replaced with the possibility

Of becoming a mindless zombie.

I hate the struggle with this fear,

But I know that it is as normal

As the breath I take each moment.

It is there for me to overcome

And push to greater heights. It is His will

That I grow to greater heights

By triumphing over this inner demon

That haunts me at every turn.

Each time I've surpassed the barrier

In the past my life has inevitably become

Better by an unmeasurable quantity.

This will be the same because I know

That God has a purpose for these obstacles,

These fear which dwell upon my mind

And freeze me with doubt.

I will succeed. He has seen it happen

Because He knows me and knows what

I am capable of. He bestowed this talent

Upon me when He molded me in His likeness.

I understand why the fear was placed before me;

If this came too easily I would take it 

For granted and gain nothing. To finally

Get past rejection, and my fears of failure,

And become a published author will be

A sweet victory that I can relish

And revel in. I will have earned my place

Among the others before me who have

Earned the right to have their name published

Alongside their writing.

All I need to do is take the first step.

I need to send my beloved pieces

Out for judgment by the editor. And as I

Hit submit I feel peace, knowing that even if

The result is rejection, my will is strong and

In my heart I know that it was all part of

His plan for me. Because I am a writer

And I will become published.

Someday.

This post is being submitted for consideration in Yeah Write #45. This marks the third week taking place in this exciting contest! Check it out and enjoy reading all 50 blog posts.

Thoughts Upon a Valentine

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. The day that people celebrate the love they share for each other by purchasing cards, flowers, chocolates, and waiting three hours to get a table for dinner. The day that some single people lovingly refer to as a “Hallmark Holiday”. There was a time when I was alone and bitter and felt that way about this holiday. Maybe I was alone because I was bitter.

I am blessed to have such a wonderful woman to share this holiday with. I am a better person today because she has been a part of my life, and I look forward to many great memories that we’ll share together in the year 2012. She is my valentine every day for the rest of my life. I can’t wait to marry her this summer.

Writing can be a very solitary craft. Even when you have the support of someone else, it can still feel that way when you only hear “I love it!” about everything you write. I do hear my share of positive feedback from her, but she also is not afraid to let me know when something isn’t quite right. If she can’t understand something, I usually wording things poorly or assumed that people would know certain tidbits of information. She keeps my words concise and my focus grounded. She is the best support system I could ask for.

She understands me in a way that no one else has. She might not understand why I get excited about the next installment in the Zelda series, or why I absolutely have to get a 4.0 GPA every semester, but she understands that these things are important to me. This weekend she gave me my valentine/birthday present: a Playstation 3 and Final Fantasy XIII-2. I didn’t even have to hint at a game; she knew the right one to get me.

She encourages me to get homework done even though I know she’d prefer to have me sitting by her side on the couch, watching Twilight for the hundredth time. She tells me to play my games on our only television and that she wants to watch me play, even though I know that it can’t be that interesting to watch another person playing a RPG. She encourages me to write and to submit things even when I feel like I can’t write or that my writing will never get published.

For the record, I’ve only seen rejection letters; however, I’ve only submitted a handful of things over the years. I’m sure I’d be published by now if I submitted more often.

She makes me feel special because she supports the little things that are important to me. I know she doesn’t really want to see Star Wars in 3D, especially after hearing that the 3D is nearly non-existent. But she still declared we are going to see it anyway.

These are a few of the reasons why I love her. The list could go on forever. She is probably the best care provider for children that I’ll ever meet. She will be an incredible mother, and I can’t wait to start our branch of a family together. She wants to make life better for everyone.

She has made my life better.

I’ve finally found who I am through her guidance. I’m not as overweight as I used to be. I don’t play video games for hours every day and spend my days off glued to the games. I have found faith in God for the first time because of her, and can see His blessings in my life that led me on the path to her and the blessings that have come since I’ve found her.

I could never fully express how much I love her. It would never be enough. She has changed my life and who I am, and given me more joy than I knew could be possible.  That is why I help with things around the house. That is why I randomly surprise her with flowers on days that do not fall on February 14. That is why I will remain devoted to her for eternity. For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health. For better or for worse.

But no matter what happens, things will always be better than they were before she came into my life.

Tell me about your valentine. What makes them special for you?

This post submitted to Yeah Write #44. Check out the great community of bloggers taking place in this weekly contest every Tuesday.

Story - A Hope for the Future

It has been a very busy weekend! I've had a lot of fun spending time with a great friend, spending time with my fiancée and her parents, playing with two great cats, and reading Wuthering Heights. Add in homework and Church and it makes for a full weekend.

Today I am going to share a short story I wrote in Creative Writing almost two years ago. We had to write a story that used three different narrators, and I've always been happy with how it turned out. It is 2,220 words long, and hopefully you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Feedback is certainly welcome!

On a side note, I'm hoping to begin writing something to enter into the Writers of the Future contest.

------------------

A Hope for the Future

            I miss my Anna. She loved me so much and I never knew how to express my love to her. What would she think if she could see me now? What would she say when she saw how far I have fallen? She always knew the right things to say. She could make this all better. No. She would not have even let me get here, had she not left me. She is in a far better place than I am now. Where she is there is no rusty door that creaks every time it is opened. There is no dimming light from a pair of low-burning torches. There is no pang of hunger gnawing at her stomach with each move she makes.

            My back aches so much from sleeping on this clump of straw. You would think these hosts could at least provide some decent provisions if they are going to place me in this room for a while. There is a broken sword over there, my blood dried onto one of the splintered shards. My foot still throbs from the scabbing cut, which gets inflamed each time the cold, damp air hits it. The roof is leaking, even though this room is far underground. I hope I don’t catch the plague. Or worse. That mangy rat over there probably has some kind of disease. It keeps poking its head out of the wall, its beady eyes looking for something.

            “Go away, rodent. There is no food for you here. Why don’t you go away? There is nothing for you in here.”

            The rat looks at me, peering into my soul. It scampers out of its gloomy abode, scurrying into the center of the room. It climbs over a moldy skull near the center. What great décor they have in this room. What is that rat doing? Is it trying to rise to the top of that anvil? SQUEAK! That dumb animal fell down. Why is it looking back at me again? There it goes, trying to climb up the anvil once more. I guess it must learn the hard way that life is full of pain, failures, and loss. Hold on, it made it up there to the mossy surface. To sit and watch me?

            “Why do you keep watching me? I have no food. Are you trying to tell me something? Wait. That gleam. I recognize that look. A—Anna? Anna!”

            It is so dark down here. I bet there is a minotaur or a hydra down here somewhere! This guy has such strong armor. I wish I had a sword like his! Oh, the door is so loud when it opens! I can’t stop laughing; that door is going to make this such a great room to stay in! We get our own torches in here too? Listen to that fire crackle as it burns! It just popped, too! I hope they don’t let those torches burn out. What is this old guy in here staring at? Oh! It’s a rat! I should give him a name!

            “Come here, Hercules!”

            “Who is Hercules?” the old man responds.

            “The rat, of course. Like you would be Hercules.”

            “That rat has a name, and it certainly isn’t Hercules.”

            “Let me guess! I love games like this! Is it named Squeaker?”

            “No.”

            “Judas?”

            “No, it’s—“

            “Agnes?”

            “Anna.”

            “Oh that is such a nice name!”

            I move forward, calling out to Anna to tell her what great eyes she has and how pretty her fur is. The old man shivers and his eyes get red. I think he might be about to start crying, so I skip over to his bed of straw and tumble into the one next to him. Loose strands of straw fly into the air and I laugh, grabbing a handful of the straw. I roll over to throw it at the old man, but his expression gives me pause. His eyes haven’t left Anna, tears streaming down his cheeks.

            “It’ll be okay. I bet we’ll have all kinds of fun staying here,” I comfort him.

            “I don’t want to have fun,” he mumbles. “I just want my Anna back.”

            “She is right over there. Here, I’ll bring her to you.”

            “Not the rat. My daughter.”

            “Oh, I didn’t realize,” the boy answers.

            “It’s okay young one,” I reply in a somber tone as I fight to hold back another torrent of tears. “I miss her so much, ever since she left ten years ago. She was all I had left, ever since my wife died to give her life.”

            “I bet she is out there somewhere, thinking of you. She knows how proud you are of her and how much you still care.”

            “I can hardly believe my ears; such sagely advice coming from one so young. Is there hope left yet in Pandora’s Box after all? Long ago I believed that it had left the world, along with all the other forms of good, leaving behind evil to corrupt us all. The good in my own world left when my two women departed from me. Rachel blessed my life with her love, and then as her final loving act she gave me our Anna. I missed her so much, but I raised Anna as best as I could. But for ten years now I’ve simply gone through the motions of living without ever truly experiencing life. My world ended the day she left me.

            But now this child is consoling me, when it should be me who should be shielding him from the bitter fate that is undoubtedly awaiting him. Why else would he be here?

            “Come here, grandson. Sit on my lap and tell me about your family.”

            He calls me his grandson and wants to know more about me and my family. He looks so sad and lonely, as if he hasn’t had anyone for such a long time. Ten years seems like forever. I can’t wait to be ten! A few years from now and I will be! I think he needs a hug. He wants someone to talk to; I can sense it.

            “My momma left weeks ago and no one knows where she went.”

            “Poor child. What was she like?”

            “She was so strong and beautiful. There was never a guy good enough to take a place beside her. I never met my dad; she told me he was a very powerful man.”

            “You never knew your father? Just like my Anna never knew her mother.”

            “That is okay though, Grandpa. My mom was a good enough parent to be both. Just like I can tell that you were.”

            “Do you have any other brothers or sisters?”

            “Just me and my mom. That is all I have ever known. We’ve moved from place to place all the time, so I have never really had a home. My home was wherever we were, so long as we were together.”

            Tears fill the old man’s eyes and I reach up to brush them away. He has lived such a sad, lonely life the past ten years. He has forgotten how to live; how to experience joy. He has spent his life feeling lost without his family. I will be his family now. I will help him remember the joys of living; the experiences worth having. I will show him the happiness in all things!

            “Look at the light of the moon creeping through the cracks on the wall. It makes the moss seem to grow, like the stars in the sky.”

            “Yes, child. I can see it now!”

            “Look at the shadows dancing on the wall behind you. Look! I’ve made a lion! Rawr!”

            An uncomfortable sound escapes the old man’s lips, and it takes a moment for me to realize it was laughter. It has been so long since he last laughed that his body has forgotten how to laugh. It takes little time for him to remember; however, and soon he mimics my shadow lion. Our fierce animals wage war on the wall, laughter from us both echoing in the background.

            The chains rattle with each forced step. My limbs freeze in resistance but the repeated jabs in my lower back never fail to get me moving forward again. I am able to recognize the moldy limestone surrounding us as we descend deeper. I am almost back to my room. The unbearable stench of this escort will soon be removed from my presence. I can hardly wait to be free of their leering gazes. Lost in thought, my fierce defiance collapses momentarily and I begin to move under my own free will. One of the goons speaks, breaking my trance.

            “Looks like the wench remembered how to walk.”

            “Wonder if she knows any other tricks?”

            I choose not to dignify them with a response. Even if my lips could part to form the words, it would just provoke them into action. I’ve had worse done to me than these two slobs would want to do; I would just have to suffer through their two minutes of clumsy groping. I stop walking and once more a sharp pain shoots up my back. The comforting pain of resistance. The door to my room creaks open and rough, calloused hands fondle me briefly as one of the men shoves me through the doorway. I fall to the floor, unable to catch myself completely with my shackled hands.

            My first awareness is of the fact that I am no longer alone in my cell. There are unexpected cohabitants in my room, although I cannot see them yet. My eyes squint as I attempt to grow accustomed to the brightness of the room. The door slams shut and a key turns in the rusted lock. The cool air feels comforting on my skin. I exert a fraction of my diminishing strength to get up onto my knees. I take a quick scan of the room and, if I could have spoken, I would have screamed.

            The boy makes me feel thirty again. I can’t recall the last time I ever felt so happy. Not since Anna left, for sure. We laugh and tell stories and, as I am telling him about the time when Anna stole a fish, the door groans open. Two greasy men in uniforms force a young woman into the room. Her arms are chained together behind her back and her scant clothing is torn in so many places. Her face is bruised horribly and her jaw has been broken. Both eyes are swollen and her nose is jagged. Poor girl.

            She struggles to her knees and looks over in our direction. I cannot see her eyes, but for some reason I think I have seen her somewhere before. Probably just my imagination. Blood is crusted on her skin around most of the tears in her clothing. I have the urge to go and help her. The young lad shoves off my lap, tears in his eyes. He has such sympathy for such a young boy. He helps her to her feet and I remove the sleeve of my shirt, dipping it into a pool of water on the floor. I softly scrub, washing away the blood on her skin as she rests her head on the boy’s shoulder.

            She looks so different. She has aged years in the weeks since she has been gone. My mom, here, in this room with me? I cannot believe it is truly her! She seems so sad. So hurt. I love her so much. I can see she wants to tell me something. Why won’t she just tell me what she wants to say?

            Poor little Gareth! What is he doing here? He shouldn’t see me like this, but oh how his presence gives me renewed hope. A reminder that there is still something worth living for. If I give in now the future of our country is doomed to the tyrannical hands of the Emperor. I can’t be the one to let that happen. The life of my son, and the children of so many others, could be altered if I am weak. I will persevere.

            How quickly my own blood recognized me and came to my aid! Yet the other has not yet pieced things together completely. He senses, I can see that much in his eyes. It has been a long time since our paths last crossed. His mind is struggling to realize. Hold on—I sense a change. The torn cloth has dropped from his hand; tears of recognition fill his eyes. Yes! You know me! Say it and believe!

            “Anna? My daughter, Anna?”

            “Grandpa!” my Gareth cries out. We embrace together, the first time all three of us have come together. There is so much I need to tell them but my mouth won’t move. Tomorrow I face my execution. They will need to be strong, like I will be tomorrow. The Emperor will see that he can take away my life but, not even for a moment, can he rid us of what we believe in. May my death pave the way so that Gareth, and the children of countless others, can have a better tomorrow. The time for change has arrived.