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Becoming an Abstractor – Part Seven

Waking-up with a massive migraine and a thick layer of hazy confusion was a situation Durston wasn’t use to experiencing. Even with the most promiscuous activities, his upbringing would never have allowed him to indulge to the point of complete disorientation. Wanting to stabilize his mental and physical equilibrium, Timothy kept his eyes directed at the unfamiliar ceiling.

“It’s advised for you to remain still Cleric.” A distinct foreign voice and creak of wood redistributing weight had Timothy strain to respond. Fear made way through his body, settling heavy everywhere it touched as Durston struggled to move but failed.

“Ah, tisk tisk my young Cleric. That’s why I insisted that you to stay as you were.” The stranger appeared over Durston, peering down and making eye-contact with a slight frown. But it was a look of disappointment flashing across her gaze that made Timothy realize he wasn’t the only one displeased with the circumstance.

“As you’re aware by now, magical and material means are keeping you restrained here. Unfortunately for you, the informant the Realm believed to have is in truth still very much loyal to our cause. That makes you purposefully lead to us, and placed in our care.” A hand fluttered half-haphazardly across Durston’s shoulder as the unfamiliar brunette made her way around him.

“The Capital was bound to discover our society eventually. Because of Cypris we were able to control the information on both what the government learned and the avenues taken in delving further into our business.” Durston refused to give the unknown woman the attention of his eyes, the one thing he had control of.

“We want to thank you for joining us here in Cyphorica. As an outer city we rarely are graced with the presence of those from the Temple or Capital. It’s our hope we can have your full support.” A subtle smile brushed over the captor’s face.

“I know you can’t even imagine helping us, but you will. I have faith you’ll willingly cooperate, but if not…” Turning her back to Durston, giving a dismissal shrug, the rebel made way to an open door. “Cypris will be in shortly to help get you situated. I give this warning, there’s a choker around your neck that is designed to redirect all magic you attempt to incapacitate you.”

Being left alone, Timothy tried an experimental flex of his arm.

Nothing.

Coming from a powerful and successful family, failure wasn’t something Timothy was use to, and so refused to readily accept. Experience from a politically driven father taught Durston that there were ways to turn unforeseeable events into something favorable. But until he knew what his opponents needed him for, nothing could be gained by his escape; making it back to Abstractor Kireek would earn no recognition without intel.

A soft knock interrupted Durston’s contemplation, drawing his attention to the room’s new occupant. Coarse curls caught and reflected what light there was, dancing before the eyes giving Cypris the youthful, innocent look that him and the Realm fell for.

“I’m aware you are most likely angry at me for your current dilemma, but being a young, opportunistic person, it’s our hope you’ll understand our position and validate our standing with the Realm.” Other then when she first entered, Cypris refused to meet Timothy’s eyes. He wasn’t sure what kept the confident girl’s gaze diverted, as it could be a number of reasons ranging from her guilt to his callous scrutiny.

“Priestess Knight wants me to get you comfortable, so I’m going to remove your bindings now. I’m told she gave you a warning already on what will happen if you try anything, I suggest you trust in her threats.” Cypris leaned over Timothy, studying his eyes for a moment for letting out a soft sigh.

“You’re young and come from a privileged standing. You don’t understand what it’s like out here beyond those Temple and gilded walls.” Making way around his prone figure he felt her feather light touch remove the spells placed around him.

“I envy you Timothy, as I’m sure many people do. You know what the difference is between you and I?” Taking a moment to pass him a wistful look, she continued as if not expecting an answer. “Status. That’s all. My magic can do the same thing as any Clerics. I find it difficult to believe that the Great Circle would gift those outside of the Temple if it wasn’t meant for us too.”

Finally feeling the weight lifted, Durston made himself as pleasant as could be expected when given no choice. Trained to always look at placing himself in a position of power he was quick to vacate his bindings and made to escort Cypris to a set of plain chairs. With practiced skill Timothy cunningly moved her seat, removing the sight of his recent captivity from view.

Needing a moment to steady himself and noticing a carafe nearby, Durston thought it best to serve them both a drink. “So Ms. Bloom, why did you have me brought here?”

“Don’t flatter yourself too much. The Coven just needs a fully administered Cleric of the Temple and they sent you to meet me.” Giving a sly smirk, Cypris gave her drink a courtesy sip for dramatic effect. “Priestess Knight is impressed with you. It’s her belief the future can only progress with the open minds of the youth, and she sees you being able to help with that.”

“Progress is laid on the foundation of the wise, lead by experience, and taught by those that have already learned from it. The Witches’ Coven has never approached the Temple on any concerns, hopes of progress or change, but instead have established themselves as adversaries.”

Cypris sprang out of her chair in an irritated flurry. “The whole country is controlled by the Temple and Clerics. No one outside of the Temple’s circle has any say or power, whether it be political, agricultural, structural, or even magical. If anyone dares to speak about discontent of living under ecclesiastical authority, it’s seen as an attack which the Temple is quick to silent.”

Durston mentally slapped himself for speaking his mind, his father’s teachings always emphasized to listen first, and not to say anything that will cause others to be on the defense; unless, of course, he had the upper had. Giving a small cough to break the tension, Timothy nodded Cypris to the abandoned chair. “So what is it that this Priestess thinks to gain by having me here? Is the Coven wanting a Cleric to use as leverage to be heard by the Temple?”

“She hopes that you’re young enough to listen to her and the Coven with understanding, but that’s only secondary to what she needs a Cleric for. No one ever thought of recruiting a Cleric of the Temple, and though it would be beneficial with furthering our knowledge it’s not required. The Priestess wants you to feel free to explore our compound and get to know our followers before discussing your main purpose here.” Cypris calmly stood up and gave Durston a contemplative look before continuing.

“You may walk among us but everyone know what you are. Know that besides that collar around your throat, our members are loyal and will keep watch over you.” Making her way to the exit, she turned once more to Durston. “We surprised the Realm. They never expected a group with our capabilities, thinking they were able to Abstract those with magic before ever gaining power. We are not as insignificant as you want to pretend.”

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Left Behind: Surviving Suicide – Entry Seven

Sometimes I wonder what I should share, and what I should not share. There are childhood stories and adventures that I experienced that probably can be said in just a few sentences, and so I keep quiet on them because to me they are so much more. A couple sentences when spoken are a lifetime to me, and sadly all I have left. I tell myself that for now, those are for me, they are my memories and I’m not ready to put them out there yet.

There is one thing though that I was finally able to share with someone, my younger brother. Throughout this whole year I’ve had an anger towards him, I admit that. I guess I just kept hoping that all this would bring us together, make us closer, and it’s been disappointing to see it really hasn’t. My younger brother lives with me, and yet neither of us have offered support to the other this whole time. That’s sad, isn’t it? I’ve expressed to my mother that I felt it was.

It was the end of July, 11 months roughly since my older brother took his life, and just shy of five months since our mad-dash to try and save my dad from the same fate, before my younger brother and I finally talked. Seems like a long time for two siblings living in the same household to finally talk about all this, but guess we just each needed to process it ourselves.

I’m not sure I recall what exactly prompted the discussion, probably something to do with the courts or some sort of paperwork we are still dealing with, but I’m glad it happened. I’m glad we were given the privacy to let it be discussed. What I do know is I expressed a deep regret I hold within myself that with my older brother, Lassen, the loss of him is so painful that a year later I still have tears streak down my face. I feel such a deep regret for what happened with him that this blog, writing this, still is very difficult for me. However, with my dad the feelings are different.

My younger brother made me feel better about how I view each of their suicides, letting me know he felt the same. With our dad the loss hasn’t become so hurtful, and the tears don’t flow as they do with Lassen. I still try and figure out why, after all I love my dad. He was, is, my world. I have so many memories of my dad, I did everything I could for him. I spent more holidays with my dad than anyone else in my family, I took more time off in the summer to be with him, and I helped out on his property without him ever asking because I wanted to. I grew up with my dad, a choice I made when given in the 7th grade, and was a daddy’s girl. So if that’s the case, why isn’t there that heavy-hearted feeling like there is with my older brother?

Well, as I said, my younger brother expressed the same differences in emotions and this is the best thing we can conclude. Lassen took his life in a spur-of-the-moment domestic dispute. He had a stressful week, and was having his wife leave him. It was a vulnerability along with an argument that lead him to just do it. Quick. No thinking. No talking about it. Just done. I guess with him I feel he was driven to it by a cheating spouse and the lack of family for support being near him (as he was in the Navy and stationed across the country).

With our dad, well, mental illness runs deep in our family. Our dad was on and off different medications for the past twenty years, and he had stress triggers. As far back as my mother has known my dad he talked about suicide, and my dad was morbid in telling us kids about his own death and depressing thoughts about how he would never enjoy his retirement. We tried being supportive, though sometimes it’s hard to tell someone’s true feelings verses them joking. But also, with my dad, I feel his suicide was selfish. And excuse me if that offends. But my dad really thought his through. It was no quick of the moment one, it was planned. He died in a slow, painless, well thought out, way. He made it difficult to find him, and he knew what he was doing. He felt abandoned, and with it being six months after my older brother’s death, he stepped away from us and decided to be alone. Unlike my brother who just didn’t have anyone for support, my dad decided to push away his.

The day my dad took his life my younger brother called him, they talked just two hours before my dad drove off into the woods to hide and follow through with his plans. My brother never knew that while they talked my dad was heading home, already with his mind made up. Along with that bit of hurtfulness, he called my step-mother to tell her goodbye, but none of us kids.

So why the difference in how we feel? I’m not exactly sure, but I know I feel a lot more hurt over my dad’s suicide. Hurt, betrayed, abandoned, and a failure.

<<Entry Six

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Becoming an Abstractor – Part Six

Timothy wrongly assumed a night meeting under the cover of darkness would be ideal, as secrecy surely was easier to keep with shadows being your identity.  But the truth was moonlight rendezvous drew more prying eyes than the crowded streets Cyphorica hosting during business hours. Clutching his well-made but travel worn cloak, Durston side-stepped and made slow progress through the packed people; trying not to be noticed, yet feeling exposed under the morning sky.

As with every city and town, the center hosted a church to guide all citizens in government, religion, and education. Timothy made his way to the towering structure that acted like a compass for those unsure of their surroundings. Meeting on Cleric grounds in broad daylight was risky but Timothy understood the idea of secrets in plain view.

Though perhaps not ran down, Cyphorica’s church was built with none of the pride and grandeur typically found with the Cleric’s infrastructure. It was a simple two story wood framed and bricked wall hall, the windows holding no glass but thin stone, letting only light in. Being an outer city, so it lacked the heavy hand the Clerics wielded, as well as their money, power, and influence. The city’s more independent nature was probably the cause for the Realm’s current predicament and poor status of the Cleric’s Church. Timothy never had a reason to travel so far north, or even to many of the outer cities, and the state of the buildings promised be would never have the desire to do so again.

Cypris Bloom, their inside operative, was younger than Durston had expected. At the age of fifteen, Cypris already discovered the art of politics. Wanting more than a few magic tricks and a warrant for treason, she sold her rebel companions with the expectation of a favor. As far as first impressions went, she held true to his image of a naive, ratty child seeking acceptance from her betters. Grasping a translucent cape in the hopes of concealing her mismatched and thread-worn rags, filth covering her knotted hair and hollow cheeks, she bowed in greeting.

“Master Cleric, I wish to give thanks for the Great Circle that guides and protects our lives.”

Timothy gave a slight cringe at the small grace, never before associating the Great Circle as something that encompassed the destitute. “Ah, yes, and you are Cypris Bloom?”

Not waiting for the brisk node of confirmation, Durston made his way to a private booth for them to talk. Already a sour perfume of filth, sweat and the unknown permeated the stale air. Not that his prayers seemed to be effective, but Timothy sent out a silent one that the heretics be cleaner or his nose give out.

Dropping to her knees, as if in worship, Cypris proceeded to inform Durston of all she knew. The ingenious idea of using an open and public place to meet, even if the grounds themselves were currently empty, followed by the way she hid her face and words in devotion finally dawned on Durston. This was all an act. Cypris Bloom in fact was clever and excelled in deception.

*~*~*~*~*

Tim, as Durston now was known since those from the lower classes lacked the formality, patience, and teeth for long names, tailed after Cypris weaving her way through the city and crowds. Being briefed on the background the impoverished girl made up induced mental pain for the highly accomplished and acclaimed Cleric, almost making him dismiss the idea of stealth, the desire to just level the whole city seeming like a simpler solution.

Cast into the role of playing Cypris’s cousin who ran away to join the cause sounded easy at first, until Durston realized exactly what kind of acting he would have to perform: Being mild mannered, submissive to those inferior, forgetting his education, and pulling off street-smarts. The sprint through Cyphorica was enough time for Durston to realize this undercover mission would need to be short, there was just no way he would be able to immerse himself to make it believable.

Before making it to the next location, Cypris ducked into an alley, removing her tattered rags and revealing a clean, plain outfit. Wielding a brush, she made quick work of her transformation from peddler to young woman.

“The building across the road is the business of a small apothecary. It’s through his cellar we will go to meet the Witches’ Coven.”

“Witches’ Coven? Is that what these terrorists call themselves?” Durston gave a pause over the name. In his years of study and being the son of a high ranking lord, he felt sure he’d heard of them.

“Well obviously they aren’t Clerics, and they don’t ever want to be. A Witches’ Coven holds similar beliefs in the power of the circle, but they use herbs, elements, and nature to feed the magic. As a Coven they act similar to the Clerics, drawing upon the magic of many to perform more powerful spells.”

“Spells?” Everything was starting to sounds as if these rebels, these heretics, and uprisers were organized, even trained. To compare the Cleric’s training with this Witches’ Coven was treason, and yet the words sounded familiar. Though not mentioned often in their history, there had been a few encounters with other such groups that referred to themselves as a Witches’ Coven. Their magic was wild often involving noisy rituals, chanting, and even performances. Durston wasn’t sure how much was true, but from what Cyrpis described, they seemed similar.

“Do you know how long ago they were created? Lord Raneer made it seem that this was all new. That only recently you had come to him and joined this Coven in order to serve the Realm. And yet, from the way you speak of them, they sound well established, already having a number of followers. Your own apothecary is in league with these criminals, and it leads me to believe other upstanding citizens may also be corrupted by this plague.”

Cypris dusted her hands, giving him a titled look, dimples forming from a sly and knowing smile. “The Witches’ Coven is older than the Realm, Lord Durston. This…problem…as the Clerics would call it, is one people will always turn to when those in the Capital ignore those below their field-of-view from a castle’s window.”

Shock coursed through Timothy’s body, causing him to straighten his posture in dignity. He was finding it difficult to determine just who’s side this Cypris Bloom was on, and who she truly was. But before he could inquire her words of condemnation of her betters, Durston discovered they were no longer alone. A presence was felt from behind as an arm reached around Timothy, holding his head into a dirty rag, quickly causing him to slip into unconsciousness.

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Hey Brother

I’m not sure what I believe when it comes to an afterlife. Where the spirit goes, if one even exists, but I completely understand the desire in hoping for something more than no longer having your family with you. I can’t say I ever understood the heart-wrenching hope that this isn’t the end, that you get to see those you love again. However, the last year has covered me in regret, guilt, hopes and wishes. Not sure if I want something more after life, but I do know I wonder a lot more than I ever have in the past.

To mark my brother’s passing, I take to his Facebook page sometimes and write him letters. Not sure why, if it’s for me or in the hopes that somehow he’ll hear it, but I am posting the latest one here. I posted the one I wrote shortly after he died with a music video at the time that for me really hit home and still brings me to tears. You’re welcome to read it if you haven’t already.

Letter to Lassen:

A year ago today, was like any other for me, and probably for our whole family. I don’t remember all that I did, but I know when everything turned around. I was in the middle of taking a nap before working the night shift. My younger brother was in Vietnam, on vacation. And some how you, the brother and son we all looked up to, ended your life.

I can’t presume to know what lead up to what happened, or how things may be different over the past year if you were still around. But I do know you were such an important person to me, to all of us, that a day doesn’t go by without you in our hearts and on our minds.

I missed you before everything ended, because I missed going camping with you, seeing you at Christmas, having you eat my pumpkin pies even when I forgot to add sugar. And now those opportunities will never come again. I miss talking to you about gift ideas for the parents, or hearing your exploits as a kid. I’m still not sure who had the most fun and crazy childhood, you or Bryce, and now it’s just too difficult to compare.

A year ago all the ifs, ands, buts, should have, would have, and could haves went through my mind. I was upset then at your sudden loss in my life, and I still am. Today, those same thoughts of what I could have done to be there for you skip across my mind, wishing I could change how it all is. Sometimes thinking it’s only a nightmare and never happened.

I love you, I always have, and just wanted to share some words to mark the time.

-Chandelle-

Some Replies to the Post:

Jennifer Hooper:  Never forget all of us riding our bikes on the street when we where little .

Chad Elms: Some of those same thoughts crossed my mind. Sorry for the loss of such a unique and talented father, son, brother, and friend.

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Left Behind: Surviving Suicide – Entry Six

This was written on paper while at my new volunteer position for the local LGBT Center. I’ve been a bit withdrawn and haven’t done much, online, gaming, chatting, or my blogs and apologize for that.

A lot has happened in the last month that has dramatically changed my life. Seems my life has been full of changes, but at least this one has a better ending or new beginning than the previous. The second week of July I was informed my position at work would no longer be available starting in August. At first I was fulled with bitterness and anger. Here I was, with a company I have given seven years, and I felt abandoned. My manager wasn’t tossing me, no, I was offered a transfer, but it still felt like all the praise I was given was false, and I wasn’t appreciated.

Here I was in life, at another fork in the road before me, and I took this as a sign that I needed something for myself, a change.

When my older brother took his life September, other than the first and one outreach of support from two friends, I was completely alone. No one called. No one asked how I was. No one stopped by. No one even sent a text or email. Not trying to be conceded or attention seeking, but that hurt.

I had no one, my younger brother wouldn’t even talk to me and he was down the hall. I know he needed to cope in his own way, and I myself didn’t reach out to him. But it was reflecting on all this, on my lack of a social circle, a community, a support system. I decided with this new development at work that I was going to build on me.

And so I quit.

Goodbye

I figured this was something my dad’s life insurance money was meant for. To better my life. He felt so alone at the end, as did my brother, and I guess I felt “damn if I was going to feel the same.” I still feel the same, the tears, and pain aren’t quick to go away, but I’m working on it.

Before I even quit I signed up for and attended a volunteer orientation for the local county’s LGBT Center. I have since been putting in time with my community, meeting some great and friendly people, having fun and really feeling appreciated. I have already received a certificate of recognition, and have been invited to several events. I’ve been exposed to things I never had an interest in, such as art gallery openings, a tattoo fundraiser, and general loud music and booze. It’s been fun, and I am grateful to be expanding on my experience in life.

Not sure my dad could relate to the need and desire to have a social circle, especially one with LGBT, but obviously his way of living didn’t work out for him, and it’s been depressing me for years. So here’s hoping for the best, and at the worst it’ll make for an adventure.

<<Entry Five         Entry Seven>>

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Becoming an Abstractor – Part Five

The trip to Cyphorica was everything Durston thought it would be, filled with both mental and physical pain. There wasn’t much to discuss beyond that first afternoon’s briefing, as there just wasn’t a lot known about the unauthorized, magic-wielding rebels. Durston’s days on the road were mainly spent contemplating the revelation learned over the true power of being a psionic. If more clerics were aware of the potential danger and influence that psionics had, there would be true fear of ever training that area of magic.

It was told in strict confidence that Estel Ell’s earlier claim that psionic magic only played tricks on the mind wasn’t exactly accurate. Though she specialized in what was known as illusions and charms, those abilities were very real. When someone was given an illusion, the effects were real inside the mind. This made it so fire that burned skin, burned inside the mind to create the pain, and even death if the controller so wished it. School taught Durston that those susceptible to the influence of psionics believed what was happening to them was real but he never realized that the results could be permanent.

Traveling from the Capital to Cyphorica took seven days for them, only stopping in one other large town in-between. They were about a half-day from their destination when Kireerk called a break, informing everyone that now was the time to discuss and plan.

“When Lord Raneer made the initial report, he wasn’t able to give exact numbers of what we are facing. We do know some of these so-called casters are highly skilled, training the recruits in the arts. The Lord was able to learn of this group from someone that defected, turning on them in hopes of gaining access to the Cleric’s Temple. He kept them here to continue the part of informant, and so our first goal will be to contact them to learn any additional insight they have that will help us handle this situation swiftly and safely.”

Abstractor Kireek focused on each of them individually, as if measuring them against a list of tasks he was dividing amongst them. Timothy shifted warily as those eyes made their way to him, followed by a soft nod as if agreeing with some internal advice.

“Cleric Reevan and myself will visit the local authorities to set up a sort of headquarters. As Reevan has the ability of discerning intent, this will allow him the chance to learn if the heretics have infiltrated the the city’s security. Cleric Waters, I want you to seek the local governor, Lord Raneer wasn’t able to determine if he was aware of the underground movement his city was playing host to or not. As a cleric that specializes in hypnotist, I am sure you’ll be able to gain access both to him and his cooperation in the matter.”

The plan seemed simple enough to Timothy so far, though splitting up caused a feel of discomfort to settle over him. It wasn’t but a few weeks ago that he was in the field, having to protect the Circles of the Realm from similar situations. There was always someone trying to gain access to the realm, or its magic, and it was every cleric’s duty to guard against the invasion from across the boarders and within. Still, in the two years of field work Durston had little exposure to true danger, and never were they on their own.

“Cleric Durston, as you are the youngest in our troop, you will be the most fitting in meeting with the informant, and joining these rebels. Though Lord Raneer trusted the intel, there were other factors involved that gave support into believing there were unauthorized casters here. But know this spy is not of our choosing, nor our training, and so we would do best in having you amongst these heretics. Being youthful, they are more likely to welcome you, and find it harder to believe you are a high member of functioning society.”

Thoughts flittered through Durston, none settling long enough for him to grasp and express, having him instead stare in a slight daze at Abstractor Kireek. After a moment’s pause, the older man decided to continue.

“I can feel there are multiple strings of unsteady magic here, as did Lord Raneer once the problem was brought to his attention, but they are too jumbled to make out the specifics required. We must know not only how many of these casters there are, but preferably who they are. Each one will need to undergo the procedure in removing the pathway between their magic and ability to access it. You are not only the most likely to blend in with these renegade citizens, but I have come to understand you are the most gifted.”

Ego and pride warmed its way into comforting Timothy’s runaway apprehension. Where just moments ago fear coursed through Durston over the task of being an alone agent, now overwhelming satisfaction ran. Yes, he would meet this rebel turncoat. And yes, it would be he who would discover their headquarters and numbers. And yes, it would be he who learned the secrets of being an Abstractor. Through this mission Timothy would not only gain the political recognition and influence he envisioned since first being given the orders, but he would also achieve real, formidable power over everyone’s own magical abilities.

Timothy made sure to give a slight bow of his chin for both respect and acceptance. “Yes, Abstractor Kireek, I believe I can manage that. Just let me know what I need to do.”

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Left Behind: Surviving Suicide – Entry Five

The Fourth of July came and went uneventful for me this year. Well, actually I’m not sure that’s at all accurate. This Fourth of July was very different from any that I have ever had, filled with a bunch more drama that life feels my family deserves, and a lack of normalcy (drama being my sister ended up in the ER).

The past several years I have made it a point to have the Fourth of July off, as I typically work most holidays and weekends, I somehow justify this annual vacation. However, this year, life just seemed to rush forward into July and I didn’t bother thinking about any summer vacation, let alone request any of it off. I feel bad for my mom here, as this is the one holiday I have made a point to spend with her. Sometimes these small changes really bring to light how much really is affected by everything.

As a kid my parents use to take my older brother and I to our grandparent’s house where the daytime was filled with my dad making dry ice explode inside 2 liter bottles, and Lassen and I shooting off these miniature iron cannons. What’s sad about remembering this holiday is just a year ago, when everything was still fine and dandy, I asked about those cannons. These summer holidays and vacations just hold a special spot in my heart and always have. My brother and father’s suicide weren’t a factor in that, as both were around when I mentioned our old tradition.

I loved this time of year as a kid. Living in California, and as kids visiting Baja on annual camping trips, we had the standard illegal fireworks to shoot off and enjoy. Mind you, we never got the ones I see lighting up the sky, or even close to the ones people seem to be playing with now.

Anyway, my older brother and I would ping-pong back and forth on setting up the fireworks at night, while our dad lit them up for us to all enjoy. My grandmother would have a cake made with the American flag designed with fruit, and we’d hear stories about all the trouble my dad got into with fireworks and exploding sinks.

Obviously eventually my younger brother joined the mix of our Fourth of July tradition, and with time, it changed a little as well. One of the last Independence Days I remember celebrating with my older brother was our trip to Lake Havasu. We never were at the lake on a holiday except this one year, and I couldn’t tell you exactly which year it was, but I remember a nearby boat playing Eiffel Tower’s “I’m Blue,” so I’m going to say it was somewhere near that time period of being somewhat current music.

We drove the boat all the way from where we normally camped, which was typical a boat-in site, and made our way to Havasu City to watch their firework’s display. To this day, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a city sponsored Fourth of July event. The amount of boats packed on the lake to view the show was amazing, so packed we could almost jump from one boat to the next. My dad never was one for crowds, and though everything was fun, different, and eventful, perhaps the sheer amount of people is what kept us from doing it again.

I do believe shortly after our Havasu trip, perhaps a few years at most, my brother was no longer available to participate in our yearly camp-outs. With my younger brother and I being the only ones in several years to join my dad, my older brother’s presence was always missed. A year never went by where we didn’t wish he was able to join. I realize part of that was just him being in the Navy, and part was him having his own family. Still, it’s sad to know the opportunity will never be there again.

Summer always brought camping with my dad. Besides the year after my parents got a divorce, we never missed a summer. I suppose things are different now. I don’t foresee any camping trips in the near future. Not sure this season will ever be an easy one for me, as it’s filled with many stories, events, and memories from both my brother and dad.

<<Entry Four          Entry Six>>

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Becoming an Abstractor – Part Four

Dressed in his dusty traveling cloak, Durston made his way towards the front gates of the Cleric’s Temple; the sky beginning to blush from Solvaris’s morning kiss of first light. Dawn had quickly approached since orders were given the day before, permitting Timothy little time to ensure everything required for the journey. It was only due to him recently being relieved of his duties traveling the realm that he still had his personal gear and garments, which would make the trip a bit more comfortable. A brief shiver of empathy for his fellow recruits passed through him at the thought of having standard issue equipment; items so generic to fit just anyone, that the reality ended up having the opposite affect.

Being raised amongst the elite, his father being one of the high ranking lords in the realm, Timothy made it a point to arrive several minutes after the start of dawn. It was important to let Abstractor Kireek know exactly who Timothy Durston was, and that was someone who chose to attend this expedition, and not someone he actually was able to order to do so. And if Abstrator Kireek thought otherwise, well Durston was prepared.

The horses were gathered nearby, and Timothy was pleased to see his sturdy fox-trotter, a gelding he named Trax, saddled and tacked. Giving a glance at his new companions, Durston disappointingly noted Estel Ell and Kireek too occupied arguing to witness his purposeful defiance.

Putting on an air of disinterest, Timothy made his way to Trax, giving the gelding a gentle and comforting pat. Catching Claire’s eye, he nodding toward the commotion. “So what’s the deal with the hold-up?”

“Disagreement on what constitutes as necessities.” With an impartial shrug Claire turned back to her own horse, continuing her task of arrange the contents of her saddle-bags.

“Seems you weren’t the only one that decided that they needed to prove themselves as someone in a position of authority.” The scholar, Reevan, passed a sly look over the younger man. “Cleric Ell has thought to push the need of her parasol and cosmetics.”

Heat crept its way across Durston, both with anger and embarrassment, at the implied demonstration of being from a position of privilege. “A few minutes late is hardly what I’d call being insolence, and unlikely to show someone of Abstractor Kireek that I am anyone of importance. No, I will prove myself in the deeds done while on this mission and dealing with the heretics and not by showing disobedience over my duty to the realm.”

A knowing smirk lifted one corner of Reevan’s lips. “How quickly the lord’s son changes tact. I do applaud your guile.”

Timothy was saved from having to defend himself further, as Kireek dismissed Cleric Ell’s indignation and acknowledged them. “Good, you’re all finally here. I suppose the education received no longer includes the basics of telling time, or the manners in which should be exercised when dealing with those of authority. But enough dawdling, mount up.”

Estel Ell made as if to pick-up her discarded items recently being disputed over when Kireek decided to reminded everyone who was truly in charge. “And if I see, madam, any one of those items I just deemed unfitting, you may consider them your replacement gear. That means instead of a bedroll, you will have that flimsy contraption, and your warmth at night shall be the make-up you insist on having cover you up. Though I personally would recommend pulling the hood of your cloak over your head, for it shall serve every purpose of those items. Hiding your face from the light as well as the wrinkles beneath from being seen.”

An awkward silence settled upon the party as they twisted their way through the capital and into the surrounding countryside; Estel staring venomously at their commander’s back. It wasn’t until lunch time that Abstractor Kireek cleared his throat, breaking the discomforting quiet atmosphere.

“I realize you all may feel slighted by my dismissal of the briefing arranged yesterday with the High Council, and therefore feel the need to acquired a certain ascendancy over me. However, let me inform you now, that the time allocated to prepare for the journey would not have changed. Because of me you were able to manage your personal affairs for your unforeseen absence, and assemble that of which you need. The insight you were neglected to be told by the council is no different than that which I will share with you now. So in postponing that which you do so rightful deserve to know, nothing was lost but much was gained; time, and secrecy from those who may have spied the knowledge shared.

Timothy kept his face hidden behind his mid-day fare, glancing at Kireek and his companions from his peripheral vision. The Abstractor had his complete attention, but his father always cautioned direct eye contact when dealing with the unknown. Cleric Ell waved an impatient hand, encouraging Kireek to continue, as if bored.

“I know none of you have military backgrounds, or even contemplated a career path as an Abstractor, and though not all are psionics, they are the best and most desirable. Hence why you three were chosen. The situation in Cyphorica is one unique to our modern times. Distance from the capital has allowed them to organize and hide a secret gang of magic casters for an extended period of time, granting them the ability to grow in numbers and skill.”

Estel Ell folded her arms defensively, interrupting with a humph of annoyance. “I am a caster of charms and illusions. There is no way my smoke and mirrors will subdue your rebels. Especially if they are trained casters.”

Nodding in agreeance, Claire faced Kireerk. “My specialties lay in hypnosis, and though I can understand how both Cleric Ell’s and my craft may seem worthy in taking control of a rogue group of casters, I fear our skills are limited to only potentially affecting a few at any given time.”

“Yes, I understand the confusion. Though psionics don’t delve in the physical magic, such as those of a pyromancer or electromancer, our talent is especially powerful because it effects the direct source of all casters. The mind. Abstractors are trained casters with the ability to follow the residual streams of casted magic to its origin. All clerics can be trained in this, though as with any ability, some are more sensitive than others and therefore better suited. However, only psionics can excavate the taint within those unfit to control such a gift.”

Timothy felt a jolt of power pulse across his nerves; the knowledge of what an Abstractor could do terrifying and pleasant. Only giving a brief peek at Kireek, not wanting to show how much the thought excited him, Durston pressed the most obvious question they all had.”So, anyone that’s a psionic could potentially disarm someone from using magic?”

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Left Behind: Surviving Suicide – Entry Four

The end of April saw my birthday this year, and though it seems I have become dull to the lose of so much family in the past year, a birthday is a heavy reminder of how false that is.

For my family, holidays and birthdays are a time that even though we all live far apart and have busy lives, we take a moment out of our days to make a phone call. My family is small, smaller even now, and so each phone call is precious. This year, I was very much depressed over my birthday. There was no call from my brother. No call from my dad. No call from my grandparents. First year ever where those calls were never placed, a pattern that will follow every year from now on.

My mom has a tendency of passing on the guilt trip, making statements such as “what, guess I’m not enough?” or “I can’t fill in your father’s shoes.” And though I understand her hurt, because instead of being happy at receiving her phone call, I just feel depressed over the loss, I hope some day she realizes it’s not that she isn’t enough, but that no one can fill in the gaping holes left inside me no matter who they are.

My brother’s birthday was suppose to be two weeks after mine. As children we combined many birthday parties together since they were so close. Also, being 80s kids, where we still played outside, a lot of the neighborhood friends were ones we both played with. The couple of times we had sleep overs the girls would bed downstairs, and the boys had a massive tent that slept 20. To me, my brother always had the best ideas on how to have fun, which is probably why I followed him in everything. His group of friends would play capture the flag, and we would beg to join in on it.

This year my brother would be 35-years-old. Tell me that isn’t too young to have already given up on life. Sometimes I feel it’s so easy to just continue pretending he lives across the country from me; since we rarely got to actually see each other, it’s easy to forget he is really gone. But days when he is suppose to call, such as my birthday, the reality sets in and I can’t pretend. He was someone that always called, no matter what. Being in the military made it difficult sometimes but my brother was reliable, never failing to remember those special days.

I’m still confused over how I feel about my dad. I don’t know why his suicide has affected me so much differently than my brothers. I suppose part of it is because I feel extremely hurt. Just before my grandfather passed away at the beginning of April, he told me my dad felt abandoned. Yet, I feel it is he who left me…left all of us. I know it’s selfish, but I guess I figured as a parent he was suppose to be my rock.

Since my father’s death in March I have visited his house three times. Once, when we were still searching for him with a sliver of hope for the best. Second time, to meet with the lawyers my step-mother was hiring, and finally, for my sister’s graduation. Each time I have discovered, the loss I feel for my dad is strongest when I am where he is suppose to be.

I mentioned it before, how my young brother and I wanted to skip Christmas. I think this is the real reason now. We want to skip the holidays, I think, because they are a huge reminder of the holes we now have in life. These holidays and special occasions make it glaringly obvious how much we have recently lost. Our small little family was very supportive, and caring, never forgetting each other and so when we don’t get those phone calls, or cards in the mail…it makes it difficult to continue pretending that there is only geographic distance that keeps them away.

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Left Behind: Surviving Suicide – Entry Three

When my brother passed away my world seemed to come to a complete stand still. For those six months I couldn’t tell you exactly what went on in my life besides the typical going to work and coming home. I gave up on maintaining the front yard, back yard, pets, and the house. I didn’t cook one single meal the whole time. I suppose I should consider it lucky I managed to wash my clothes.

Christmas was a depressing matter. My younger brother and I discussed it and were very adamant on not continuing the stereotypical family get together and over the top gifts. We considered it a time that was our older brother’s. After all, he was in the Navy, and on the other side of the country. For the past ten plus years if we didn’t see him at Christmas, we wouldn’t have seen him at all. Every single year I fought tooth-and-nail working my schedule around so I was able to have a week with him and my parents. It was our time to be with him, and the holiday was really mainly about that.

But, in typical parent fashion, we were over ruled and convinced that it was something my older brother would have wanted. He loved the holiday, and it was special for him, so we should celebrate it. I tried so hard to make up for his loss, after all he was a brother that just seemed to take after my dad and go all out on gifts. I didn’t want my parents or anyone to feel his loss more than we all already were, so I tried going over the top like him. I don’t know if that succeeded.

Anyway, so Christmas, it came and it went. It was filled with a lot of heartache and regrets, and was quickly replaced with the New Year. However, since I lost the battle against Christmas, I suppose I decided to wage another one over the New Year. My new battle was basically a big screw you to those I dared to call friends in my life.

At this stage after my brother’s death I felt abandoned. My friends were great being there that first week after learning about the suicide, but it seemed radio silence followed that. For six long months, up until my dad’s death I didn’t receive one phone call, one card, one visit. I did receive one text, though roughly four to five months later, but the bitterness already settled, and it was just a message saying hi, so I didn’t follow up with it.

Now I figure I have a small group of friends, but they are life time friends. However it wasn’t until my dad passed that things changed…though that is kind of obvious. With my dad’s passing I became a busy body. I needed to clean, work on the yard, and just get things done again. I also read like crazy…still am reading like crazy but that’s to be expected since it’s only been a little over a month since. In some ways I am still a recluse, but a bit more functional.

Since my dad’s passing I did reach out to my closest friends to let them know. I even forced a heart-to-heart about feeling abandoned from their lack of communication since my brother’s passing. For those that are facing the same situation and turmoil as me, or perhaps know someone who is, please…the feel of being abandoned is high up there. I just lost my brother, and my father, and now my friends are at a loss of what to say to me, so instead said nothing.

Bad choice.

It was a bad choice on my end, but I just didn’t care to try. But I will argue, who could blame me? Looking at it all, I understand the situation it places people. It’s uncomfortable and daunting, trying to be there for someone that is faced with suicide. People ask me how I am doing, how is my family, and the standard small talk greetings when being friendly, but the truth is no one wants to hear you say what’s on your mind. That life just keeps kicking you when you’re down and half of your family just became ashes in the wind all in a year. So yeah…

Not exactly sure what this whole entry is about, other than I took each death completely different, and the ever present feeling of abandonment from those here, and those now gone. Sad thing is, one of my dad’s reasoning for taking his life was for that same feeling.

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