Resiliency and Faith

Foreword:

Yes it has been an astonishing 3 months since I have written anything outside of a graduate paper for school. Here is where I would normally apologize for my absence, but it does not seem fitting this time around. Although, I have had stints where I am not writing, this has been the longest stretch since I began this blog back in 2013.

Though I will not apologize for being gone*, I will explain. School, coupled with the emotional toll my work seems to have on my ability to write was recently compounded by my decision to switch platforms (from Blogger to Wix) earlier this year and sort of "rebrand". The inability to successfully convert readership from one site to another, initially frustrated me, but then caused me to shy away from writing altogether. I felt “icky” when I thought about posting, became defeated by it, and ultimately did not do it. At present I have been posting to both sites until such a time I can figure out what the end game will be.

Anyway, I feel compelled to write this as I know it will benefit someone other than myself. Today’s post is dedicated to those that beat themselves up because life got in the way of doing something that was important to you. Know that it is not the end of the line, taking a break isn’t the same as quitting and in this life there are few things that are forever. Enjoy the opportunity to do them, whenever and wherever they come regardless of the frequency.

- D

Resiliency and Faith

The impact of spirituality on healing, resilience, outlook and capacity for change is not to be underestimated. Researchers have shown us that the impact of faith in dealing with trauma, whether it is in the form of the atrocities of war, the loss of a spouse or even cumulative microaggressions.

“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed” (2 Corinthians 4:8-9, NIV). Plainly stated, spirituality helps build resistance against depression and anxiety symptoms (Dewey, 2019). Moreover, per Dewey (2019) after a great bulk of research dating back to World War II, it has been proven that those with faith function better in terms of recovery from trauma.

In another area where faith is a helpful tool in overcoming barriers, those with terminal illnesses can lean on faith for improved outcomes as well (Johnson, 2003). The ability to cope with and understand death is eased by faith. According to Johnson (2003) spirituality assists with reducing personal worry, feelings of being a burden to others and ideas of things left undone. It is during the “living-dying interval” (the space between receiving a terminal diagnosis and the time of one’s passing) that a person’s spirituality may actually evolve.

Sadly, unlike the remaining seven dimensions of wellness (Emotional, Environmental, Financial, Intellectual, Occupational, Physical, Social) spirituality is set apart by the need for some level of faith, regardless of a client’s personal beliefs. Because of the fact that the seven other dimensions can be more defined by statistical, concrete research they have been more readily accepted by the medical and wellness community. Due to spirituality being largely unquantifiable in terms of the material world, its use within counseling in particular remains underutilized by practitioners (Dewey, 2019).

A potential solution for this would be the realization that spirituality is not what a patient believes necessarily, but that they believe something and have something to lean on in difficult times. In secular settings that provide treatment these ideas need explored, but the counselor does not have to be an expert in every faith. Rather, they need to be aware of its power and have at least a superficial ability to understand how individual patients use spirituality to cope.

References

Dewey,  J. (2019). Posttraumatic growth. Salem Press Encyclopedia. Retrieved from https://search-ebscohost-com.lopes.idm.oclc.org/login.aspx?direct=true&db=ers&AN=90558430&site=eds-live&scope=site

Johnson, L. S. (2003). Facilitating spiritual meaning-making for the individual with a diagnosis of a terminal illness. (Issues and Insights). Counseling and Values, (3), 230. Retrieved from https://search-ebscohost-com.lopes.idm.oclc.org/login.aspx?direct=true&db=edsgao&AN=edsgcl.100485214&site=eds-live&scope=site

*That being said, I cannot stress enough how much I take solace in the fact that people actually still pay any attention to my ramblings whatsoever. Know that I am very thankful for any eyes that come across these words and any online support you show. 

White Guy's Rant on Racism and Discrimination

Hi, I'm white and daring to talk to you about discrimination. But wait, don't click off the article yet! I think my opinion is fair and balanced- but not in a Fox News kinda way!

            At any rate, as far as racial discrimination I personally have not experienced it, but definitely have witnessed it in a general sense. As a white male it does pain me to admit that I have been in the company of other white men who have felt it appropriate to trade racial slurs about certain collective groups, or even specific people. Of course, this was done in the absence of anyone of color. Sadly, at a few jobs that I had when younger, these were often members of management who thought this way and expressed these thoughts with who was promoted into supervisory positions. I might add, it takes wisdom and tact (that I surely did not posses when younger) to be able to discuss the inherent wrong with racial preferences and stereotypes with co-workers. For instance at that time, I would not have been capable of properly articulating the fact that most views held regarding race are fabricated and that race itself is a social construct (Vietze, Jones, Dovidio, Sommers-Flanagan, & Sommers-Flanagan, 2017).

            Finally, on a personal level, growing up with cerebral palsy I have had a few incidents where I have been on the receiving end of discriminatory practices. For instance, during a job interview that required a physical, after disclosing I had cerebral palsy, I was made to go back and retake the physical, despite having passed the first attempt. This led me to cease disclosing my disability for many years thereafter. It was awkward and too difficult to explain easily. Moreover, even if was not treated differently in a negative way, I was overly helped along due to a perception of inability, which I’d argue, is almost as bad. Due to these experiences I can at least begin to see the reason why those that have the ability to not disclose something that might be...umm shall we say 'unaccepted' by the masses (such as sexual preference), choose not to do so. Naturally, this does little for those who cannot hide who they are, such as with race. However, in either case no one should be forced to deny their true selves but for the ignorance of another.   

References

Falender, C. A., Shafranske, E. P., & Falicov, C. J. (2014). Reflective practice: Culture in self and other. In C. A. Falender, E. P. Shafranske, & C. J. Falicov (Eds.), Multiculturalism and diversity in clinical supervision: A competency-based approach. (pp. 273–281). Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. 

Vietze, D. L., Jones, J. M., Dovidio, J. F., Sommers-Flanagan, J., & Sommers-Flanagan, R. (2017). Ethics and Cultural Diversity in Mental Health & Wellness. Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

F#ckin' Mortality

                I have found that with my skewed view on life that death no longer frightens me, it’s the thought of not livin’ that seems so bad*.

                Me being old doesn’t seem so frightening.

                What I never prepared for is the fact that those around me would grow old as well.

                Look at my heroes; Doc, Van Gogh, Bieber – all of these poets, artists, men ahead of their time, died young.   

                Fact is, I see everyone around me getting older. My want is to stop them. But I have already seemingly sold my soul for myself. I can do nothing for them, other than what I have done for myself.

                The creaks in my joints, the lack of hair on my head, don’t concern me. Because the rest of you are getting older every day.  I see you out there, so tragic, so paralyzed and perplexed by the circumstances life throws at you. Yet, I have envisioned all these things.  Note that dealing with them comes no easier.

                I am pretty sure Tom Petty is dead. Far as I remember he was releasing stellar music videos on 90’s MTV. That was a few days ago.

                Fact is, mortality catches up to us all. I can recall having a conversation with my friend Johnny about the “end of the world”. Way back in 2012, when briefly we thought the Mayans knew what was up.  He said, “They say the world may end in a couple months. That’s the end of the WHOLE world.”

                My reply was cool, and cold; “Nah, the world won’t end, the sad fact is it will just keep going. That’s the reckoning. That’s what we deserve.”

                 I spoke as if I were in DCU. It was sad, mostly because Justice League hadn’t been released yet.  

               

*Credit to Joe Diffie, among other lesser philosophers

Calling Out America

Originally Written 05/14/2013

This isn’t about being treasonous. This is about honesty. Let’s face it America needs someone to sit it down, tell it what it’s done wrong, and then put it into time out. The list of wrongs isn’t all that excessive. However, they have become interwoven into our psyche as individuals and its going to take a stern spanking to get them out. As citizens OUR transgressions are bold, in so far as they have become unconsciously routine.

This didn’t happen when we were standing together at the helm of the country, guiding it to a better tomorrow. This happened because we were doing something else entirely. We were in line getting our grande caramel mocha. This happened because we were busy keeping up with the Kardashians. We were distracted by the lights of the city…the depthlessness of the internet…the lure of self-gratification.

           

The first is a slap in the face of the strength this country was founded upon, for America has lost its will. At one time we were a nation of hardened people willing to traverse an unforgiving frontier in covered wagons. This was done without any guarantee of prosperity or profit. No one complained. When men went overseas to fight during World War II, women took up the mantles of the dingy and dangerous jobs they left behind. No one complained. Democrat and Republican alike held each other in mourning when John Kennedy was murdered. No one paused.

            Now we refuse to stand together on whether or not homosexuals can marry. The country complains about shit jobs being done by immigrants, which they themselves wouldn’t perform for 10 times the minimum wage. Today, our grease slathered rotund faces can’t find the energy to go to the gym for twenty minutes a day. We’ve lost our will. Our hunger to produce by need has been replaced with gluttony to consume by greed.

            Some would point the finger at religion for all of this. Claiming that belief in varying Gods, or no belief in God at all, has led us to this point. In a certain light that’s true, but not in the way that spending Sunday morning in a church pew is going to cure. Money is God and credit is His savior son. Therefore the truth is a growing number of people (survey says: all of them) worship every day, all day. But make no mistake; their focus isn’t a typical deity. No, America hasn’t lost its belief, merely shifted it. Once upon a time we believed in ourselves, now we believe in self.

            Americans serve themselves. We delude ourselves into satisfying our every whim. It’s just too damn easy. For several generations, we haven’t had to work hard, and those that do invest their time and money into the greatest commodity; themselves.

Finally, in a time where every side has an agenda, one can’t even tell who the bad guy is anymore. Worst of all is no one is even trying. Arguments made up of inaction of political rants fill our space; everyone that once cared or has the power and means to take action has lost interest.

For the past fifty years, America has claimed the Easy Street of the Earth as its residence. We do so as the rest of the world- a world that hasn’t had much of a view (let alone access) to the high and rolling hills on Easy Street- work harder and more efficiently with less.

            But don’t worry we’re Americans - someone else will pick up the slack.

           

The Less Ordinary Life of Harold: Make America Poop Again

The oval office is crowded- filled to the brim with white men in suits, most of whom are glancing at Harold with drawn, dire expressions. They seem to regard him as an anomaly, a political stunt, or even a distraction like so many tweets meant to divert a nation’s attention from reality.

In a few minutes of adult-time, but a lifetime in kid-time, the President, and Harold’s new boss, enters the room. Harold watches from his own huge leather chair as all the other men stand to greet him. Some step forward and shake hands or pat him on the back.

Harold notices that through each interaction, none of the other men mentioned the negative things they’d been conversing about regarding the President before he entered the room.

President Trump takes his seat at the head of the table. Harold sees that unquestionably he is in charge as he has a huge chair, the biggest chair in the room, bigger than anyone’s.

“Thank you all for coming here,” the President begins in a serious tone. “As you all know the biased media, with their fake news about this administration’s collusion with Russia- I mean alleged and totally false and sad - did I mention sad? - collusion with Russia have caused my approval rating to plummet.”

The men around the room nod heartily.

“So it’s with that concern in mind that I have sought out a new image consultant. He comes highly recommended, he is truly the best, and believe me I know all the best image consultants. With his youth, intellect and unique skill set, he is going to help us truly make America great again. Everyone, please welcome Harold. ”   

Harold sees them, the way they stare at him as he stands to speak, with their darting, snake-like eyes. He can tell they consider him to be different and thus not worthy of their respect or even idle consideration. Harold began to think, to slowly realize, he was everything they were not: young, poor, respectful of others, and unafraid. Although he could see they were most certainly afraid, Harold wasn’t quite sure what men of their stature would fear.

“Thank you President Trump. Thank you all, let me get started by throwing out some numbers; 4.7 million, 28%, ½.”

The old men before him stared back with raised eyebrows and looks that told even the casual observer they were lost.

“Mr. Trump, if I could speak freely sir?”

The President nodded to Harold.

“With all due respect sir- Mr. President, I’m a kid and even I can see that politicians-along with most people- are full of shit.”

Gasps rang out from all over the room.

Harold flushed a bit, but continued his speech, “America’s full of it sir.”

Now groans came from the crowd, though President Trump still listened at full attention.  “It’s full of greatness already. The problem isn’t that we lack greatness, it’s the fact that we are constipated with greatness sir, we don’t know how to get it out.”

Some of the men around the room began whispering to those next to them.

“So you see sir, as your new image consultant, my recommendation isn’t to rework your image from the ground up. We only need to change one word.”

Harold holds up a finger as he removes a small remote from his pocket. Pressing the button a large banner unfurls from behind the President’s seat.

Harold keys in on the President to see his reaction.

A true moment passes, then a single, shimmering tear rolls down his cheek, and Mr. Trump stands and begins clapping with fervor.

Window Shopping: Kingdom Without a King- Part 5

So a warrior, a traveler and a zombie walk into a courtyard...

Well we ran actually. Praesus charged forward first clobbering an archer with that brutal club of his. This man had the misfortune to be strolling by in close proximity when the prison doors swung open. A small squeal escaped him before he dropped to the ground. Praesus was then on his way to his next foe, targeting two other archers closest to him in the yard.

I sent the zombie guard shambling towards the dickhead throwing rocks at Old Rufus. I saw the look of confusion on the rock throwers face, “Harold? Harold??” His expression then gave way to terror, “Harold! HAROLD! NO!!” I saw the guard tear into the man's neck, his arm went immediately limp and the remaining stones in his hand clomped to the ground. I had no idea blood could be so dark as it spurted from the wound, and then flowed down the man’s shirt.  

I darted for Rufus himself, to see how I might get him free. He was only chained up with a clasp, thankfully. I undid the simple mechanism. “Rufus old boy! Good to see you!.” The dog bypassed me, and then lunged beyond me, knocking another guard to the ground. This guard dropped a horned instrument to the hard packed dirt. One of the guards Praesus was pursuing peeled off made a run for the horn. “Don't let them call reinforcements!”

Praesus said nothing in reply. Instead he stopped, lining up a shot with his club. He aimed perfectly at the guard nearest the horn, and then let the club fly. It went wide arcing just past the guard’s left hand side. I was frantic, knowing that we were barely scraping by with these odds, it would be impossible if more troops arrived. Who knew how many armed individuals were at the ready to attack us in this place. Looking over at the zombie guard, he was still rending flesh from the stone throwing man’s body. Despite pausing his chase, Praesus had actually caught up with the other guard. He grabbed the man, and let their momentum carry the two of them into the stone wall of the courtyard. The two men collided with a muffled ummph, the guard absorbing the brunt of the impact. I turned my attention elsewhere as Praesus proceeded to repeatedly shove the man’s face against the hard stone. All the while, Rufus was struggling with the guard he had knocked over. The dog was trying to clamp his muzzle over the guard’s entire neckline. Dust from his fall mixed with the blood on his body created an unusual clotting effect. Everyone was occupied it seemed.

I had no choice, it was going to have to be me. As the final guard closed in on the horn, I closed in on him as well. I did my best imitation wrestling takedown; scooping the guard’s left leg, and lifting it, and his ass outward, throwing him off balance, then forcing him down with my own weight. A cloud of dirt surrounded us as we scrambled on the ground. I had landed on top of him, just shy of his knees. I only had a moment to swell with pride at my single leg before the guard kicked me in the face. I reeled backwards, my head and neck snapping backwards as he sounded the horn. That was until Praesus crept from behind him and broke his neck violently and quickly.

Praesus and even Old Rufus looked to me, and even the dog seemed to be casting judgement from his aged eyes. “Shit. I’m sorry.” It was all I could manage as from each section of the courtyard, the buildings, and domiciles themselves poured more guards answering the horn’s call.

At least a dozen guards enveloped our position. I saw archers leveling bows at the three of us, swordspeople with shields at the ready. Spears and scythes poked and prodded Praesus, Rufus and myself, maneuvering us to the center of the courtyard. Some of those that had arrived began to survey their fallen friends, the alarm in their eyes turning to anger.

A voice shouted to the group, “Should we string them up?”

A booming voice cut the air, “No,” a man pushed past the crowd. I recognized him, he was the first archer I encountered when Rufus and I had arrived here. “They are dangerous, too dangerous to set up gallows and the like. We kill them here, on my word.”

Old Rufus gave an ill-timed bark for punctuation as he paced between Praesus and myself. “You’re not helping,” I whispered.

The man knelt before me, “You’ve caused  lot of carnage since your arrival here,” his eyes flew to Praesus, “both of you.” His gaze went back to me, “Strangely convenient for a man you claim is your enemy, no?”

“You locked us up together, you gave us no choice but to conspire!” I realized during the course of my shouting that he was not at all paying attention to my words. He was surveying the courtyard meticulously.

When he finished he turned back to me.“Harold Rambly. Garreth Lee. Jonathan Tomy.” The man paused, getting in closer to me, looking down at the body nearest to me, he all but whispered, “Miguel Cervantes.”

“You took us prisoner! Gave us no-” I was kicked again, this time in the mouth.

As the man continued with his diatribe, I could see the mob behind him eager to exact revenge. The man, clad in a smoky grey leather armor, drew his sword and placed it at at my throat, applying just the slightest pressure to my Adam’s apple. The sensation made me gulp in revulsion.  He spoke once more, cocking his head back in a manner that made his dark hair flip upwards momentarily, “You took the lives of these men. And I, Anton Allaine will be the one that takes your life in reckoning.”

Window Shopping: Kingdom Without a King- Part 4

I knew our alliance would be a temporary one, even as we had shook hands only mere minutes prior. Even still, I hoped I could trust him to help get us free of this place before that alliance dissolved. Praesus towered over me, looking even larger than he had the first time we had a fought. He would most certainly bludgeon me. The possibility existed I might be killed. As I contemplated this, I was not afraid. I would not be backing down.

That’s when Praesus charged. The man flew at me, teeth grimaced, a unfamiliar battle cry escaping them. I readied my fists, and prepared myself for the losing end of combat. Then something unexpected happened.

Footsteps echoed towards us from downstairs. Without looking I thought it to be the excrement-covered guard, finally recovered from his ordeal. But the truth was more incredible. Motionless, with an ash-gray tone about his skin, the portly guard peered up from the last step. His posture was slouched, his arms hung at his sides. However, all those things were overshadowed by the dull green glow that emanated from his eyes.

Praesus, in the midst of his charge, did not seem to notice when the guard shambled forward, effectively cutting Praesus off from reaching me.

When this happened I could see two things; one Praesus couldn’t fathom what he himself was seeing, and two; the back of the guard’s head was completely caved in. It was like an eggshell, dented heavily in the center, the trauma spidering outwards. Only the guard’s head was uneven flesh, littered with clumps of brain matter and sections of blood-soaked hair. And yet he was standing between me and Praesus.  

How was the guard standing exactly?

Praesus halted mid-stride to take in what was before him. His mouth fell open, and when this happened, he dropped the club. It clunked to the stone floor, echoing slightly in the chamber. Praesus was now unarmed and transfixed. It seemed he was caught by the eyes of the portly guard. They glowed like embers in a dying fire, the only difference was their shade of emerald green as opposed to deep orange.

“What sorcery is this?” he mumbled.

I began laughing uncontrollably, to the point where I could barely catch my breath. “Even given the seriousness of this situation, it's a shame no one else heard that. I mean could you have used a more cliché line?”

Praesus was most certainly distracted as he stared into the eyes of a man he had murdered moments ago. I knelt to pick up the club. As I did this the portly guard mimicked my actions exactly.

I looked at the guard, Praesus looked at me, and I back at him. We both held the expressions of shock. I waved the club back and forth, the guard’s right arm did the same.

“What the-” Praesus began.

“You were going to say ‘fuck’ right? Eh, probably not, more my kinda word than yours. I dunno, but this is definitely an interesting development.”

Then it dawned on me.

“You are going to help me.” Even as I began to speak, I could see the resistance in Praesus’ eyes. “Now listen, I have the only weapon between us, and I have…” I looked to the guard, “whatever this is.”

The confidence in his own size and strength left Praesus. It seemed he was not inclined to tangle with forces he did not understand. Fleetingly, I wondered the prudence of doing so myself. In spite of this, I was seized by a strange optimism,

“Crack open that door, make sure that’s Old Rufus they have in the courtyard.” Praesus didn’t need to know it, but even if it wasn’t Rufus yelping, whatever was going on out there we were about to put a stop to it, regardless. “Well?”

“They have him, chained to a pole in the courtyard. They appear to be throwing stones at him.”

“We’ve wasted so much time already,” I walked to Praesus and began to hand over the club. “Look, I am giving this back to you because I know those people out there are armed.”

Praesus reached for the club. I drew it from his reach.

“But, if you try anything- anything- I will make sure this guard gets his vengeance upon you.” Saying this statement had a sense of righteousness to it, I felt justified in threatening Praesus with it, though I had no idea why. To accentuate this the guard let out a moan, and extended his hands towards Praesus’ throat.

“Down boy.” I grinned. “Can we work together to escape from here and get Rufus back?”

Praesus nodded, I gave him the club. “What’s the strategy squire?”

“You go out there and clobber as many as you can with this blunt object. And me and,” I cocked my thumb at the guard whose eyes still held that eerie green glow. The guard also cocked the same thumb to nobody in particular, “this guy will...do stuff.”

If Praesus had any doubts (which he should’ve) he did not voice them.

I flung open the doors that led to the courtyard.

Window Shopping: Kingdom Without a King- Part 3

Live up to the handshake he did.
Praesus rose from his spot on the cell floor. As the guards charged him things seemed to slow until they played out at a quarter of their speed. Praesus dipped underneath the swing of the portly guard’s club. As the guard stumbled forward off balance Praesus effortlessly darted around him, faster than seemingly possible, and plucked the club from his grasp. Following that, Praesus swiftly cracked the blunt instrument against the back of the portly guard’s head. A hollow groan escaped the portly guard’s throat before he dropped to his knees and then collapsed, lifeless. Praesus looked at the club in his left hand, he whipped it back and forth through the air, evaluating its weight. Then he leveled it at his next target, the guard in the hall.

Through feces spattered eyes, the guard saw the larger man approaching. “No, I beg of you, just, just go. I’m no threat to you. I won’t raise alarm.”

Praesus advanced, raised the club at the kneeling guard’s face, but then stopped short of a full swing. “I s’pse you’ve been through enough. You certainly smell like it.”

Backtracking into the cell, Praesus attempted to rouse me. “Squire, we need to leave before others arrive.” He nudged me with his boot heel, shook me. When neither of those worked he reeled back and swatted me across the face.

“Sweet Jesus,” I snapped awake my eyes spinning as fast as my brain to figure out what was going on. “I could see you.”

Praesus curled his upper lip and ignored my comment, ”We need to go, unless you plan on shittin’ your way through more guardsmen.”

“But when I was out, I could see what you were doing!”

Praesus shot me the same look; half indifference, half confusion, and again repeated himself. “We need to leave squire.”

I snapped back to my senses, largely because I realized I sounded out of my mind, rather than the gravity of needing to escape imprisonment. “Alright, let’s find Rufus.”

Praesus nodded, leading the way up a narrow set of steps. Flanking the wood door, were two empty primitive torch holders. I noted that they appeared to be made of heavy metal, though even their rust was faded by time.

As we stepped through the threshold, I asked Praesus; “When they brought you in did you see any animal pens or the like?”

“Nah, you?”

“Well, I was unconscious, so no.”

“Aye, seems to be a favored pastime of yours.”

I didn’t answer. Rather (and not for the first time) I questioned Praesus’ dialect. They way he spoke hinted at education, but he applied whatever learned diction he had obtained lazily. It was a strange hybrid of a cockney and Irish accent. I wondered if either of those terms would be familiar to my former enemy and current ally. I wondered where he called home.  I decided now was not the time to ask. But the thought made me long for my own abode, if only for a second. I was alive and thriving in the chaos around me, operating at a different, and inexplicable level. The moment was consuming me in a way it never had previously.

Briskly, myself and Praesus made our way to the ground floor of the prison. Silently, he motioned for me to check the view outside. I nodded.

Carefully approaching the door, I pushed it open slightly, obtaining a narrow view of the courtyard. I saw a half dozen foot soldiers pacing back and forth. Each maintained a loosely choreographed route of patrol. They carried swords inside long sheaths, and their backs bore the burden of circular shields. I sealed the door and reported this to Praesus.

“What say you?” he asked.

“We need to find Old Rufus.”

“The dog, yes,” he muttered gruffly.

As if on cue I heard a dog yelping from beyond the door.

“Rufus!” I went to head out the door but Praesus cut off my path. “There are six heavily armed men out there that will likely kill you on sight. Need I remind you, that you are an escaped prisoner?”

Somehow, I found myself gritting my teeth defiantly in this giant’s face. “Need I remind you, if it wasn’t for that dog I wouldn’t be here? Thanks to your actions no less!”

“I know what I have done, and I know the reasons behind my deeds. I too know that you going out there will expose us both. I will not allow it.” Praesus raised the club he had taken from the guard. It was not a friendly gesture.

Window Shopping: Kingdom Without a King- Part 2

The growling echoed in my ears distantly. I thought of a dog, or the concept of a dog at least. Then I thought specifically of Old Rufus. The fear I held for him snapped open my eyes, only Rufus was nowhere near me.

To make matters worse I was in a fetid cell of some kind. I saw aged stone tiles, dirty from wear and stained with viscera. They were punctuated by rusted bars. Across a narrow hall, I could see another cell. By and large identical to mine, no windows, decorated in retro-medieval torture style, though it was empty.

To make matters even worse I looked next to me and saw Praesus’ face staring into my own.

“Funny thing, us meeting this way.”

Instantly, I recoiled my entire body, and hopped upright in the corner, in what I interpreted to be my best defensive stance.

“Relax squire, no point in killin’ you in here. We in the same boat.”

Without dropping my hands, I said, “Great to know.”

“For now, just for now,” Praesus winked at me.

“Do you mind telling me what that god-awful smell is?”

With more than a hint of aloofness Praesus blurted, “Had to eliminate my bowels.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“I had to shit,” casual as ever, Praesus enlightened me further by motioning to a small wooden bucket he had strategically placed in the corner.

“Great.” I said, accompanied by an eye roll. “Now I have to smell your ‘elimination’ until they kill us, or we starve to death.”

“Maybe, but bettin’ by day seven of no food whatever’s in that bucket might not smell so bad.”

I refused to think about that statement, or dignify it with a response.

“Currently though, we need to be figurin’ a way out of here,” he held out his hand.  

Looking around, I didn't have much to lose, so I shook it. Although I half expected him to shank me when I would’ve expected it the least he did nothing of the sort.

“Aye, what’s the plan?”

My mouth fell open, “What?”

“Well you seem like a right smart fellow.”

“I thought you might’ve been in this sort of predicament before...given your background.”

“Just how’s a man s’pposed to receive that remark?”

Praesus’ face mirrored the shock I had expressed only a moment ago.

“You’re kidding right? Ahem, in the remarkably short time I’ve known you, I’ve known you as a coercive,  kidnapping arsonist.”

Praesus nodded as vigorously as he grinned, “Right you are squire, but I need to tell you of a couple of things: one; those deeds I have actually done, and two I’ve never been interned for those, nor nothin’ else. These fools,” he motioned to what I imagined was the outside, “got me under lock and key for no cause. Only the thinkin’ that I might do something.”

“Shh, listen!” I said sharply.

Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall. The two of us watched as guards entered into view. One was portly, the other lean. They wore matching red outfits, emblazoned with gold accents. Cowls covered most of their faces, save for their mouths and chins. Both of them looked as though they may never have been washed.  

“Inspiration means action requires little forethought.” I said to Praesus before making a mad dash for the bucket.

I scooped up the container, and ceased inhaling. Aiming my throw between the bars didn’t prove too difficult. The excrement sailed through the air in a thick arc, coating the lean guard completely on one side. The remaining waste splattered with a disgusting noise against the floor. The coated guard’s response was perfectly reasonable; he fell to his knees and began hurling uncontrollably.

The portly guard however, was angry. He went for the keys at his belt. “You little mongrel! The portly guard twisted the key in the lock. He drew another item from his belt, this one a baton that terminated in a swelled end. “I’m going to make you lick that off Lawrence’s uni until it’s clean!” The portly guard swung the door open mightily.

I turned to Praesus, “Smart guy got the door open, your turn.” Immediately following my statement I was struck in the back of the head. I went down hoping Praesus would live up to our handshake.