He nervously chewed on the back of his quill. He wasn't ready for this, yet still, he had exhausted all other options. He did not expect this to work, yet he knew that there must be some way to overcome his anxieties.
For weeks now, he'd had a feeling that something was amiss. That he was not in charge of many of his own actions. Sometimes, he would turn when he meant to go straight, then try to understand why he did that. At other times, he would just lie on his bed for hours, unable to get up, even though he had places to be. Once, he woke up in the middle of the night, ran outside, then several miles into the darkness. When he regained control, he was exhausted and struggled to find his way back. And all this was starting to affect his life.
With a deep sigh, he lowered his quill into his inkwell. Staring at the parchment in front of him, he tried to make sense of it all. This so-called "automatic writing" business sounded extremely fishy to him. On the other hand, he could imagine how insane he must have sounded when he'd described what had happened to him in the recent past.
Might as well try.
He put down his quill and started to write. It took him only a few sentences before he fell into a deep trance, and his writing changed from basic trivialities about his current situation into something he would have never expected to see. Something so strange and foreign, he would not have been able to come up with all that on the spot. As he awoke from his trance, he was first astonished by the amount he had written, then shocked that most of it was not even his own handwriting. What happened next will be a story for another day, but for now, please witness for yourself a true copy of what he wrote.
(Cover image credit: Jeff Nelson on flickr, link)
For weeks now, he'd had a feeling that something was amiss. That he was not in charge of many of his own actions. Sometimes, he would turn when he meant to go straight, then try to understand why he did that. At other times, he would just lie on his bed for hours, unable to get up, even though he had places to be. Once, he woke up in the middle of the night, ran outside, then several miles into the darkness. When he regained control, he was exhausted and struggled to find his way back. And all this was starting to affect his life.
With a deep sigh, he lowered his quill into his inkwell. Staring at the parchment in front of him, he tried to make sense of it all. This so-called "automatic writing" business sounded extremely fishy to him. On the other hand, he could imagine how insane he must have sounded when he'd described what had happened to him in the recent past.
Might as well try.
He put down his quill and started to write. It took him only a few sentences before he fell into a deep trance, and his writing changed from basic trivialities about his current situation into something he would have never expected to see. Something so strange and foreign, he would not have been able to come up with all that on the spot. As he awoke from his trance, he was first astonished by the amount he had written, then shocked that most of it was not even his own handwriting. What happened next will be a story for another day, but for now, please witness for yourself a true copy of what he wrote.
They say that this can work. If I focus on nothing but leading my quill, if I strike all thought from my mind, then you would take over. If you exist. At this point, I'm willing to try whatever it takes to get some answers, and to hopefully gain back some of the control I've lost to you. I just want to You want answers? You may think you do, but you truly do not. I once thought I wanted answers, but do you see where it got me? I lost it all. Making sure that others do not. I do not expect any thanks, although sometimes I wish that what I do was acknowledged by someone.
Since you're so eager, let me tell you a story. Let me tell you about The Call, and how it stole everything from me.
It all started when I was very young, though early preparations took place much sooner. I would not have known of the latter due to their originator's secrecy and the fact that I had not been born at the time. But little does it matter. Just imagine a young girl, brown hair, medium build, some freckles, blueish green eyes. Much like you, I never asked for any of it. It just started to happen. And I have to admit, I was scared at first. Very scared.
Have you ever felt like someone knows you in and out? They know who you are, they know every second of your life, they know you better than you even know yourself. And they are calling for you, they need you. But you do not know who they are. You have never met them. They could be a god, they could be a demon. All you know is that they are calling your name. I say name, but what I heard was not my name at all. It was, yet not the one I knew. A better name, if that makes sense. A name that truly described me.
If you have not felt that way, it is hopeless to try and describe what I felt. I was scared, yes, hopelessly scared, but that was merely the beginning. Imagine falling asleep every night with someone yelling in your ear, yelling your name, a foreign name that you cannot place. It is a feeling entirely unlike your mother shouting for you to go to bed. It is more intimate, yet more intimidating. More caring, yet more demanding. Poor, little me did not know what was going on.
Sure, I talked about it to my parents. They tried to help. My husband. The priest. Even the witch. They all tried to help, but the call would never, ever go away.
Imagine you are a young woman coming of age, it is warm outside, you are in your garden, harvesting some early strawberries. You reach down, pluck one off, and then you realize that someone needs you, someone far away, someone you do not even know. They need you badly, yet you are here collecting berries. You feel guilty, you are angry with yourself. You drop to the ground, the strawberries spill. You wake up, your head in your husband's lap, his hand slowly running through your hair. He assures you that everything is just fine, that you need not worry, that everyone is safe.
But you do not feel safe. Instead, you feel disgusted by his greasy fingers ruining the hair you had washed just this morning. Ruining it for the one who needs you, the one who is calling for you. You have to be perfect for him, you cannot waste away in this reality. You start crying again, your arms two useless weights hanging from your shoulders. You want to hug your husband, tell him that you agree. Tell him that you are thankful for him. Make him feel that he is appreciated. But you cannot. But you do not. But you are not. But he is not.
I heard the call for so many years. I hoped it would go away. It did, eventually. But it cost me. However, I feel no grievance. It had to happen. As it was foretold by my great-grandfather, so it had to happen. It is but the wheels of time, and how they are turning. You cannot change it.
So here is my advice for you: you have to trust me. I know it is a lot to ask. And if I had a choice, I would prefer not to scare you like this. But I am doing this to foil HIS plans. HE is planning a future for you. It is not one that you want. And I am your one way out. Just let me do what I do. You will thank yourself later.
(Cover image credit: Jeff Nelson on flickr, link)
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