Writing Exercise # 2- Jonathan D. W.

The Mystic By Jonathan Dempsey Williams One day, a boy named Clay learned that his family was dead. He was less distraught than he was overwhelmed; Too overwhelmed to emote, too muted to cry. Their joyous house had also given up its ghost. Materially full, it had become a spiritually vacant tomb That reverberated the spirit of his former family’s presence. This frightened, diminutive boy struggled to think of whom he could call. He thought of his teacher Mr. Manley who always knew how to help. Either way, it was the only number he could recall. When Mr. Manley answered Clay could hear a little girl’s voice in the background. He almost thought it was his sister’s voice and said her name aloud. The sound was lost between the echoes in the line And the incessancy of Mr. Manley’s words. Mr. Manley sounded sorry and promised to help. He told Clay not to panic and instructed him not to leave; But Clay didn’t want to leave; he wanted to stay in their house On the lake, because there he could still feel their presence. But when Mr. Manley told him that they would have to take him away, The sound of his teacher’s voice began to diminish And the sound of his pulse began to throb in his ears. Clay dropped the phone because he could no longer hear His teacher’s troubled voice. Clay’s head started to throb and he began to see visions, As the lenses of his wide, dusky eyes reversed its focus And began to look inward into the tangled abyss of his thoughts. He was in a canoe in the lake with his father. They were in a terrible storm and the air was as dark and thick as wool. The lighthouse was their only hope of survival but its light Flickered in and out because of the consuming gloom. When Clay’s father scanned the water with his lamp They saw that they were not floating on water at all; They were sailing on a sea of sallow locusts Whose chirping produced a disquieting, cascading roar. His father prayed aloud as he held Clay’s hand. He prayed for safe passage through the lake of locusts And that his son would not lose heart amidst the bizarre storm. His father’s face was dreadfully serene, And Clay became certain that their lives Would be swallowed up in the wing-beating tumult. The vision cleared as Clay heard the sound of the doorbell. Mr. Manley had come with a flurry of lights. When he knocked it had the sound of finality And the dire urgency forced Clay to stand. He knew they came to collect him so He ran to the backdoor and exited the house in great haste. He ran out into the dead night not knowing where he was going. As he ran he passed his school, Cut through the park, and lumbered into the woods. He normally found solace in the rustling of trees And the humming of life there; But the nocturnal sounds of that night Only confused him and blanketed his mind with dew. The vision also fell onto his mind. The glimmer of the lighthouse gave him a presage of hope. But his father’s prayer became increasingly tense and beseeching. The locusts filled the lake with violent movement And packed the air with their rapaciously insectile noise. He saw his fathers arms tremble under the strain Of rowing through such fury and Grasped the edge of his shirt in hopes That his love would give him the strength to prevail. It cleared when he finally made it out of the arboreal haze, And the pain was so heavy it wilted his head. He had run all night and hadn’t stopped until he came to a familiar building. It was his family’s church and he knew that it was his only hope. He went to the door but it was locked So he tried the back door and it too was locked. Desperate, he did the only thing he could; He broke the window and climbed inside, cutting himself in the process Once inside, the vaulted serenity calmed his spirit, And dimmed the pain in his head. He walked to his customary seat and sat down, oblivious to his wounds. All the familiar ornaments were there. They were features as prominent in his childhood as The lighthouse on the north edge of the lake; Where he and his sister spent countless hours Learning the ways of the water and the art of navigation. Clay was compelled to pray as his mother taught him. She showed him how to speak with his heart And how to voice the ineffable. She wanted him to be strong like his father But devout like his mother. His father was a mariner who had lost his fate. She feared that her only son would be influenced By his fragile example. Clay remembered her and began to pray With his lips moving but without making a sound. He prayed until the night’s darkest hour; Then the vision returned and he was again with his father on the stormy lake. His father’s impassioned expressions became muffled as he prayed; And when Clay learned why, he could not believe his eyes. His father was choking on locusts, but he would not stop praying aloud. Clay begged him to stop but he refused. Soon Clay realized why he would not stop His arduous calls to heaven. As long as he prayed aloud they could see the lighthouse, But when Clay put his hands over is father’s mouth, The light was eclipsed by heaving swarms. When his vision ended the pain immediately reinvaded. Someone was coming in through the front door but Clay could not hear it. It was the minister, Pastor David; and when he saw the boy he was moved with pity. He put his hand gently on the boy’s shoulder And asked him what he could do. Clay liked Pastor David because his voice was so genial, And he was friends with David’s many children. David caught them playing outside during service once But did not scold them or tell his mother, So Clay had been fond of him ever since. Looking up with the translucent eyes of a desperate child, Clay found his sanguine face to be wholly affable As he told Pastor David about his family and his visions. The Pastor told him that God was angry, And he needed to repent of his father’s sins. Clay obeyed and prayed with the minister, Who held Clay’s hands, which stained his linen robe. David was oblivious to Clay’s tangible outpouring And to Clay it felt as if his pain and his despair Were flowing out of him in purifying relief. The Pastor’s prayers were solemn and intimate. He spoke with words common only to those Who have cultivated the closest communication with God. His words were like a powerful whisper That at once shivered Clay’s skin Even as it filtered his very being. As the minister prayed Clay’s eyes once again inverted And his muscles stiffened as he slipped into another vision. His father continued his ardent prayer And his voice grew invariably fainter. The locusts were too insidious and far too numerous For Clay to keep his Father’s mouth covered. Although his arms burned like coals, He was unable to prevent the creature’s bitter purpose. Alas, they made it to the shore Where the luminosity from the lighthouse Was brighter than the brightest midday. Clay wept as he thanked God for their rescue, But his father lay still in the middle of the boat. He had choked to death saving the life of his son. Clay’s tears of deliverance turned into soft wails of sorrow As he held his father’s strong, lifeless hand And begged God to send his father back to him. The minister shook the boy firmly in terror For the Clay’s petition to God Had morphed into a blasphemous odium against heaven. When Clay returned the minister demanded an explanation, Telling him the vile utterances that he had just heard. Clay shook his head in disbelief And insisted that in his vision his words were pure and upright. He told David that he was thanking God for his life And offering Him expressions of praise Even as he lamented his father’s death. “How could this be?” said the minister, Who rose and backed away when he noticed the boy’s blood drenching him. “You cannot blame God for his decisions; You must accept his will regardless of how painful it may be!” “I don’t fault God. He is my maker and I love Him as my mother taught me. I thank Him for my father and for my mother, For my sister and for our home on the lake. I am just a child but he is eternal, So how could I have said the things you say I did?” “Pray then Clay, Pray that god may forgive you of your unclean lips And of your father’s faithless sins,” David implored. Faithfully and obediently, Clay prayed, ”Father forgive me for my sins And those of my father. You are holy and your son is my guide. Please help me, For I do not know the way. If you want to, you can forgive us and remember my family.” With those words Clay stood up and fell into the Pastor’s arms; His lifeless body now free from pain. The minister cried out in shock and anguish, And mournfully carried Clay’s body outside into the light.