This is the continued story of
Simon’s Journal.
I would highly recommend you read the first volume of this story,
Simon’s Journal
Thirteen Days – The First Crusade
before you begin this novel.
The following narrative is nearly a complete work of
fiction.
Any similarity to actual individuals living or dead is completely
unintentional.
If reading a coming of age story about boys wearing diapers and exploring
their awakening sexuality is offensive or illegal in your area, then might I
suggest
that you go read War and Peace or
something equally stimulating.
Simon's
Journal
Volume II
Thirteen Nights – After the Crusade
Written by
Danny
Author of Thirteen Days
“Computer?” I called out into the darkened
room and three even chimes told me that the computer was awaiting my words,
“Bring the lights up to thirty-five percent and raise the room temperature
three degrees.”
Without
delay the rooms’ contents begin to come into view; however it would take a
little longer for my body to feel the room warm up.
After
making my way to my desk and settling in I again spoke, “Computer?” one more I
wait for the three chimes of acknowledgement before giving the order, “Unlock
personal file for Simon David Leonard Junior, authorization code S R E P I A D
and open personal journal.”
I
waited a moment, not for the computers sake but because I had changed my mind
in mid-thought, “Computer, playback the last entry.”
After three chimes my recorded voice filled
the shadowed room...
“I feel as though I have been left standing
by the graveside of a nearly forgotten part of me; a grave filled with
memories, of years filled with tears... memories are all I have left now.
Flicking through the pages of a journal
filled with fear, suddenly I realize that the bitterness and pain, which were
once more familiar to me then my own reflection, have become strangers to me. I suppose in some enigmatic way, I draw
comfort in knowing that they can't touch me now, they can't hurt me now, now
that I know the secret of life.
And yet at times I find myself trying to
revive within me those old forgotten parts of me, as though I welcome those buried
memories to return to haunt me. I know that I'm holding on to a life long since
gone, however I know that my heart will never again be cold, it shall never
grow old, it will always be free.”
Three chimes inform me that the computer has
finished the payback and is awaiting further instructions. With a reserved sigh
I pronounce, “Computer, begin recording where I left off.”
When I do not hear the familiar chimes
letting me know that the computer heard and carried out my command I am not
alarmed; it’s not unusual for this to happen. I have grown so use to the public
computers reading my thoughts without actually having to utter a single peep,
that sometimes when I am here at home I forget that I must use my voice due to
the fact that I have not taken the time to have the house systems upgraded
since we bought and moved in after the adoption of our seventh and eighth
child, the twins Cole and Kevin.
My mind wandered, as it often does, and my
thoughts began to find their way past my lips, “Let’s see, Cole and Kevin will
nine, no ten-years-old in... Oh my, their birthday is next month.”
I probably would have been lost to my
drifting thoughts had I not heard the sound of several of our children running
through the hall and past the closed door to my office. By the sounds they were
making I guessed it to be our three youngest girls, Sarah, Leslie and Patty,
who I am quite sure were being pursued by the youngest of our thirteen
children, little Bradley, who just turned five this past Tuesday.
If I had to hazard a guess, and to be
completely honest it wouldn’t really be much of a gamble, I would have to say
that Bradley had probably removed his, hopefully only wet diaper, yet again and
was using it to threaten his sisters.
Their mother would say that I encourage that
sort of behavior and I suppose there is some evidence to support her case. The
most compelling indication would be the simple fact that I have never actually
told Bradley not to torture his sisters with his wet or soiled diapers.
Screaming, mayhem and wall washing aside, I
see no real harm in him getting into a little mischief; after all, it is his
favorite game. Ok, and maybe I enjoy it a bit too, but I would never get me to
admit to it under oath.
Thanks to the Bradley’s’ fun and games, my
mind was once again rescued from potentially hours of senseless and unproductive
memory hoping.
“Computer?” I said while making sure that
this time I actually speak the words.
It responds and I speak the command, “Begin
recording.” However I inadvertently omitted several key command words.
Two lower pitched chimes were followed by a
synthesized voice. “Please specify whether you wish to continue the previous
entry or begin a new entry?”
I
was momentary befuddled by the computers query, until I realized my error and
gave my response, “Uh, why don’t we just begin a new entry?”
As
is my preference, the computer’s vocal response is suppressed and once again it
chimes three times to acknowledge my command.
There is a two second pause while the
computer closes the previous entry and prepares to record a new one. With a
single low-pitched chime the computer had signaled its readiness; and so I
begin . . .
“Today
is Friday,
March 12, 2028 and I am sitting
here in my home office surrounded by old-fashion paper-printed books, and other
various treasured keepsakes. Each item serving as miniature monuments to
adventures and persons, loved and not.”
I
paused to take in my surroundings and allow my thoughts time to form on my
tongue, “It’s not lost on me that this room, which is more a museum then a home
office, functions in many ways as the bottom of my closet did when I was a
young and innocent boy. Well maybe not so innocent but defiantly young.
Though much roomier then my closet ever was,
this office provides for me a refuge from worries, from the world and the seemingly
unceasing demands of life, marriage and fatherhood.
Don’t get me wrong, I love being married and
adore each and every one of our children. However, there are moments when it
all gets to be a bit too much, to heavy and maybe a little too convincing.
This room is my a time machine, allowing me
to return to days long past; days that seem to fade further from sight with
each pasting year. Within these walls time is a force that must yield to my
will. I have been able to bring friends and foes back to life, relive adventures
again and again, and yes, even sometimes I have even gone back to revisit nightmares
and atrocities.”
Again I paused, this time to rub at my
forehead, symbolically reinforcing mental barriers that keep my thoughts from
running away with themselves again.
“Maybe it’s just the foolishness of an adult
longing to be a boy again that makes me sit in here for hours on end recalling
the escapades of youth and only returning to the present when my wife softly
knocks upon the door to inform me that dinner is ready or to send me up to kiss
our children goodnight. And there have been times that she’s had to beg me to
come to bed.”
I look to a photo on my desk as I say, “Ah
yes... my wife! I honestly cannot imagine what existence would have been like
without my cherished Mary by my side.
Oh how I remember the day I asked her to
marry me. I was so nervous that even my tongue was sweating and it didn’t stop
until the moment I slipped a small golden band on her finger and heard her say
two simple words, ‘I do!’
It has been said that very few people ever
find true happiness and I am here to tell you that I never did find it, but
somehow it managed to find my Mary when she was only 11-Years-old. Sadly, it
took me another 11-years to get around to asking her to marry me but once I
did, I started to experience real joy through her.
Throughout the years she has been more then
just my wife, more then a lover and more then a mother to our children; at
times she has been the anchor that’s kept me from drifting away from sanity. When
I am weak, she spoon feeds her strength to me; when the daemons that live in my
past rise up and threaten to consume me, she has rescued me with a kiss and
sometimes just a soft loving touch. She is not my only reason for remaining on
this planet, but she is my greatest reason for anything and everything.”
The photo I am looking at dutifully sits on
the right corner of my desk encased in a beautiful gold gilded picture framed.
It is a picture of my childhood sweetheart, my wife, my lovely Mary. It is a
faithful reminder that she is always there no matter how far I wander.”
With a kiss that floats across the hair to
her, I allow my gaze to break away from her smiling image all the while
expelling my thoughts with words for the computer to capture and store.
“Opposite Mary’s photo, on the left corner of
my desk sets a brown, cracked-plastic picture frame. Unlike Mary’s frame, this
one is completely unremarkable and utterly worthless except for the memories it
preserves within a single photograph. The photo is a time capsule, preserving
the image of my 12-Year-old self along with twelve other strapping young boys,
all huddled around a kneeling Jamaican Nun and a giant of a man but in
miniature form.
The photo had been taken after my twelfth
birthday, which was really only my third true birthday seeing how I was born on
February 29, a day that only comes once every four years. The photo shows the
thirteen of us boys, shirtless with matching drab grey pants that bulged out
from our hips and crotches due to the cloth diapers and rubber pants that we
all wore beneath them.
At he feet of my twelve-year-old self sits a
proud yet mangy looking old cat who, despite her terrible disposition and
apparent dislike for anyone or anything that didn’t have four legs, a tail and
meow, took on the roll, for a time, as protector, provider, guide, parent and
friend to each one of the boys posing there with her.”
“Computer, pause recording.” My voice
quavered as I gave the command.
The computer sounded its three chimes.
There are times such as these where my
thoughts, my memories come flooding back so swiftly that I can feel my
consciousness drowning.
I allowed myself a moment for the flood to
recede, while I blew my nose and dab at my watering eyes before I continued.
“Computer, continue recording.”
Three chimes.
“As though it were just yesterday, I can
recall when we all realized that she had finally reached the end of her nine
lives. Thirteen young, seasoned,
adventure-weary boys knelt by a small grave in the backyard of a small Ohio
home and wept along side a withered old man, a tiny giant and a Jamaican Nun.
I am proud to say that her great
grand-kitten, which I saw fit to bestow with the same name and oddly enough
inherited the mangy appearance of her great grandmother, now watches over my
family with equal diligence.”
I reached across my desk and picked up the
brown, plastic picture frame and touched my finger to the glass, “It has been
so many years since the photograph was taken; it seems like ten lifetimes ago
and yet I feel as though it was only yesterday that we stood together on the
deck of the Banachelli in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
We lived adventures that most children only
dream, or read about in books. Adventures included escaping from my captures
with the help of my dear friend Lowell and a man I had greatly misjudged. The
Lowell and I were soon recaptured; I vowed never to forget the man who gave his
life trying to get us home to our parents.
There was also the glorious day when my
newfound brothers and I danced in the spilt blood of Mr. and Mrs. Wriggle. I
still can hear the sound of Mr. Wriggle as his last breath gurgled out of him.
It was like listening to a fine symphony.
I witnessed the hand of God as it reached
down from the heavens, passed over the land and an entire city was gone.
I have sailed the seas as buccaneer, captain
and slave. I beheld the rising of the dead and I know what it is to carry the
burden of taking a life.
I know what it is to be a wanted man, even
before I was a man, what it is like to lead many, to be admired as a god and to
be revered as evil in carnet.
Although the events that brought me to the
Banachelli were vastly unfavorable, and though there were moments that were
wholly distasteful and made me curse my own birth more then once, I would not
trade a single experiences or surrender a single memories, not for any price,
not for any treasure... except maybe for the chance to go back and live it all
again.”
~ The End? Not Even Close!! ~
I hope you have enjoyed Simon’s Journal –
Thirteen Nights as well as this tiny glimpse into Simon’s future.
This second volume in the series was
difficult to write due to the length and darker tones of the last few chapters
and I know from the many emails I have received from you the readers, that it
was difficult to be a witness to such atrocities.
Would
you like to read more of Simon’s Journal?
Are you wondering if and how Simon managed to escape from the pit and
from the Banachelli Orphanage? Do you
wonder where Simon’s bunkmates go at night?
Would you like to find out if Simon’s brother, Jamie is still alive or
if Simon’s odd dream about his aunt was really just a dream? Are you still holding out hope for Bull,
Tater and Runt to repent or are you waiting to see them get their
comeuppance? Do you (as I do) pang for
the heads of Mr. and Mrs. Wriggle?
Well then, you will want to look for the next
volume in the Simon’s
Journal series, Thirteen Sails for answers to these and other burning
questions.
** For the latest news on how future
installment are coming along as well as answers to questions
asked by other readers and so much more,
visit me at www.talkhard.5u.com.
As always, your thoughts matter to me very, very much. As proof, I have wrote this epilog to
Simon’s Journal – Thirteen Nights in hopes of answering many of your questions
or at the very least to placate you for the moment, until your questions can be
answered later in the coming chapters of Thirteen Sails.
So please send any comments, questions,
suggestions, or criticism to me at: [email protected] and I
promise
that I will reply personally to everyone that
takes the time to write to me but I do ask that you bare with me as it sometimes
takes me a while to get to all the emails! **