Young Writers Society

The Secret Path

The Secret Path was found in the left side of the house. Under the trapdoor we discovered. We didn’t knew where it lead, or what it was for, or who had used it before; but we didn’t really care. We were kids back then. We just followed it, till it ended, without talking, just thinking. What could be waiting for us in the end? Wizards, ogres, heroes, another world. Worlds without parents who shout, and hit, worlds where you just do what you want to do. Like Neverland, or Narnia- or those other worlds that we children found in books Grandma read to us before she died. We were naïve back then, we believed in those things, and we thought the secret path would lead us there.

Dreams never come true.

The secret path just ended in a grey, concrete wall, shadowing our thoughts. We tried to bring it down, by tackling it, but we were kids back then. I remember we cried, as if someone died. We cried for hours, next to the wall, hoping it would come down, but it never did, so we just cried all the way back to the house. Back to the world. The world with shouting parents, hitting parents. The world which wasn’t Narnia, or Neverland. The Real World.

I walked out of the bed, and breakfasted beer. Somebody once told me drinking beer in the morning made you taste it more. It just made throw up; but it was OK. I liked to do so. Throwing up made me toss a piece of me away, a memory, or something. That’s what my online spiritualist had told me. I didn’t really believe him, but I liked chatting with him. I gave me the chance of talking to someone, you know? I don’t talk with people often; I’m an anti-social, although I call myself a sociopath. That way I have an excuse for being so drawn back. Sociopath is also more interesting, right? Maybe I am insane, but sociopaths are cooler than just plain old me. Sociopaths have a disease. Yeah, insane is good.

I slid inside my t-shirt , grabbed my keys, and went outside. It was Friday already. Friday was my day out. Well, not my day out, but a day out. When I actually left my house, instead of staying there, and if staying there was inside, getting out was out. So, Friday was my day out. I never really did anything, even on Friday. I read the paper, watched TV, read old magazines, read fantasy novels, call people I didn’t know… nothing really. I walked outside the building, and looked at each sides of the path. One lead right; one lead left. I hated decision-making; it was the worst part of Friday. I was never good taking them. Partially because I always made the wrong decisions, and partially because I never made the right one. Like when my father died, and I incinerated him, he was not happy. I didn’t sleep for two months after that. When my mother died, and I hid her body in the woods, they found it almost immediately. That’s why I moved to York, which wasn’t a good decision either.

Did you know that York is the most haunted city in all the world? And England is the country with the highest percentage of apparitions per year. My spiritualist told me that. He knows a lot. Oh, did I mention I killed my mother? Yeah, that’s why I hid her body. I just wanted you to know that, like, if you were confused or something. She was just whining too much. She was being annoying. Anyway, I decided to turn left, and just walk. I didn’t like walking, that’s why I never left the house. My feet swelled, and I sweated a lot. I don’t know why, though my spiritualist told me it’s because of this bad karma of mine. But that’s just bullshit. Who invented this karma jabber anyways? A freaking Jew. A cabbalist or something? I don’t need some knucklehead to know how I should live my life. I don’t like to follow guidelines. That karma shit, those are guidelines. What I need is directions, a permanent tutor. I had posted an advertisement in the paper.

YOUNG MAN LOOKS FOR FULL-TIME TUTOR.

Nobody called me back. Because that’s how it is. Nobody calls me back. I’m just pathetic; but don’t get me wrong, I’m not the kind of pathetic you would call for pity, but the kind of pathetic loser you wouldn’t call for fear of breaking into tears. That’s what people did. I’m always feeling eyes looking at me as if I’m some kind of freak, you know? Like they can’t make out what the hell I am. Like, who is that? Who? The man walking down the street, he’s like a shadow. Actually, a shadow is cool, no, that’s not what they call me behind my back. They just call me a loser, like they used to do in high school.

You’re not a loser.

Heh. Out of all the lies you’ve said so far… that’s the worse. You’re worst than my spiritualist. Have you ever seen those niggers, yeah, those who just dance in the street? I saw them today. I just looked at them for a long time, wondering how they could turn so many times in their own head. I mean, that’s just plain cool. Why can’t I be like that? I used to believe in The Creation, you know, Adam and Eve, the snake. That’s until I heard about Darwinism, and that made sense, you know? Have you ever been walking, and suddenly realize something? Yeah? And in that moment, you feel as if you know every little thing there is to know, but in the same time you know that you don’t. That’s what happened to me with that Darwin guy. I mean, if we come from monkeys, there might be some people who just stayed a step back in the evolution. I’m not smart, I’m not handsome, I’m ugly, and I don’t have any talent at all. I haven’t evolved. It just makes sense. I just wish evolution had left me with some monkey superpowers, or something. That would’ve been good. You know, if I could travel to London… or New York, or wherever that Darwin guy lives, I would just shake his hand and tell him he opened my God damned eyes.

Darwin’s dead.

Really…? Oh. I didn’t even realize he was sick. They should really put stuff like that in the paper. Did you know my spiritualist doesn’t believe in Darwinism? Stupid, huh?

Anyways, I knew I had made the wrong decision when I stepped in poop. I hated myself for that. I was wearing my newest shoes. I had found them in a rubbish can somewhere, almost new. And to think I almost when right. When I stepped outside the damn building, I almost turned right… but I said to myself: “Let’s take a chance.” So I did. I’m so stupid. Right is good, right is right, left is the devil, if right wasn’t right; they wouldn’t have called the word right right, right? You don’t have to answer that, by the way, it’s a rhetoric question. I’ll just have to remember that for next Friday, you know? Or else I’ll step in poop again, right…? Right…?

Hey, I’m talking to you. I’m paying you to hea— Forget it. Whatever. Nobody ever laughs at my jokes. In high school I tried to be funny, you know? With all I had, I gave them everything. Sarcasm, clowny behavior, gags, everything. I just tried so hard to be the class clown, but nobody ever laughed. They just looked at me, yeah, like you’re doing right now, like people do in the street. I just wished I were another guy. But… I wasn’t that. I’m just another face in the crowd. '

Well, after stepping in poop, I just decided I had enough, so I went to the building I always go to, and climbed to the roof, like I always do. And after I had walked to the edge, and looked down… I pussied out. I just looked down, stepped back, and… and… threw up. Have you ever heard that quote by Anonymous, which says: “Past the road of Famine and Starvation, War and Devastation, Pestilence and Suffering, you’ll be rewarded with Death”? I like that quote. Though they never tell you how much dying will hurt. That’s why I’m afraid. I fear that even more than Hell, and eternal punishment. I can take all that. What I can’t handle is pain. Have you ever heard of BDSM? The guys who have sex, while hitting each other with whips, and tying themselves with ropes and collars? I once experimented with that. It hurt pretty badly, but I didn’t mind. For once, I could handle it. I came anyways, though it wasn’t anything from another world. I guess Hell would be pretty much like that; without the sex, obviously. You’ll be in pain, but you’ll have something else in your mind. Though you never know, you know? Maybe death is a sweet, painless ride, and Hell is like going to the dentist. Without the Novocaine. Anyways, after trying to kill myself, I just remained there, you know, thinking what would’ve happened if I did. There were a few options besides Hell, cause if I was a Buddhist I would probably be reincarnated as a tree. And I don’t mean no big oak tree, or whatever, I mean like an ivy or… mould. That’s a tree, right? Well, it doesn’t matter. I know it’s a stupid thing to think, but there’s always the chance, right? There must be a reason why people believe in that shit. Then… well, I just threw up again. I think I’m becoming bulimic by obligation. Not because I want to, but I just seem to be throwing up a lot. I’m not fat, am I?

No… You’re fine, actually.

Maybe it’s something to about my subconscious… or my metabolism. Something generic— hey, everything I say here is confidential, right? So you won’t tell anything about my mother. Yeah, that’s cool. I was just checking. Well, OK, I must’ve been on that roof for an hour, just thinking bout that stuff. About that Secret Path we found when we was kids, and about that concrete block. I tried to make a metaphor out of it, but I just couldn’t. I mean, what for? It means nothing. Just a blocked path.

Don’t you think that maybe you are the concrete wall… and that you’re blocking your own path?

Not really. I was thinking that maybe the wall is something else, that’s protecting me or something like that. Protecting me from the unkown. But then I started to thinking, what if I wanted to visit the unkown? What if I really, really wanted to die? How could I shatter the wall then? I guess the wall is all my fears, those we keep deep inside us. I’m just so freaking scared. I have always been. I’m scared of dying. Scared of the unkown… and at the same time… I just want to hug it until its eyes pop out. I mean, I know the unknown doesn’t have eyes, but it’s just an expression. In my dreams, I’m dying all the time, and it’s never nice. I’d say it’s quite ugly actually. But after it’s done… I’m just so joyful. So joyful that the pain was worth having. I guess I’m scared that only the pain part will be true. But then I just cancelled that shit, and decided to come here.

Do you think it was a bad decision?

Not yet—but it will be eventually. It always is, isn’t it? When I was walking back I saw the niggers again, this time they were doing other things. Jumping, twirling, to the rhythm of the sounds made by the others. I stopped walking and looked at them, amazed. I wished I could do those things. I wished I could do anything. But when ther act finished, and they asked me for some money, I had none. I couldn’t even give them anything. I felt useless. That’s why I came here, you always listen, even though you don’t really care. I know you don’t, you keep watching the clock, waiting for the session to finish, so you can go shag your secretary. But even though you don’t care… It makes me feel better, cause you do listen. Nobody else ever does. Ahem. I think I’ll just go now; I don’t have the money to pay for the whole hour.

No, wait, Frank, I—

… Pills? I don’t feel like having any, thank you. I’ll be fine. Just fine. I’m going back to my place. I think I’ll go through the alley nearby; it’s kinda like a secret little path, isn’t it? I’ll just step out this office, turn right, get out of the building, turn right, then follow the alley where it wants to lead me. I just hope it will lead somewhere else this time. I’m not in the mood for a wall. Nobody ever is. But we don’t have a choice. All we do is close our eyes, follow, and hope we end up in Neverland.

-------------------------------------------------

Oh Christ, I hope that didn't depress you, or anything. =D

Please note that all the phrases spoken by the psychoanalist should be "righted", which means they should be at the right of the page... but they aren't... AHEM.

I know this isn't the action/adventure you were hoping for, but hell, it's a goddamned adventure. Maybe not for Indiana Jones, but, at least, for Frank.

Besides, there I didn't want to put it on "Other". Why? Dunno. If someone -like a mod, or an admin- tells me I should put it someplace else, I will... but until that day. Oh, also, I'm no racist, that's just the character. And I've never practised BDSM either.

So, what do you think?