New Chapter 18 for Aynil

As I wrote in the previous post, Aynil was getting a rewrite. It took a little longer than expected but the new Chapter 18 is done and the new book interiors will be sent to the printer this week. As promised, here is the new Chapter 18: Aspen's Shiney Box.

Aspen was unfazed by Autumn’s story. He just stared at the shiny box. I dared to ask to see it.

            “I learned quite a bit from the elves about how things go together,” I offered. “It looks as if it might plug into something or have something plug into it.”

            “I know,” said Aspen. “I’ve seen it bein’ used.” He dragged his finger around the dial and the screen and, after a brief moment of introspection, pushed the hand holding the box toward me.

            “I’ll be careful,” I said as I gingerly grasped the smooth, metal object.

            I rotated the box in my hands and was amazed at the simplicity. I touched the circular pad and pressed the single button until the back light of the screen glowed revealing the words “Everybody Hurts.”

            “There’s a wire with things that go in your ears on the table that plug into that hole in the top,” said Aspen.

            “You want to try ‘em? I’ll get ‘em for ya’,” said Autumn as he rose.

            “In my ears?” I replied. “Seems like that would be pretty distracting. Besides, it’s probably not a good idea to stick human things in my ears; at least not without medical attention nearby.” Autumn and Maple chuckled a little at the comment that Aspen appeared to not hear.

“I’ll tell my story now, if that’s alright with y’all?” Aspen said. I didn’t expect to hear from the reluctant fairy that night. I settled into my perch with the shiny box in my hands and waited.

“It was winter,” he began. “It was one of those cold-with-no-snow kinda winters. Those are the worst kinda winters if you ask me. Everything is brown, the sun goes down early and comes up late, and the sky threatens to snow every day but just makes everything gray instead. No one goes outside. And no one is very happy.

            “The box belonged to a boy. He was almost a man but humans call most teenagers boys. Death took me to his house. She pointed at some pictures of him with his friends and his family. He had a great smile when he wasn’t being too cool to use it. I expected to see someone with a grave disease or something. I thought I’d see him stuck in a bed about to pass like the old man Autumn told you about. When Death took me to his room, there was no one there.

            “The room was very neat. You know, clean. The bed was made, the clothes were all put away, and the shoes were lined up inside the closet. There were more pictures of the boy by himself, another of what must have been a girlfriend and one that may have been a very good friend that was a boy. There were trophies and a poster of some cheerleaders but there was no gravely ill boy. Then we heard the sound of a door opening on the lower floor and footsteps trudging up the stairs. A little bit later the door opened and the boy walked into the room.

            “He didn’t look like the boy in the pictures. His hair was that fake black color, his shoulders were slumped over and he did not smile. He looked worried. He looked sad. He looked confused. He looked uncomfortable in his own room. He wore those things in his ears and held the box in his hand. He tossed his backpack on the bed and left.”

            “Watch him carefully for me,” Death said to me. “I will be back.”

            “I was confused but stayed behind as she asked. I had been with many dying people but the boy looked physically fine to me.

            “After awhile the boy came back into the room with two small pictures and a felt bag with something heavy in it. He still had those things in his ears. The box was in his pocket. Tears trickled down his face as he wrote “I’m sorry” on the back of the two pictures and took them out of the room. He came back in and sat on the bed beside the felt bag. He opened it very methodically and pulled out a gun.

            “I tried to listen to his thoughts but only heard the music from the things in his ears and the box. I heard the words “everybody hurts” and “hold on” but could not hear his thoughts or why he needed to hear these words. I tried to talk to him but he could not hear me over the music. More “everybody hurts” and more “hold on” but the words weren’t working. Why weren’t they working? Then Death appeared again beside me and said ‘you may go now.’

            “I can’t leave!” I yelled. “We have to stop him!”

            “It is not our place to stop them. We are here to make them comfortable.”

            “But he’s not comfortable. He’s sad. He’s confused. He doesn’t want to do this. He can’t want this. Even the music is telling him to hold on. He’s only a boy.”

            “We are here to make him comfortable,” she repeated only this time her voice cracked. That was when I noticed the tears in Death’s eyes. She never cried. Normally Death treated passing on as just part of the life cycle but somehow this was different. She didn’t want to be there. She didn’t want to take this young spirit.

            “I tried again to speak to the boy but again the music blocked my words. Then there was a loud blast and he was gone – his confused spirit wrapped in Death’s soothing cloak, flying away to the place known only to her and those who have gone before him; the place where we all go eventually.

            “I stayed behind looking at the remains of what was a beautiful child and could only think of not being able to connect. I blamed the box and the things in the ears that kept me from reaching him. I needed to stop this from happening again, so I took it. I took his music box.”

            There was a moment of silence. We just sat there and listened as the wind rustled the leaves making the few water drops that still clung to them fall to the ground.

            “She came back that night,” said Maple, briefly looking to Aspen as if for approval. “Death, she came to us that night to help us better understand what had happened. She said ‘No one comes here to die at their own hand. Those who fight through the most difficult experiences – the ones that bring you to your knees and make you say ‘this is too hard’ – are the ones best suited to help others in the future.’”

            “She said ‘it is a rare person who can empathize with others when they have not experienced great loss or heartache,’” added Amber. “‘It is through the greatest losses and deepest pain that we learn the most important lessons. And those who are given the gift of these most difficult lessons, have a much greater destiny than the pain they are feeling at that moment.’”

            “I asked her why she was crying,” interrupted Aspen. “She said ‘because taking your own life solves nothing. While his spirit is in a more peaceful place, it remains troubled and confused and still searches for the answers to the questions he ran away from.’ Then I asked her ‘why me? Why did you take me to his room?’ She answered with the same cracking voice I heard in the bedroom, ‘because I knew you would try to stop him.’

            “It is a permanent solution to a temporary problem,” recited Aspen. “All things must pass; this too will pass. Nothing lasts forever.” Then he sighed and raised his head. “That’s what I would have said to him. But he couldn’t hear me.”

            He pushed off from his perch and fluttered in my direction. He stopped and hovered in front of me and looked into my eyes with a peacefulness uncommon to such a young face. Then he smiled and held out his hand and said, “This is not a good time to be distracted.”

            I smiled an understanding smile and placed the shiny box in his hand.

            Through the silence came a sweet sounding breeze. It wasn’t really a  breeze but it sounded like a soft wind that was coated with honey. I guess it was more soothing than sweet. Whatever it was, it was familiar. It was what the boys heard every night before fulfilling their duties. The three small fairies looked at each other and rose.

            “She’s comin’,” said Maple. “She must be mad at us.”

            “We couldn’t leave. It was rainin’,” said Autumn.

            “Maybe she’s not comin’ for us,” said Aspen.

            All three turned their attention to me. I was about to face Death.

Aynil's first negative review made me stop and think.

I recently read a review of The Tale of Aynil the Traveler that really didn’t say much other than the reviewer could not recommend the book because of two sentences on page 108. Those of you who have read the story may remember this chapter as the one in which a teenager commits suicide. In the sentences, Death says, "How do you know that this isn't what he was meant to do all along? How do you know that what his friends and family might accomplish because of this isn't greater than the loss?"

Before I offer my opinion of the reviewer’s opinion, I would like to share the history of this chapter.

In January of 2009, my wife and I saw a flood of seven police cars and two emergency vehicles come down our small street. Our fourteen-year-old neighbor had shot and killed himself. We had known him all his life.

The first thing that happened is we tried to comfort his family who gathered in our house. The second thing we had to do was keep my daughter and son away until things quieted down which meant sending our son to his grandparents and arranging for our daughter to go home with a friend. Later that night, I also had to coach her basketball team in order to keep up the facade. We would tell her what happened after the game.

This type of death affects everyone differently. I spent hours wondering what I might have done to prevent this tragedy but somehow knew that that kind of thinking would not accomplish anything. Still, I became depressed and spent a lot of time alone with my guitar when I knew my family responsibilities were fulfilled. I also looked for spiritual guidance for answers. Some religions frown on suicide to the extent that entrance into heaven is not allowed to those whose lives end in this devastating manner. I did not wish this for anyone let alone our young neighbor. So I looked inward to find answers and that is where I was told that I needed to share the story with others.

While penning the most difficult chapter I have ever written, I drew from the pain I was feeling and the anger I had toward the many things in our society that alienate us from others (personal electronics being the primary culprit) and sought some supernatural justification for someone taking their own life. From that desperate search for logic came the controversial sentences in the book. Thinking, no believing, that his loss, almost as a martyr, would bring about a greater gain for our world, helped me get through that very difficult time. As it turned out, his mother went on to work with organizations that try to prevent teen suicide and remains active. I also think this book offers a different kind of help – one that can be found in a solitary time.

Now, a couple years after Aynil has been out, I read this review that was oblivious to me until very recently. So I pulled a copy of the book from the shelf, turned to page 108 and began to read. I read to the end of the chapter and realized that the reviewer was right. He/She was not right in that the book is bad or not recommendable – I still think it is very well written and will appeal to the audience for which it is written. I believe the reviewer was right because the chapter did not convey the message I meant to share. I do not condone suicide and spent the last two pages of that chapter trying to give answers to why any of us would be tested so emotionally in our lives and the benefits to fighting through those trials.

The bottom line is that a couple paragraphs of that chapter will be rewritten. I will post them on this blog when completed later this week. The boy still takes his own life. Unfortunately this kind of stuff does happen in real life and I am not one to hide the truth from anyone. Hopefully by sharing the truth, our kids will have less of this pain to endure.

Outside the fence

Spring was here and I was flying around the neighborhood admiring the leaf buds before they became whole leaves in another week. I was enjoying my time weaving between the tree branches when I saw a black dog sitting nervously on the corner outside a chain-link fence. His tail wagged constantly and his head turned side-to-side when he sat. But he didn’t sit for long. After a few seconds of looking around he jumped back up and began pacing along the fence that had been pushed outward at the bottom. I could tell by his expression that he had pushed the fence out. He had pushed and pushed and pushed until it finally gave way and he slid under it to freedom. What an effort it must have taken. I wondered what he had found in the time that he was uncaged. Had he ventured far or was there enough close to here to fill his curiosity? Did he chase a cat or rodent or was he chased by a fox or a coyote? Most importantly, did he find what he was looking for and was he happy. Because, you see, what he didn’t know when the fence finally bent to his will and he slid under it, was that the door he had created only swung one way. He couldn’t go back, not by himself. He would have to be allowed back in. His actions would have to be accepted and he would have to be forgiven for what he had done. The forgivers might place conditions on their forgiveness saying “we will let it go this time” or “we will give you one more chance.” They might tie him up with a rope or a chain because they know that if a dog gets out once, he will do it again. After all, you can never unlearn what you’ve learned. I still wonder what happened to that dog. He looked sweet and dumb and I’m sure his family was patient with him. Of course that may not have been his first time outside the fence.

signed Flaylen

Boycott "If I Die Young" by The Band Perry

I heard a disturbing song today. It was “If I Die Young” by The Band Perry. The musical composition initially got my attention but as I listened to the lyrics, I became concerned for our youth and anyone else who might be considering suicide. With lyrics like “The sharp knife of a short life, Well, I've had just enough time” there can be no doubt as to the subject matter.

The subject of suicide isn’t new to music or even a bad topic if the song attempts to stop the listener from harming themselves. Songs like “Everybody Hurts” from REM or “Why” by Rascal Flats approach the topic with messages that discourage suicide. “Everybody Hurts” actually repeats the words “Hold On” throughout the song. The music and tone of “If I Die Young” make suicide sound peaceful while the lyrics seem to confirm every bad reason that people use to justify taking their own lives.

“A penny for my thoughts, oh no, I'll sell 'em for a dollar
They're worth so much more after I'm a goner”

and

“Funny, when you're dead how people start listening”

I looked the lyrics up online and could not find one verse that attempted to deter someone from taking their own life. In a time when so much good is happening to stop suicide (i.e. the “It Gets Better” campaign), this song takes us a step backward. I have a pretty diverse appreciation for music but this is one song that should not be played on the radio.

Paul Vincent Rodriguez, author, "Tales of Fairies" books series. (Aynil the Traveler, Rebecca the Chased, Darvin the Nerd) www.talesoffairies.com

Nothing good comes from doing things behind someone’s back.

Again, I was on the bus. I like the bus. It was the first day for whatever-his-name-was and he was on his way back to the station. The bus wasn’t broken and no one was hurt. We were going back because he left one minute early. I guess the rule in bus driving is that you can leave as late as you want but NEVER leave early. So driver what’s-his-name had to go back and pick up whoever happened to be left behind. The bus wasn’t very full and the few people we did absorb all found seats – the last being an older, heavy-set woman in a blue jacket who chose the seat beside a teenage girl with things stuck in her ears so she couldn’t hear anyone. The bus pulled away from the station under the incapable hands of John Q. Busdriver who was having a very bad day. His day, however must have been nothing compared to that of the teenage girl sitting behind the woman in the blue jacket. The poor girl’s face began to shift and contort in a manner I associated with bad odor and contempt. I could not see nor smell a reason for either of these expressions. The blue coated woman was doing nothing but sitting in a seat. She even appeared to be attempting to not infringe on the girl’s space by facing into the aisle and sitting closer to the edge of the seat. Still the girl made the face. I wondered who she was doing this for. The woman she held in contempt couldn’t see it so the girl obviously did not intend to inform the woman in the blue jacket that she smelled bad or had whatever problem it was that made the girl hate her. The girl did not look around to see the reactions of the others in the bus so I assume she did not need confirmation of her feelings. From my perch, I didn’t see another human that would confirm her disgust – at least they didn’t show it the same way. Then I wondered what good any of that did. Unless the girl thought she looked good that way, I don’t think making those faces did any good at all.

Ryder

It’s alive. I saw it with my own eyes.

It was last Thursday and I was perched in my usual spot - on the hand rail above the humans in the back of the bus where nobody stands. Nobody ever stood anywhere in this bus as far as I knew. It was an express bus and it would drive the freeway from downtown to the park-and-ride near our colony so it wasn't usually that crowded. The bus had thirty-four seats and, today, each had a human in it. The bus began to pull away from the station but stopped short. The door flew open and an elderly woman stepped gingerly onto the single step and into the cabin. Her eyes scanned the large vehicle for a place to sit. Her first pass revealed nothing but before she could make a second, a younger man stood up beside her and bade her sit in his spot. She gracefully thanked the man and accepted the seat as the bus jerked forward. The bus would stop twice more before entering the freeway for the ten mile trip to the parking lot. At each stop, at least one male offered his seat to a female until there were six males standing and swaying with the bus. Each male had shown the honor and chivalry that I thought was lost among these creatures. Each female gracefully accepted the offer as is the polite thing to do so the male may be seen by the others as the strong and benevolent man he hopes to be. These sacrifices were made by men who would receive nothing more than the thank you offered by the women who received the gift of a place to rest. When the bus stopped they would be the first off so others who admired their sacrifice would not be able to express it to them personally. I, being a fairy, could not show my respect and without breaking the "no human contact" rule for non-approved fairies. So, instead, I will write here and hope they get the message.

Chivalry is alive.