//------------------------------// // Chapter I: A Man with Glasses // Story: For a New Beginning // by InfinitySlayer //------------------------------// Jack had always loved this wood, he had known it since he was a baby, though he was only four now. After walking through the green trees and shrubbery that surrounded the path, they came to a stream. Jack stared at the stream in admiration. He had known this stream all his life, but today it had an even more magical quality than usual. They both halted to absorb that wondrous sight. After about a minute of silent musing, Jack inquired, “Daddy, where does the stream come from?” Pondering Jack's interesting question, the dad halted for a moment. Like an obedient and loving pet, Jack halted inches behind him, absorbing the quintessence of nature enveloping them in that quiet forest. “I bet it stems off from a river somewhere, possibly the Potomac.” A quizzical expression developed on Jack's brow. By the law of creation, everything had to come from something; the grass from the ground, the ground from the inner depths of the earth. “Where does the river come from?” A look of delight and pride emanated from the father's stress strained eyes. He admired his son's inquisition on origin; such thoughts were usually reserved to more enlightened philosophers well furthered in years. “Probably from a lake.” Jack again meditated on this as the cool, crystal water rushed by. The stream was, to initial observation, rather silent as it slithered across the small forest creek bed. However, Jack understood with a respectful gleam in his eye that the small brook was far more powerful than it appeared to untrained observer; over uncountable thousands of years had it and its brethren sculpted monuments unfathomable. “Where does the lake come from?” The natural progression of Jack's curiosity had reached its zenith as his dad smiled even wider and replied, “From the clouds, the water that made the lake came from rain.” A look of understanding crossed Jack’s face now, but one more question still racked his mind, “Where do the clouds come from?” His father was ostensibly delighted that his young yet mature son had reached this conclusion. “From the stream, river, and lake combined.” Jack's look of understanding and wonder were suddenly overthrown by a frown of confusion. “But, how?” Turning his wise head upwards towards the ethereal heavens, the father presented the final key to the origin story, “It will all sound like nonsense to you now, but the stream, river, lake, and any body of water evaporates, and this water vapor goes up into the clouds, and eventually turns into rain.” Jack blinked twice in a failure to translate half of the words flowing from his father's mouth. Such gibberish indeed had little effect on his younger, less knowledgeable mind. Nonetheless, he reasserted his joyfulness and leaps forwards, rushing through the brush and trees like a nymph at play. o./0\.o If there was some unknown methodology or obscure scientific process to cause one's life to progress as uneventfully as possible, Jack was certain that he had discovered it. His entire life had become a rhythmic routine. Perhaps it was the location where he lived, where most younger children, as persuaded by their loving parents, were often forced to perform strenuous yet mundane tasks in order to secure a future in the upper middle class. Such monotonous activities, as interpreted by Jack, included various club level sports, the most trying classes possible in a fundamentally flawed school system, and various forms of media. Lots and lots of media. Saturdays, by extension, were even more boring than most days. There was little in the way of social interaction, as Jack hardly had the interest nor the patience to attempt to generate any lasting relationships with those from his school. His parents, though he loved them so, were usually rather occupied with their individual tasks as breadwinner and homemaker. Additionally, he had at last reached the familiar point at which all forms of media become just as uneventful as the others. While resting on his rather lumpy bed in deep thought and staring up at the ceiling, an unusual idea came to him. He decided he would go down to the forest. Such a thought was quite foreign; it had been an exceedingly long period of time since he even had a remote interest in the moist air and pungent soil of the woodland. With little to convince him otherwise, however, and a preternatural compulsion indwelling his soul, he laced up his worn pair of Nikes and stepped outside into the warm spring air. Imbibing his lungs with a much needed breath of fresh air, he headed towards the concrete path that led into the small wood. After entering into the shadowy green the shade the trees so generously provided, he swiftly located the stream of his childhood. Memories flowed back into his conscious being like the wellspring the stream burst from in distant lands. His spirits elated, Jack walked along the coarse, sandy soil of the small brook. The past decade of relatively uneventful memory flooded along with the pleasant memory of the brook. Perhaps he intrinsically understood that most people's childhoods were, by default, meant to be more of a development phase and less of an adventurous one. Yet, like most boys, he dreamed of true peril; he imagined himself as the star of the dozens of action movies of his memory. He tossed a few flat stones onto the water, watching them skip along its surface. It was too much to expect for him to do that much, he knew. Such adventures were relegated to a select few adults, and even those men and women rarely partook in any of the romanticized events Hollywood made stereotypical. Reflexively glancing at his chrome and crystalline glass plated watch, Jack's eyes rose in surprise as he realized how long he had spent in the wood. How could one spend hours in a quiet forest, with little interaction with more than the calm air and the recesses of one's mind? Ordering his tense legs forwards, he strode across the rough concrete path of the forest, the environment around his anxious frame picturesque and tranquil as the image of a master artist's canvass. Within a short period of time, his brisk walk came to an end. Rushing towards the pinnacle of his house's smooth driveway, he observed the humble yet elegant posture of his home, comfortably content. Opening the pearly white portal into his abode, Jack walked onto the linoleum floor of his landing. Slipping his old and fibrous shoes away from his rather large feet, he began to step up the clean, brown wooden stairs that acted as the transference device to the second and last floor of his home. “Hello, I’m back.” Observing the situation in mild surprise, he saw his mom, dad, and his brother, John, were already seated at the wooden kitchen table. “Welcome back, dear. Please, come and take a seat.” The obviously disguised tone of his mother's voice put Jack on edge. From experience had he learned to interpret certain inflections of his mother's voice as more positive or negative than others. While she made a good effort to cloak her heart's true meaning, it was painfully clear that whatever she had in mind to tell him was less than pleasurable. In any event, Jack understood he had little choice but to quietly take a seat in an antique, ornately backed chair of the dining room table and wait for further instruction. For a few awkward moments of silence that felt like self contained eternities, he at last broke the through the veil of silence that enveloped the staunch group, “So, what’s up?” The innocent statement erupting from his mouth caused the rest of his family practically leap out of their seats in surprise. David, his father, and Felicity, his mother, looked at each other with nervously strained eyes. Taking the initiative in the conversation, Felicity stated in a cold, stern voice, “Jack, we have something to talk to you about.” The death knell went off in his mind like the sound of a funeral procession. Those words could mean nothing but misery, no matter the context. His face a pastel white, he replied with all the confidence he could muster, "What about?" “As you know, your brother’s birthday is coming up, so we decided we would go to Hawaii to celebrate the occasion.” A look of utter confusion and elated surprise stretched across Jack's already concerned brow. As far as horrible punishments went, that was just about on the opposite end of the spectrum. “How is that a bad thing?” His parents looked at each other again with that unsettling nervous gleam in their eyes. From John's blank stare, Jack presumed that he had no idea what was going on either. “Well, you have to stay behind.” If his brain was a Windows computer, then his eyes would have just displayed the infamous Blue Screen of Death. Following up her horrifying decree before Jack had the time to speak his mind, Felicity continued, "Listen, I know you're disappointed. Anyone in your situation would have the right to completely melt down right about now. If there were any way we could fork up the money to take you as well, we would. We're already stretching our municipal cash a bit thin by taking the three of us, and we would have to pay adult price for you. I'm so sorry." David cut off his son yet again, declaring with factual voice, "Besides, in less than a month you'll be starting your first year of High School. This is where the studying you do actually matters." A devious smile came to David's face as he continued with a convicting falsetto in his tones, "And if I'm not mistaken, you haven't even started your summer assignments, have you?" Jack's hues turned from the crimson red of anger into the bright hot pink of embarrassment and a tinge of anxiety instantly. The ostensible desire to leave the future to tomorrow had indeed pushed all thoughts about school far outside of his conscious. Seeing the disappointed expression on his brother’s face, John feebly attempted to reassure him, “I’ll be sure to bring back souvenirs.” “We leave early tomorrow morning. Try not to torture your grandma while we’re gone.” David said with a small smile on his face. Jack failed to retort to this declaration as he pondered the meaning of this in full. Yes, it was quite unfortunate to be left behind in the suburbs of Northern Virginia while the rest of his family enjoyed the bright sun and sandy beaches of Hawaii. Yes, if his emotions were any guide, he was quite disappointed by their decision. Yes, he may have even felt a hint of jealousy at his parents' extravagant gift bestowed upon his brother and not himself. However, he still knew consciously the validity of the argument to why he had to remain. Taking this into account, he stood up from his table as calmly as possible, only throwing the wooden chair behind him into the plaster wall at a few miles-per-hour and only slamming the door to his room with enough force to shake the house slightly. Sleep came to him swiftly, a gift bestowed by those with enough mercy to consider the unfortunate situation of a rather lazy, fairly "passionate" young teenager. |_.--^--._| A man with glasses stood in front of a rough wooden table. As innocent as that may seem, the man’s intentions were far from innocent. The man himself was as far from innocence as you can imagine. The man was looking down at what was on the table. All of his life, he had dreamed if this moment would actually come, and here it was. All of the work he had completed to lead up to this one moment was immeasurable. Countless hours spent alone, planning, scheming. Countless millions and billions of currency both earned and stolen. Countless attempts to quietly convince thousands of men and women to fight for his cause. On the table was a little red button. That’s all it was, a red button. A button, however, was just the start of the apocalypse that was about to come. All of that man’s hopes resided in that little red button. Without it, his plan would be completely impossible. A door opened behind him. The man didn’t turn around to see who it was; he already suspected it was his major college. The man who opened the door walked over to where the other man with glasses was standing. For a few moments, the two of them stood and stared at the little red button. “Are you sure about this? If you do this, you know what will happen, correct? You know what this means for the rest of eternity?” The man who had walked in said. “I am sure of my intentions, and nothing will ever stop me from my goal.” “Then if you’re really going to do this, the best of luck to you.” “And to you.” Without hesitation, the man with the slightly cracked glasses pressed the button.