The man sat rocking slowly, methodically on his Grandmother's wooden rocking chair. Eyes gazing intently at the tree line. H looked yet he saw nothing and he was no better for it. A strong breeze penetrated the woods blowing pine needles with a weak grasp to the forest floor. The branches give the illusion of a mystical coordinated dance. Swaying as the wind blows only to sweep back to original form when it ceased. But our man sees none of this. He only looked because that is where his gaze rested. No, our man who we will call Charlie sat rocking silently while cursing loudly in his mind. Charlie had broke an oath beholden only to himself. Something he swore to do, usually right after doing it. It hardly bothered him as a child or teenager. His nascent conscious was the reason for his strife for these last 6 years. It all started when Charlie was a boy. How it came to be, well is an even longer story for a time long from now. Suffice to say Charlie had an affinity for fire, especially large out of control, chaotic fires.
It was the forbiddingness of it, knowing it was wrong, destructive and disgusting. Obviously to him these were the views of the world and ironically he happened to share these views. Maybe that was what drove his great incredulous desire. The process of perverting his own soul, a self perpetrating meeting of the mind and body. These feelings of wrongness did not come until after the fact. Oh he was quite giddy after committing himself to his next sacrifice. And it was a sacrifice, like the Viking kings of old, his fires consumed and imprinted an unmarked sense of immorality that was for his and his alone. His altar was everywhere and in a world made of wood he decided what was and what once was. Once he finished his sordid duties not even God could (or perhaps would) bring it back. God...Charlie broke free of whatever dream that left him physically invalid, he stood up so abruptly his feet almost leaving the ground, only to begin his normal pace of the mentally obsessed or tortured. His rough leather like hands clasped behind his back as he walked 6 paces pulled a immediate 360 degrees turn and begun the whole process again.
The door creaked or screamed like a dying rabbit as it opened. A woman many years Charlies elder walked slowly through the door frame. She seemed to hunch slightly over her grey hair curled just so. The deep wrinkles on her precious face were a (?modal) both to her age and wisdom. Wearing her usual Sunday best consisting of Khaki pants and a button down shirt covered in purple and red flowers. Charlie never stopped passing or raised his eyes to notice or acknowledge his visitor. "Charlie come on in and get you some lunch." Charlie walked his 6 paces and stopped his back to the voice he had just heard. He did not speak for a time but by his body movement the lady knew he heard her. After several moments just when she was about to repeat the question he replied, "Nanna, I am such a bad person, if you only knew the things I have done. I wonder would you still love me? Could you still love me,""Honey there is nothing you could do to make me ever"spittle misted visibly when she emphasized the "ever make me stop loving you. You..." Cutting her off as if he didn't even hear her speak he said without turning around, "I mean if you told me Something truly horrible you had done it wouldn't matter to me. But is that because I have done horrible things and know what it is like to harbor a horrible secret? Or is it because I love you. Because I have known you all of my days, Nanna."
He half way turned around and looking over his right shoulder stab a glance at her. But as quickly as he looked he stole away. Running down the stairs into the wet dewy grass. His bare feet breaking (?) and sharp rocks bruising his feet, yet he noticed the pain not at all. He was very afraid and his fear numbed all other sensation. His family knew nothing about the dark secrets he harbored. Or so he thought, they did have their suspicions. But they chose to ignore their gut all together. If he dared to look or investigate this inclination then they would be forced to acknowledge them. This was simply not done in the Shackleford family, no not at all. Charlie had no idea of their suspicions and so when he wore his pains, his secrets like a scarlet letter he dare not even let them look upon his face. Less they pierce his veiled shame with a glance and then they too would hate him as much as he hated himself. That frightened him more so then the inevitability of his losing control. And he was only just now understanding the inevitability of his dark hunger as he ran deep into his family's woods. To find his matches and the gas he swore never to use again but proudly never threw away because ha! He had decided never to do it again, because gas was so damn expensive and you never know when you might need matches.
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