.:THE BEGINNING OF THE END:.

Table of Contents II I Quoted Favored beauty & fashion blog The Boondocks

II Father Narra shakes off the wet as he enters the threshold. Out of the dark and filthy air surfaces a face flat with exhaustion. This is the daughter, he remembers, Caline. Father is upstairs, she says. Nothing further comes. Father Narra ascends into the yawn of a deep reek. The body, like great empires, does not yield gracefully its end. Henry Archer is barely attached to his corpse, but in him Father Narra can perceive none of the opacity of the daughter. He edges towards the bed delicately, and waits. I did not ask for you, priest, says Archer in his mild-mannered voice, my daughter felt I might take comfort. Sometimes, says Father Narra, it is not for fear of death but anger against life that we provide comfort. If I am so angry, says Archer, death will be the greater comfort. It is not a trick, says Father Narra, but an offering from one human being to another. Then, says Henry Archer, drop the institutional plural. In that case, Henry, says Father Narra, stop fencing with me, I only wish to help. I Between heaven and earth the heart expands. This desolation is as inhospitable as the truth, but there is no mistaking the homecoming blossoming in my heart. To pose the questions of man is to take comfort in echoes. Yet who can stand the surging resentment? It is a violence breaking on the shore, tracing a line shifting between the saltless plain and the sea winedark with desire. Past the waves are drowning voices, the remains the sea could not swallow. I must save them. I must save myself. What earth is this that men may pull apart what is whole? To drink here is madness. Beyond its the salty embrace of these waters lie brave vessels, a faint fragile framework upon which the majesty of uncommon arpeggios hung. It cannot guard us within the blank spaces beyond question, the poverties of understanding. (Thus the past hems us into human shape.) Still, what we know is ours: a line unwavering returning to its origin, an inhospitable failure, a desire to cease all desires, beyond our control, I would serve my own purpose, that is my purpose. Stab me till I bleed, before the claws of dawn steal me from this world forever. Quoted When shall we live but today?                                           –Seneca.