Dawn of Thursday, September Seventeenth

[brotherlaurence.livejournal.com]

He stinks and he's a drunkard, that bum we just passed by and I think but for the grace of God that likewise there go I.

I thought of going to see her.

I thought of stopping by to say hello or just to see her face or let her know that I'm alright, despite whatever she's heard, but the thought of her and the idea that she doesn't care one bit aches so much.

This is harder than when I quit drinking. And I have, again. It did nothing be land me asleep in my own bed with a headache and wondering what, if anything, I did to embarrass myself. But Kate, Kate. She is a harder thing to just give up.

But I think I do. I have prayed much and things have come back to me, things clouded by my feelings and my lust that once meant so much to me. They kind of do again, even though there's still a numbness, an emptiness there that makes me want to die.

I won't. This town, this world, someone needs me. God needs my assistance and he won't have it if I go join him before my time. So I don my robes and step out into the street, carefully keeping my eyes away from the store, and set off into the woods.


[OPEN.]
[CLOSED.]

Comments

[ella-kessler.livejournal.com]

The more Laurence explains, it seems, the less I get this god he's talkin' 'bout.

"Does he cause things ta happen then, like your break-up or me almost hittin' you, ta force you ta pay attention to him? Or's it more like he just takes advantage of what comes after what happens?"

It occurs ta me that we're talkin' 'bout this god like he's just some guy that lives down the road. How silly's that?

[brotherlaurence.livejournal.com]

I smile at Ella, considering her question.

"I don't really know," I confess. "I was taught not to question it." I laugh a little and think of the other gods around here. "I don't really know that I have it in me to question any god, to be honest. Not when you know what they can do."

[ella-kessler.livejournal.com]

My brow knits.

"I'm even more confused now. Laurence, have you ever met a god?"

I hope real bad that question ain't goin' ta be answered with a "yes." I like Laurence. I don't want him ta be crazy.

[brotherlaurence.livejournal.com]

I look at Ella a moment. How can it be that there are still people in this town that have not met nor heard of the gods that walk here?

"Miss Kessler," I say slowly. "Perhaps you had better sit." When she does, I take her hands and look into her eyes. "There are gods that walk here. You may have even met them, yourself. The newspaper man, the man who owns the butcher's shop, and others. The newspaperman, Lúgh, and his wife were at Karina's party. She's one, too. The wife," I say quickly, "not Karina. There's a thing in the Tower that I think's called them all here. It's evil and dangerous and you must promise me you'll never go to it, never ask it for anything. It's imperative that you not. I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. Be careful who you ask. Some can change their faces and you may never know who you are really speaking to."

[ella-kessler.livejournal.com]

I sit down when he recommends it ta me. I'm not afraid of him, even if he is so much bigger'n me. He seems like a real gentle guy an' I'm pretty sure I'd have the advantage if it came ta tryin' to escape through the trees. I know these woods real well an' he's wearin' long robes.

What he says next, though, I wasn't prepared for. Laurence doesn't have that wild look in his eyes like some'a the people that've come 'round the farm before. The ones that'd been on their own too long, livin' in places that people shouldn't've been livin'. Places like the some a'them cities that got bombed during the Wars. But right now, talkin' 'bout people bein' gods. People I've met. Then he says that he knows it sounds crazy.

"Yeah. It sounds real crazy. I've met most'a them you're talkin' 'bout, y'know? None of them seemed like they'd be gods." The newspaper man seemed a little too... fit, compared to other journalists I've seen come through Excolo. Last one was years ago, but he was fat an' sweaty an' stared in a way that made me real uncomfortable. An' Mister Marks, a god? If I were a god, I wouldn't be runnin' a butcher's shop. Or a paper. "If they're gods, how come they ain't runnin' the town, then? And what Tower 're you talkin' 'bout?"