Hello Pain

Hello Pain, how have you been?
Hello Pain, when are you coming again?
Hello Pain, why aren't you here?
Hello Pain, your my only comfort
Hello Pain, Hello Pain, Hello Pain

Hello Night, were have you been?
Hello Night, when should I except you?
Hello Night, why do you have to leave?
Hello Night, your my only cover
Hello Night, Hello Night, Hello Pain

Hello Love, were are taking me?
Hello Love, when are you going away?
Hello Love, why won't you leave?
Hello Love, your my only light
Hello Love, Hello Night, Hello Pain

From the Ghost Moon And Other Stories of the Insane: Marcus

(I got started on some of these ideas kind of randomly. From a mixture of C.S. Lewis Space Trilogy and watching Twin Peaks for the first time.) My first story is unnamed still and I'm not actually sure if I like the title for this one either. The idea is to have a bunch of loosely connected short stories with Dr. Mike being the uniting figure).

"Leon, calm down." Mike put his hand on Leon's shoulder. Leon was shaking and it had nothing to do with the fact he had been running.

"Mike, Marcus, he's..." Mike saw the rest of the sentence in Leon's eyes, before Leon could finish Mike sprinted down the hallway. One of the inmates cheering him on as if he was in a race. Mike had worked so hard to protect Marcus from himself. Marcus had been okay for month's. Mike had taken him off his medication and Marcus was sleeping better. Marcus had said (rather seriously) this was because the new Nurse smelled like dogs.

Dr. Michael 'Mike' Mathew McMahon stood in shock at the doorway of Marcus's room. There were somethings that he really wished were not true. At other times he had really wished that some of the things his patients imagined were real. Who wouldn't want to travel through space and see a Ghost moon? Explained to him as a mere illusion of a moon, seen as a ghostly grey sphere made of heavy gas, which gravity had gathered together

Or the fact that Joycelin actually thought that she was a super hero, able to fly and stop bullets. Joycelin also believed that every man was instantly in love with her. She was his happiest patient. Mike wished sometimes that he could have super powers and the love of all women. Life would be so wonderful...

Then there was Marcus, poor Marcus who he had not been able to help. Marcus who's room he now stood in the doorway of. Marcus who believed in Elves. Mike shuttered how once he had wished he could believe Marcus. That Marcus was one of the chosen who could actually see the Elves. That there were other beings in this world, unseen.

Marcus had always been Mike's most disconcerting patient. Marcus had seemed to be completely normal and sane. Actually at some points Mike thought that Marcus was probably more sane then half the population outside of the institution. The problem was that Marcus had this uncanny inability to be dissuaded away from his belief in Elves. In fact Marcus had spent most of his time almost convincing Mike of the likely hood that Elves could actually exist. If Marcus would had stop trying to kill himself in bizarre and unexplainable ways, Mike would have released him from the institution a long time ago.

In fact it was the bizarre and unexplainable instances that seemed to follow Marcus like the plague that made Mike wonder about his own sanity. Of course working with the insane always made you wonder about your own sanity. But Marcus's high intelligence and reason made it so hard to believe that he was insane. Marcus never tried to hurt others. This was, according to Marcus, because others could not be hurt by that which they did not believe in. It was actually safer if people did not believe in Elves.

"Then why do you believe in Elves" Mike remember asking during one of their early sessions together.

"It is no longer a questions of believing for me. I know that they exist. I can not stop knowing. Once something is proven beyond a doubt... one no longer needs to believe. Knowledge is a dangerous thing Doctor. You know about the insane, but does not that knowledge make you question your own beliefs? Do you not wish that you could believe in something as foolishly as some of the people who are interned here?" Marcus had smiled at this point. Mike remembered with a chill that Marcus did have the strange ability to know what he was thinking.

"Marcus I do believe in things that can not be proven. I do sometimes wish that I could believe with such foolish abandonment. And I guess you could say that my belief walks the line with knowledge." Marcus had shook his head at this. "You do not put your knowledge on the same plain as mine?"

"No it is not that. I share some of the same believes with you, after all there are many things in this world that we must believe in rather then know. If there are somethings that we must believe in, why can't other things be true as well?" Marcus had said this in a simple tone, conversational. As if he was the doctor teaching a wayward student.

"I would believe you Marcus, if only you were not constantly trying to kill yourself."

"It is strange to me that the very thing that should be the strongest evidence of the validity of my argument is the very thing that makes it impossible for you to believe me."

"Strange, in what way?"

Mike felt the questions echoing down the hall ways. There were many things that he wish that he could believe in. Many more that would be cool if they were real. Who wouldn't want to travel through space and see a ghost moon? But Elves whom no one else could see, who were trying to kill the one man who could see them. This was just ridiculous.

Or it had to be ridiculous, if not it was to scary to believe. The room looked like an image out of some sadistic Japanese manga. Too much blood to be realistic, too brutal and gross to be real. It could not be real. But even all of that Mike might have been able to deal with. It was the look on Marcus's face, that made Mike wonder again if he was really insane. Marcus had a look of extreme happiness. As if he had died in mid-laugh.

Dr. Michael 'Mike' Mathew McMahon, really wished that some of the things his patients imagined were real. Then there were things that he knew were real, real and horrible. Perhaps it was better to be insane, delusional, and happy. Perhaps it was better to be insane and die with a laugh.

Another Story Without a Title...

(I started this a little while ago after reading 'Out of the Silent Planet' by CS Lewis. Not sure what to call it just yet, any suggestions would be welcome).

Pagan had never thought space was cold and dark. Yes space was cold, bitter cold. Yes the darkness seemed endless, even with the stars. But space held something more, something close to an addiction to Pagan, the promise of more. People, smart people, talked endlessly of the slow descent to madness that plagues all long term space crews. Whole ships of hundreds of people had been destroyed by the madness of one of their fellows.

Pagan traveled alone, deep out where others did not go. He would spend months out among the stars, traveling from one planet to the next. No one thought he was crazy, unless he let it slip he was a space pilot, which he was smart enough not to. For Pagan the stars and void were his closest friends, his sanity, his home. Pagan had been born out among the stars, maybe that was the reason he found them so comforting. But he was sure that in reality it had more to do with the sheer beauty of space around him. Whether it was the gas clouds off the Androbiline quadrant or the ghost moon of the planet someone with a good sense of humor (or a old English degree) had dubbed Hamlet, there was a beauty that sadness could not ruin. A beauty that madness could not compete with.

Pagan was sure that he would be forever content traveling from star port to star port. He was not mad, he was a modern Hermit, or a mountain man, a lone Indian, or a cowboy, or just a simple man who was in love with space. He hated sharing space with anyone else. He knew others traveled as much as he did. Others that fearfully moved to new planets with the hope of a better life. For others space not the goal, but merely what you traveled through. For Pagan space was the destination. Any space port was simply for refueling and getting odd jobs to pay for him going back up into space.

Big Town's space port, was the opposite of what the name suggested. The town, nor the planet for that matter, had reached the size that the original pioneers had dreamed of. The space port was hardly a port and more of a landing pad with a fuel tank. Of all the space ports Pagan went to, this was his favorite. There was a two fold reason for this, first it was small and second he made a lot of money by stopping there every once in a while. For despite (or prehaps because of) Big Town's smallness and the almost non-existant space port, Big Town had become a haven for crime. Not petty crime and normally not grusome crime, but Big Town hid one of the largest gangsters of the galaxy, and Father Mike loved Pagan.

Everyone else was sure that Father Mike was the Saint he looked like. And Pagan knew that Father Mike thought him insane. Most people thought he was simply because of his trade. However, together they had managed to do some very dubious work, make tons of cash, and most importantly never get caught. When Pagan needed cash and fuel to continue his space travels he would normally come to Father Mike and Mike was happy to help.

It must have been a Sunday when he landed. It was the only reason the town would be so empty, and that the pub would be closed. Pagan never kept track of the days of the week, it was nearly impossible while in space. He now begrudged the fact that he would be stuck, grounded for at least one day longer then necessary. Father Mike would be at the church, preaching, keeping the mask, that made others so sure of his sainthood, well in place. Pagan hated church, hated the institution. Father Mike often told him he should come. Pagan often refused. Pagan worshiped the stars and the gas clouds and the ghost moon. Today he decided to make an exception.

So depressed Pagan turned from the empty pub and walked down the street towards the Church. Dust and smog blew through the wide streets that had been built for a time when more people would live in Big Town. More people who would never come. And yet as Pagan sneaked into the back of the church, he found that there were a lot of people he did not recognize. Father Mike was just winding down from what Pagan was sure had been a fiery sermon. Mike had not seen him. Pagan counted this a blessing. Together the congregation rose with the swelling of the electric organ. It was played by a very pretty red haired girl Pagan was sure was someone he should remember. Pagan sat and watched from the shadows. While the people sang and prayed, stood and sat and kneeled. As Father Mike bellowed out prayers. Then suddenly it was over. The people stood and suffled out, some giving him a weird look, others ignoring him.

"James, how good to see you!" Father Mike, young and handsome and fiery as ever. Pagan offered his hand, "Father Mike"
"Have you met Alex?" He turned and Pagan saw the young red haired girl, blush and offer him her had. Pagan felt a strange stir in his heart. She was too young, too beautiful.
"Alex, No, nice to meet you"
"You too" She added again blushing. Pagan liked her blushes.

Later Pagan would realize that Mike had always wanted to ground him, always wanted to take away his space. Fucking Father Mike actually being a saint and saving him from what he was sure was madness. But right now, right now Pagan was totally falling for the Blushing red haired Alex.

Father Mike lead the way out of the church and around to his tiny house next door. Alex followed, shy and blushing every time Pagan looked her way. Once they were inside Alex fled up the stairs to what Pagan gathered was her bedroom. He watched as her red hair streamed after her. Father Mike was leading the way to his office. Pagan reluctantly followed.

"Now James tell me how have you been?" Father Mike sat in the same large leather chair he always did.
"Pagan, Father, how many times have I had to tell you that?"
"As many times as I've had to tell you its just Mike" They laughed. But Mike's eyes were serious.
"Kenny tells me that you have been talking traveling to the ghost moon again."
"Who's Kenny?" Mike smiled, in a slightly condescending way and indicated behind Pagan. Pagan looked and recognized a man he felt he should know. Pagan stood and walked toward Kenny.
"And when did you hear that I was planning this trip. Surely not the last time I was down here?, I have not been here for three months." Pagan wondered if he could take on the said Kenny. Obviously this was Father Mike's new muscle.
"Now James" Pagan let it slide, "why don't you sit down" Father Mike was smiling, but it did not reach his eyes. "I had not realized you had been gone so long. Were have you been?"
 "To the gas clouds again, its just so beautiful" Again Father Mike smiled.

Pagan felt the smile growing and realized he did not like Father Mike. Kenny pushed him towards the chair, and made him sit. Pagan glared at him, there was no way that he would be able to take on Kenny.

"James why do we keep having to do this?" Father Mike sounded tired this time.
"What do you mean, this is what we do." Pagan was getting tired of being called James.
"You have been living in Space so long have you forgotten that it is not real? That we don't have the ability yet to travel to the stars?"
"What are you talking about?"Pagan could not believe it. Father Mike actually believed that he was insane. That after all he had done for him, that Pagan was mad. Could he have gone mad and not realized it? Hardly. Mike was obviously delusional.
"James we have gone over all this before. You live in this institution because your family could not keep you, you were becoming too violent. That was your daughter, Alex. You've met her before. And you love her because she reminds you of your wife."
"It Pagan"
"James Peter Miller, you are going on 45. Your daughter comes and plays piano ever Sunday for you, and ever Sunday you act as though you have never met her. This has to end."
"Father Mike"
"Mike" Mike smiled was gone, he looked tired "Or you can call me Dr. Mike, but I am not a father."
"Mike" Pagan hated giving in, but he needed to say what he was here to say. "Mike I'm not insane, or crazy, or mad. I know a lot of other piliots go mad in space, but not me. I like it out there."
"James, you have never been in space, its all in your head." Mike shook his head. "Your daughter needs you James. Can you snap out of this?"
"No" Pagan felt attached, this could not be right, could not be true. He stood and fought of Kenny. Daughter he could not have a daughter.
"Dad?" Alex was standing behind him silently crying. Pagan turned toward her, he could not stand her tears.
"Don't cry hunny, it will be alright." James hugged her close to himself and she sobbed into his shoulder. "Thank you Dr. Mike, Thank you."

Pagan had never thought space was cold and dark. Yes space was cold, bitter cold. Yes the darkness seemed endless, even with the stars. But space held something more, something close to an addiction to Pagan, the promise of more.

Slightly Manic

Sometimes I go through a slightly Manic periods in which I get a lot of work done and sleep very little. This past weekend was one of those periods. I spend over 8 hours on Saturday writing an outline and character details for a new story that I am starting. I've been wrestling with this story idea for the last couple of weeks and I decided that I was not going to just start writing, that I really needed a plan first. I'm not done, I've got a little more work to do. But the cool part is how much I was able to write. I so often just start writing and don't think fully about where the story is going or even what I want to story to do. So I'm trying something new.

There are two hopes in making myself be more organized. First that I will actually be able to finish the project that I am starting. And second that will finish the project that I'm starting. No these are not the same hope. The first is based in the fact that I so often get stuck while writing, unable to move forward with out a lot or re-writing. The second hope is based not in my ability to finish, but my drive too. I so often start something, and very seldom finish something. Or I'll get to a certain point and then get detracted.

I've been trying and failing to start and finish projects. I'm hoping that I can actually finish this story (which will probably be a very long Novel). I want to be able to finish the project and I want it too be good. But I first need to finish the story. Then I can worry about making it good. One step at a time.

First step is to get some sleep and finish my outline. Second step is to write the first chapter... and not to stop till the story is done... Any step after that is in the future and to be thought of in the future.

The problem is that I would love to be able to have a Slightly Manic Saturday for foreseeable future just so I can get this project done. Of course the problem with being slightly Manic is that I also have to deal with coming down from that... and being slightly depressed is stupid.