Into the Wild


As some of you know, I had to quit my job as a prison guard. Working for the state was a strike against my honor, but doing something day in and day out I found not only distasteful, but immoral, and doing it in an environment surrounded by sick depravity, was damaging to my soul. I began losing myself to the job, thinking of myself there indefinitely, not seeing any way out. I was becoming mired in the daily routine. Enough of my honor was left, however, to deal with the inmates as I saw fit and after one such exchange (which wasn’t by the book), I was told my methods were against policy. They sided with the inmate while undermining my authority. I replied that either he left the prison or I did. So, here I am.

I realized I was damaged in more ways than one. Ever since my notorious heartbreak in 2007, my Faith dissolved into little more than a sham. All of my prayers have been angry and my writings were shallow attempts to carry on an illusion of Christian optimism. On the inside, despair and faithlessness squirmed their way into my being until I found it impossible to say anything truthfully without demoralizing those around me.

I still love God and while my dreams have all been taken from me along with my young love – I’ve been given a new, though faint, vision of fairy tale Europe. I was bitter about this for a long time; I felt God took everything tangible from me and replaced it with ghosts, daydreams, and a world I would never be a part of. Suicidal thoughts plagued me and, honestly, in the past week since leaving my job, they’ve been especially difficult.

Well, no more. I’ve decided to do something no one else I know has ever done. I’m going to do something I’ve known for a long time I’ve needed to do. Ladies and gentlemen of the internet world, dear readers, you most patient of souls…I’m going into the wilderness to fast and pray and do battle with whatever demons plague me. I’ll take up the ascetic life, like my hero St. Antony; thirty days of it, at the least.

The old tales say that when a man fasts in this way, the demons manifest themselves. For the rationalists reading this, there’s some precedence for it in Scripture, even if you reject the tales of St. Antony. I believe it, anyway. And if they destroy me while I’m in the wilderness they’ll have done me the favor of avoiding damnation by taking my own life. If I overcome them, though, I’ll emerge whole, with my torn soul mended, my relationship with God renewed and strengthened like never before; my body will be cleansed, primed for fighting. And from there, I’ll make good on my desire to train, get in the best shape of my life, then call forth America’s demonic overlord, whomever and wherever he may be…for one final act of combat.

No one else, it seems, in the entirety of this generation, is willing to do it, so maybe that’s why it’s fallen to me? Maybe that’s why God took away all my dreams, left me without a family for this long, left me without a way to survive on the plantation? I’ll take on this Molech and die an honorable death, or win.

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