Humans are made up by lines of genes. These genes speculate whether someone is black, white, yellow, etc. As well it dictates colour of eyes, hair, height, weight, down to the smallest detail.
Science however has been unable to prove if these genes dictate the attitude of a person. Genes can pass on syndromes, disorders, diseases and other such things. But can they actually tell a person what is right and what is wrong.
The answer almost definitely points to no. So if this is the case where do these feelings come from, these senses. Is it nurture? The answer has also more often than not been no as well.
Once again we are thrown back to the question where and why. Why are we given these choices and where do they speculate from. Is it possible that from the beginning we are imprinted with these feelings not from our parents or our genes, but from our souls.
If this was the case, it would explain many things as to why certain people grow up to be the way they are no matter where they grow up. Hitler grew up a blonde haired Jew yet he grew to hate his own kind. Charles Manson is another fine example along with many more.
Did these people grow up with a black mark imprinted on their souls. Were they from the beginning created to create havoc? If so what does destiny have in store for future black marked souls. And how far will it take them into power.
Jack’s eyes slowly opened, though he found that as soon as he started this action the pain that came with it was unbearable and he closed them quickly.
The pain did not subside though, only it became stronger. Jack opened his eyes again anyways in spite of the pain this time.
At first it was just a bright blurry light that filled his vision. Then shadows began to appear doted all around him coming more and more into his sight.
A light beeping noise softly began to persist at his ears. Although it sounded to far away from his reach. It started to become annoying though and he thought it was his alarm so he slowly attempted to reach for it.
“He’s awake, he’s moving his arm,” a voice suddenly called out shrilly.
Jack winced at the noise it was very loud and cut through his ears like a sharp knife. The pain how now moved to the back of his head where it lulled and thumped deeply like a second heart.
There was a sound of scraping like plastic on plastic and foot steps running. Then the shrill voice again.
“He’s awake, he’s awake, come quickly,” it was distant now though and not as painful to Jack.
That damn beeping though was still droning on. Jack reached out further at thin air his attempts to hit the button on his clock were futile, as though someone had moved it away from his beside table.
Jack attempted to sit up to find the clock but his attempts provided an overwhelming amount of pain to his already pounding head and he had to give up instantly.
He lay back again and accepted the droning beeps, that were not as loud or as obnoxious as his alarm was. Just a soft constant beep.
Slowly they carried him back into sleep again and Jack whirled and twirled into his mind where dreams awaited.
It was very windy and Jack had to hold his hat to his head to keep it from flying away in the blustery wind. He looked at his surroundings. It looked as though he were on a rooftop. He looked over the edge and far below the city was laid out like a cluster of bright lights on a christmas tree.
Jack was further up than he felt comfortable with. But then again his mind was still at ease as though not realizing the height at all.
Jack sighed and pulled away from the edge. He checked the roof for signs of another person. Certainly he wasn’t up here alone was he? And if so why?
It was pretty standard with an a/c unit and an exhaust vent. A small hut with a door suggested the way downstairs. Jack walked casually over to the door and tried the handle.
It was locked.
Though this did not frustrate or frighten Jack at all. He just sighed again and turned around.
This time though there was something he surely must have missed.
A tall dark figure stood watching him from the edge of the roof. At least Jack thought he was watching he couldn’t very well tell because the entire figure was completely black as though shrouded in a constant shadow.
Jack moved forward slowly making a gesture of openness.
“Hello who are you?” Jack asked aloud.
The figure did not answer just silently watched him.
“I said who are you?” Jack asked again, persistence in his voice now.
“I said who are you.” The figure replied.
Jack was confused.
“I asked you first,” he claimed to the dark figure.
“I asked you first” the figure mocked.
Jack stepped forward again, trying to get the light on the roof to catch the figure’s face, in an attempt to figure out who this was. But no light moved on his face.
“Look I asked you a question first can’t you just answer me?” Jack yelled, now annoyed.
“I asked you first,” the figure replied.
Jack was becoming increasingly frustrated with this man whoever he was. He stepped even closer.
“Look goddamit, I was the one that asked you first now answer me, who are you?” he demanded.
The wind picked up and before Jack could grab it, it had sailed away with his hat in tow.
The figure didn’t even flinch, nor did his clothes blow in the wind. He stood completely still. The wind continued to blow and Jack thought he heard whispers along with it.
“You know who I am,” whispered the wind softly in his ear.
Jack stepped back. Now the fear set in.
“No I don’t know who you are otherwise I wouldn’t have asked,” Jack whined.
The dark figure moved now, coming forward slowly. Not walking, but floating towards Jack. Its body did not flinch at all it just seemed as though it had been cut from its surroundings and was moved closer.
“J-just stay away you hear? I don’t want to hurt you,” Jack yelled at it, but he knew in his heart that he had no way to attack this silent assailant.
“I said who are you?” the figure mocked louder. Its approach was more rapid now and Jack still could not see its face.
“You know who I am, I said who are you, you know who I am,” the figure began repeating over and over again.
Jack had no idea what any of this meant and he was frozen, frozen to the spot where he stood. His legs would not respond to his cries to move.
“I said who are you know who I am,” the figure garbled on.
Then it stopped its hover just inches from Jack. He could hear only the wind now howling against the rooftop but still the figures clothing did not move.
The figure than began to bend forward, and Jack tried to scream but his throat had closed all he could do was watch on.
A face came into view an inch from Jack’s face. And instantly he knew.
“You know who I am,” the figure said.
It was Jack’s face.
He shot up in bed, sweat clung his sheets to his body. He kicked the sheets from his legs in desperation, breathing hard.
It was night again and the moon again hung low to the ground glistening against the rain that had fallen that day.
Alex looked around his room. The comics were all in place and his plastic figurines had not shivered nor stirred from their placements. It was not alike to the few nights ago that he had heard that terrible rumble.
That he had gone exploring for the noise and ended up having his best friend put in hospital for a few days with a cracked skull.
Jack was fine now and shooed his friend’s attempts to help make him more comfortable at his house in his bed. But Alex was still guilty for not running to his friend’s assist that night he had fallen and cracked his head on the rock.
The rock. Alex shivered at the thought. He had tried to push the memory of that from his head. He remembered seeing it covered in Jack’s blood. It had almost seemed like Jack’s blood began to glow in the gloom.
Then Alex had hefted his friend over his shoulder and headed to the nearest home to call an ambulance. Hours later Jack had awoken and complained of some minor pain but nothing too serious.
Alex’s and Jack’s parents were none too happy at the two for venturing off at that time of night alone and especially in Alex’s case without shoes.
Alex had been grounded for two weeks, not that he went out a lot anyways, and Jack would be bed ridden for another week and a half anyways.
He had somehow picked up a bad fever while out. The doctor had said it was probably from being out in the cold for so long. Still Alex wasn’t so sure because they had only been out there, maybe half an hour tops together and Jack had been wearing a jacket and pants.
Alex had pushed it from his mind though as an afterthought and life went on.
He had the strangest feeling as though he were being watched at the moment though and fearfully shot a look at his bedroom window half expecting to see a great pair of yellow eyes.
Indeed he cried in fright when two hovering yellow glows. But instantly realized it was a pair of fireflies trying to get through the glass.
There was a bang down the hallway and suddenly a door swung open and bare feet stomped down the hallway.
Alex’s room was flooded with light in an instant and there in the doorway looking very groggy was his father.
Alex’s father was a burley bearded man. He worked during the summer as a lumber jack for the small town cutting wood and sending it off to the local lumber mill. During the winter he plowed driveways and streets. The pay wasn’t the greatest but his mom owned a local bookstore and they got by fine.
His father always had hoped that his son would one day be a star athlete, and he had very trying times hiding his disappointment when his son turned out to be a comic nerd. Although Alex did excel in school, his grades were a parents wet dream.
But still he could tell that his father was disappointed in his son for not participating in any sports whatsoever.
Alex felt sorry but did not feel the drive to put himself through the torture of having to go through physical exercise everyday. Plus Alex had a much better time discussing how superman compared to spiderman, at the local comic shop down the street from his mothers book store.
His father had dreams and Alex had his own.
Now standing in the doorway, his father looked white as a sheet even though groggy still from just waking up.
“What is it? What’s going on I heard a yell,” his father mumbled.
Alex gave a sheepish look.
“It’s nothing dad I just thought I saw something at my window, but it was nothing,” he replied.
His father shot him a look.
“You weren’t about to go venturing off into the woods again after some meteor or something were you?” his father demanded.
Alex shook his head in earnest.
“No dad really I just woke up and thought I saw something that scared me,” Alex replied again.
His father’s look softened a bit.
“You know Alex, sometimes I worry about you and your imagination,” he sighed, “sometimes I really think it gets the best of you.”
Alex shook his head.
“You don’t have to worry about me dad, I guess I just read too many comics sometimes.”
His dad eyed the larger than life collection that bombarded Alex’s many bookcases. Bookcases his mother had bought him in the hopes that one day Alex would start a collection of old classics and become a great writer himself.
“You know Alex ....” he drifted off, “never mind, get some sleep son.”
The light went off.
“Goodnight dad,” Alex sighed and watched as his door closed slowly.
He listened as his father padded slowly down the hall, then the door to his parents room closed.
When silence overwhelmed the house again Alex stole out of bed slowly and walked over to his window.
He gazed out into the moonlit night and into the dark foreboding forest. Watching the leaves rustle slightly Alex almost thought he could see a soft red glow within the depth of the trees.