Becoming The Overman

Ever since I was old enough to hear stories I have been trying to tell them. Although I cannot succesfully pinpoint when in my early youth my first story came to be, I know that the first I remember was 8 years ago, when I was in fourth grade. It was a simple writing test, mind you, but it won an award of some sort and I was made to read my story to the entire school. I remember the sight well, all the children sitting on one side of the gymnasium and looking at me, who stood on a podium before them, my award resting to the side of my papers, as I recited my story of a brown paper bag that sat on the teachers desk waiting to be opened. The story was a cliffhanger, if I remember correctly, and everybody who cared to listen at that age enjoyed it. Either that or they were bored out of their minds. Now I am 17 years of age, and these are my stories:

Order Through Chaos: The Voice of the Bard
Order Through Chaos II: The Lasped Soul
Order Through Chaos III: The Break of Day
The Ladder in the Backyard
The Echo
An Angel's Providence
The Stained-Glass Window
All-American: Tales of Jeweled Mountains and Flamebirds
All-American II: Star Child
All-American III: The Hero
All-American IV: The Legend
Foundations
I Fly: A Collection of Short Stories
Till the Darkness is Gone: A Collection of Poetry
A Heart for any Fate
Seeds
Stagger Lee
Silverback

As I said earlier, I only hope that some of these stories are taken well, for if they are my future will be fairly brighter than I now imagine it; I imagine my future, those things which have not yet happened, and I see a man, content that he is doing something he wishes and making a difference, all the while being paid for it, hopeful this is not simply a dream.

Posted by C. Nicholas Walker at 5:43 PM | Permalink | Comments

The following may mean that I have very little of a life to those who read it, but I assure that such things as I am about to speak of are not completely arbitrary and some could learn a good lesson from them.

I was sitting outside just a few moments ago. I had just gotten off of work, and I still smelled of fish and 409. The first thing on my agenda was to sit on the couch for a moment before I realized my two dogs wanted to use the bathroom, so outside I went with them. Still tired, however, I took a seat in a green metal patio chair that was missing a cusion. I sat, leaned back, and ignored the animals completely as I tried to close my eyes and rest.

As I opened them back up again, I noticed it was a densely clouded night, and only after several moments could I see the moon making its way from behind pools of moistened air. In the distance I could see the results of a search light beaming quickly across the face of the blanketed sky, moving definately in a large circle that I could only see a fraction of. To me it moved in a fading straight line. Now that I recall the sight, I am reminded of Albert Einstein and his famous Theories of Relativity.

For a moment I felt a slight sense of claustrophobia, as the clouds were so dense and so tightly back in the air, that I thought I may be stuck, confined the boundaries of the Earth, which, to people like me, is a very, very small place to be confined to. I wondered if, though I could not see them, the stars could still see me. I came to the conclusion that they could.

I wondered of First Man, when he walked the Earth in its primal beginning and knew of nothing he saw. I wondered if he was confused, but I do not think he was. He knew nothing, ignorance in its finest. He didn't know the Earth was the Earth, that it was round or even flat. He knew not what a rock was, or a blade of grass, and certainly could not have known a star or the moon. What a life it must have been, to know so little of all things as to believe the world to be a seemingly endless field of land with spirts of liquid, which he could not have known was water, and to think so little of existence itself?

And yes, this First Man must have thought very little of his own existence. He did not believe that his life had a purpose or a meaning. He did not know were he would go whence he ceased to live, and he knew not where he was before his living had first begun. He could not have cared much, I think. He thought of living only as something which obviously must be done, and this was the only reason he did it. Existence? To the First Man, it must have seemed endless, for eternity was all he could comprehend, for he had never experienced any end whatsoever. Ironic how, in his evolution into what we are now, eternity is the only thing we cannot comprehend, and the end is the most looked forward to thing in existence. Not in a sad way, no, but in hopes that the end will not really be the end, andit is the First Man in us all that says, "Eternity, my Sons, is the only thing that can be real." But we say we have invented happiness, and we blink.

What a pity that it is.

Posted by C. Nicholas Walker at 8:18 PM | Permalink | Comments