Jeremy Biscaye-Evans – Immortality

Immortality

Jeremy Biscaye-Evans

You see the stars, I do. They’re finally clean of corrosion and the cacophony roars of my inner soul finally reside with loveless pride.

The sanity that conveys a sense of direction from your own surroundings eludes me with confusion. How will the creator answer me now? How will he be able to loom over my starry world of clustered auras shaped of densely filled woods….?

The world I conceive is largely based on my own events, despite the neediness with absolute fiction, I submit with ultimate congruence….

The trickling honey bottoms shine with invigorating delight. Will you take me to the realms of few, or the depths of many….?

Ascension begs with bliss, yet the hollowing of discordance washes over my polluted thoughts. I stare out and see glistening faces basking against the throbbing sun, but the shape of their coloured hues leaves me repudiated.

I finally catch the glimpse of my creator; he is humble, yet vague on his conditions. He asks for forgiveness, but respects that all journeys take dedication and he flickers the doubt in my eyes with dissipating stars. The clouds blacken and the deafening silence in my soul is crushing my internal essence. Even my external shell is tacky and an array of goose bumps plant themselves all along my wrists. My cheeks flare with red strokes of flame, I blush at his mannerisms yet I feel subdued by his intellectual prowess. He hushes me to sleep and I want to do nothing but, however, his spirit bleeds of life, fire and energy. So much that I simply do nothing but wait with anticipation.

In desperation that he may change his mind and stalk off with bitter disappointment. I plant my eyes on his external form and simply watch his own burrow into mine. His eyes are as bright as the star that blazes into dawn each morning; it makes me feel a sense of tranquility to be acknowledged in his presence.

The wrath of his inner spiritual power matched by his physical strength is terrifying. The outcome makes me feel uneducated to his knowledge like a young child surviving their first day of preschool. Still I reek with fear and curiosity that merely watching him appears to no longer pique my interests. I instead feel the urge to sink my fingers deep into his physical form in hopes of genuine presence and not just a figure of my imagination.

I have never believed in higher powers that lived high above land, but his delightful attitude towards my bigotry sets a stem for a prosperous future. I hope he’s real.

Soon enough, I begin to finally whittle one leg out of my soothing sheets and I lace my arm around my pillow with a thickening grasp. Tugging it firmly, I feel entranced by the sudden lightness that seeps through my skeletal form. Cracking and forming new shards of spiritual power that burrow deep into my bones. My arms feel like brittle twigs that would snap so easily if I wasn’t so careful. The creator is rebuilding me whole and now I feel more superior, though I am quite new to this.

I begin to shove the other leg out, too tired from being in stasis for long periods of time. It breaks out in excitement and is eager to explore the ever-changing powers that lay within me. I am so close to my creator, will he reject me?

One piece at a time, my entire existence surges with distant and recent memories that spill over like waves crashing onto giant rocks that stab through the ocean. The forces within me begin to shape how my personality will reflect the material realm in upcoming days. With one foot over the other I gain more dominance and with that I feel the tension rising and now all my memories are judging me from afar.

Debating whether or not I deserve another chance, some shout and applaud while others sit with a shrewd stare and a disgruntled expression, others don’t even try to show an ounce of empathy. Instead they rely on their aggression for my own immediate feedback, but I digress. And with that, I entice my own senses of purity by not succumbing to their scorns of deceit for passing on in the material realm. Their hatred fills me with invincible pleasure and I continue to further my step and see how long until the creator finally knows that I am taking my own destiny.

The voices continue to blare like sirens booming off in the distance. His external force is nearing my sweaty palms, I can smell his life and it coats the inside of my newly-developed nose. His scent of perfection and dedication to the world is seductive. What they all see as terror and destabilization with their upbringings the creator and I merely envision as the circle of life. And what comes with life also involves the circle of challenges and a continuous cycle that seems monotonous in the moment, but totally changes the perception of how you come to breathe the air and look at life as whole. His image is brighter now than before, his colors are a mixed array of wonderful diversity, but blurring for the untrained eye. And hopefully I will be taught this time.

He looks at me, and I finally look at him. We’re both one in the same, except he knows the circle of life from every corner. And I’m just the young trainee hoping to learn just a fraction of his teachings. He glares at me with his intimidating eyes, and he only replied with one simple question, “Dominance or submission?”

I only look with confusion, but his broadened shell makes me anxious and I quickly sputter an answer despite all the confidence I had gained beforehand, “Dominance.”

He gleams with a clever smile and slowly turns away and before I know it….

I am inside the womb of my new Mother.


jeremy Jeremy Biscaye-Evans is an 18 year old grade 12 student at PW Kaeser High School in Ft. Smith who enjoys reading autobiography and drama. His favourite book is Max Brook’s “World War Z”. Jeremy says in elementary school he thought books were boring but when he went to Junior High his teachers introduced him to books that made a difference in his life. One of his teachers commented that once he started reading he didn’t stop and often has to be told to put a book away when he’s in class.