Let Me In Chapter 1: The Salesman
Let Me In Chapter 1: The Salesman
Would you let yourself in?
Do you see a man in a doorway as an obstacle, an potential invitation inside, or a harbinger of struggle and suffering?
I’m Too Old To Be Creative
That means I’m a coward. Being creative requires me to face the free-flowing thoughts I have and those terrify me. So instead, I just say I’m too old.
Creative writing scares me. It scares me a lot. This is why I am doing it. It isn’t the only reason of course, but it is a reason. I haven’t done it before, not completely, anyways. And not intentionally, not really. Normally my poems are refrains that won’t leave me alone. Those are necessary brain dumps. They’re normally tears in word form. They can be happy and they can be sad.
But when I write creatively I slip into something dark. Not a negligée, that would be gross. I slip somewhere dark in my mind. My creativity seems to run off fear, off regret, off guilt and off anger.
And when I start writing I feel it. I embody the character as if they were me. If there’s more than one I bounce back and forth between that dark place, normally my main character, and whatever their partner in dialogue happens to be at the time. Those moods change but they’re normally malevolent or psychopathic. Not in any murdery sense but in the sense they are devoid of emotion. And that’s a big leap.
Now, of course, the emotions are blunted a bit because I am not actually them, but it is difficult to write a perspective without embodying the perspective. Which helps my understanding of why I can get confused at times with any topic, no matter how well learned I am in it, after I attempt to steel man an opposing view.
Alas, I have tarried plenty. This will be my first intentionally written creative piece I have published, though it is only a part. It is un-edited and un-read. It will be read and it will be edited but I am afraid to do so in this iteration. I do not want to soften anything in it to “suit” a perceived audience out there.
I feel that I need to be fully exposed, in the legal way, in order to shed light on what is going on with my previous attempts with the hopes that will allow me to understand myself better.
So forgive me for using ya’ll as instruments for my own growth. Feel free to ask me to reciprocate. I do love helping people.
Also, adding the Subscribe button below. The story is after that.
I know, reading a story before a story is annoying. Sorry, ya’ll.
Let Me In
Chapter 1: The Salesman
When, exactly, did I pull into my driveway? I feel like I should have noticed doing so, but I just can’t place myself anywhere along my normal route home. What did I listen to? Has it been this quiet the whole time?
And when, exactly, did my garage door opener stop working?
Today must have worn me out. I don’t even remember working. Hell, I can’t remember going to work. But this happens from time to time, of course, considering I have been working at the same place, doing the same thing for years.
Monotony will kill me one day.
It is my own personal hell.
But now I am with my family. I get to experience heaven again. I should appreciate this more. I have these ideas I will go home and relax, maybe play a video game. Perhaps I can even take a little nap before dinner. I’ve gotten home in time to do that before.
No, I need to stop that. It’s not time to relax when I get home. I leave for work far too often regretting the fact I didn’t spend time with the family the night before. They are treasures, John. Treasure them.
Have I always been this absent minded? Wasn’t I just in the car?
Who is that at my door?
“John, it’s good to finally meet you.”
Who the fuck is this?
“Hey bud, you selling something?”
He’s probably a salesman, anyways. You worry too much.
And he’s smiling. He’s either going to kill me or sell me something.
“No, no. I’m more of an auditor.”
Now that is concerning. I know my taxes aren’t perfect but they’re annoying to do. Or maybe he’s just from the county verifying some things. Something is off about him though, no auditor is this happy.
I mean, I think. I’ve never met one.
Why isn’t he continuing the conversation? What the fuck do I say to this?
“Uh, alright. Who are you with? For the record I don’t take my taxes very seriously. I think they’re boring. So if you needed to verify that, it’s done. Let me know what I owe.”
Why do I do this? He’s already smiling, no need to break tension with jokes. Well, an implied joking manner masking a truth, really. His damn expression just will not change. Who the hell is this? Where is my gun?
“You won’t need your gun, John, not now. Everything we need is here.”
Is that a book? What is in that thing that would replace the gun I’m quite confident I need?
And hold the fuck up, did I hear that right?
“Who the fuck are you, dude? Get away from my door.”
Still no change in that face. This must be a robot or a psychopath. We’re about the same build, same height, does he only have a book?
I can take him.
“I am no threat to you. We just need to talk before you enter here. My name is Peter and this book is your story.”
Alright, what the hell is this? I haven’t submitted any manuscript to anybody.
“Not quite Hell, not yet. But in due time that may come to pass.”
So you’re reading my mind now, right Peter? Is that what’s happening?
“Not exactly. John, you are not alive at present.”
“The fuck I’m not, Pete. Get. Away. From. My. Door.”
Jesus this guy is strong. He’s not even struggling. I need to get to my family, what on Earth is happening?
“You are familiar with the Parable of the Pearly Gates, yes?”
If you can read my mind and you know who I am why would I answer you?
“Fair, John. But you see, this is quite misunderstood. Heaven has been with you all this time and Hell always a possibility. It has always been up to you, to each of you, as to where you lived. But at a certain point there is no coming back in from outside. At a certain point, John, enough is enough.”
No.
“Yes. He has been with you, tried to speak to you, tried to speak through you. But you ignored Him, John. You ignored what you heard and you ignored what you felt. You ignored what you knew.”
No, I didn’t… I couldn’t have, could I? I tried to do what I could. I tried my best.
“But you didn’t, John. This is not a new thought for you. Everything you did that hurt your family, yourself, your community. All of it you justified similarly. All of it you chalked up to your ‘humanity’. But that’s just it. Each time there was a decision to make. Each time you had free will. And each time you chose to act hedonically instead of righteously. Of course there were exceptions. Of course there were times you chose the path you were shown. But that’s the problem. Those were the exceptions. Your whims, John, those were the rule.”
That can’t be true. I still have a wife. I still have children. How is that true?
“No you don’t. Right now you have nothing. This book will tell us if you see them again. Are you ready to take a look at your life? Are you ready to take a look at your impact? Are you ready to understand what it is your actions really do to yourself and those around you?”
No, no I am not. This is a nightmare.
“I can assure you that it’s just beginning. This is never pleasant, though at times it gets easier near the end of the book. And, of course, at the very beginning. Children, they are God’s best work. That is apparent. How wonderful it is to see through the eyes of a child.”
I don’t know if I can handle this. Everything? Everything I have ever done?
“Yes John, everything. And you’re probably right. You probably cannot handle this. But it will be done, it must be done.”
Please, no.
“Let’s get started then.”
Please.
Don’t.
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