Coming Home

[Cain]

Written around June 4th

I pulled the car up on Shaftesbury hill, in order to watch the sunset as I came home, trying to sort through the many mixed feelings I have about returning to this place.  Stepping outside, I can feel a cool breeze on my face, watched as the last few flies made a desperate search for food this evening.

I realized I hadn't shaved in nearly a week, my usually clean appearance marred by the growth of beard.  But I didn't care.  The wind was starting to become cold, raising the hair on my arms.  I still didn't care.

I had nearly lived half my life within these 50 miles, in one dead end town or another.  In the town in front of me, I had become, ultimately, the person I was today, through a mix of chance and necessity.  I could see the new buildings being put up in the part of town nicknamed Little Warsaw, the crumbling council housing estates filled with subhuman scum, the glittering buildings in the centre of town, monuments of wealth in a county plagued by pathetic wages and inflated house prices.

I was still confused, not feeling much.  Once, I had known what I wanted to do, where I had wanted to go.  I had thought my way was clear, that with the path I had followed I could use what I had learned without having to work with those I detested, either on a personal, political or basic level.  However, these are only areas where someone of my skills could find employment.  Funny what difference 9 months can make.

I wasn't surprised when I saw the two teenage kids appear near me, and walk towards me.  Sighing, I turned to them.  Both looked anywhere between 13 and 16, dressed in imitation designer sports trousers and t-shirts, their body odour causing my nose to wrinkle.
,ÄúYou lost, mister?,Äù, one asked in a broad south western accent, the words more a statement than a question.
,ÄúP'haps we can help you find your way,Äù, the other sniggered.
Lost travellers were not uncommon to the area, many passing through on their way to the popular tourist resorts in Devon and Cornwall, finding the winding roads and dying towns difficult to distinguish.  This gave the locals ample chances to practice their skills in intimidation and extortion ,Äì valuable abilities for later life, to be sure.

I sighed again, then fixed them with a stare, saying nothing.  The smaller one began to fidget.  The two, seemingly unnerved by my silent relaxation in their presence, seemed to open their eyes wide, moving on quickly.  I breathed out, letting the tension leave my body.

I wondered how many more potential fights would await me down in the town below.  They seemed to be a way of life here.  In small towns where everyone knew everyone (or at least knew someone else who did), insults came quickly and grudges lasted decades.  And most of the idiots here only had the mental capacity to solve a problem with a beer or their fists.  Usually over some pathetic loss of face or incredibly unattractive and spoilt girl that no rational person would ever covet.  It never occurred to them about the power of humiliation, despite how much they hated embarrassment.  A niche  in the market, to my way of thinking...

9 months...it seemed like forever, yet not long enough.  I may call this place home, but I've never felt welcome there.  If home means anything more than a place to stay, somewhere warm and where you can eat food or have relative privacy, this certainly wasn't it for me.  Not only that, I had been gone a long time.  Fleeting visits between Christmas and Easter, normally before heading up to Oxford or London.  Lots of people moving in, tempted by the promise of unskilled labour being needed, no matter how little truth there was in this.  Lots of people rising up too, from the kids they had been to young adults.

Chances were, my past would not get me through anything more than my first couple of weeks back here.  Old friends would be gone, or forgotten, replaced by younger, leaner and more hungry people.  Poorer too, and struggling to find work, if my deductions were accurate.  I would have to step carefully.

There had once been a time I could walk freely anywhere I wanted, at any time of day without fear of attack.  Not because the streets were any safer (though they grew more dangerous with each passing year), but because anyone who came after me would have to be desperate.  And mad.  Because as soon as I thought I knew who they were, I would find them and make their life hell.  And no-one would do a thing to stop it.  In this place, as anywhere where times are tough, self-interest ruled supreme.

The problem wasn't that I feared it.  I knew the hammer would come down, one way or another, and everyone else would watch in order to see the results, know where they now stood with regards to myself.  The problem was that I no longer cared.  It all struck me as so futile.  My experiences of recent times had taught me more than anyone would rightly want to know about myself, or the world around me.  They could play at stupid dominance games all they wanted, because the fact was it was all a lie.  There is a real pecking order, beyond anything they could know, and they would never rank above ,Äúserf,Äù on it.

Truth be told, neither would I.  It didn't matter how smart or devious I was, how skilled at analysis of the chaotic patterns of warfare I had become, among my ,Äúpeers,Äù I would not be accepted unless I swallowed the entire bullshit line they fed me.  No matter how many problems I solved, or how many ,Äúcontingencies,Äù I drew up and critiqued for them, unless I truly believed, I was another academic heretic, disrupting their pre-chosen conclusions.  And that meant I was a problem, unless I ,Äúrecanted,Äù.

And it would be no different down here.

New hierarchies, old hierarchies, new jobs or old jobs, it was all the same.  No matter where I went, the same games would be played, only with slight variations.  Dominate or be dominated.  It was a game I couldn't stop playing, and couldn't escape from.  Anger overcame my apathy, momentarily.  Strange, how those two are so often linked, yet so different.

It was all so...dull. 

Getting back into the car, I came to a final decision.  I would not play along.  I did not want, nor need the approval of anyone, not here and not elsewhere.  Perhaps...perhaps it was time to strike out on my own.  I had no interest in serving the whims of another who, while offering a level of protection and safety, would ultimately do nothing for me.  Instead, it was time to move and shake, not be moved or shaken.  And where better to start, than this pathetic town, where the hungry and lean youngsters could very well learn a lesson or two about their real station in the world?  And perhaps, be guided by a hand who could teach them ways of striking back.

Yes, that sounded like a good idea, I thought, as the engine started.

[Thurnez Isa]

 

Im figuring its autobiographical...
but definately could be used as an intro to larger work

[Cain]

Sadly it wont be.  Last Laugh is the final autobiographical work I am doing.  I just threw this up because I felt it touched on a number of useful points.  For instance, turning situations to ones advantage.  Dealing with apathy.  Etc

[B_M_W]

This reminds me of Entreri returning to Calimport in the Silent Blade.

[Cramulus]

::

That was a good read, Cain. I think I feel what you're going for here - months ago I moved back into my hometown but found that all my homeboys had left. It was a ghost town - filled with happy imbeciles and status-sniffing yuppies, people who disgusted me.

there were no laurels to rest on.

And I think you've got the right idea in striking out on your own. 'cause, you're only as good as your last work and the world still needs shaking anyway.

Last Laugh is the final autobiographical work I am doing.

well that's ominous

[Cain]

This reminds me of Entreri returning to Calimport in the Silent Blade.

It seemed very odd when I read that part of the book, actually.  More than deja vu.  Its strange, knowing an author can describe your situation so well without having ever known about it.

well that's ominous

Not really.  Peru and Last Laugh are the only 2 things I have done over a period of time where I can relate most of the story, with it actually being a worthwhile read.  Also, Last Laugh is very much me bragging my sins (ie; letting many of my tricks out of the bag) and so serves another function too.