a conversation for a future book

for some unknown protagonist in book 2 maybe…or possibly a character with commitment issues named tyro in a parallel novel.

“I feel like I want to quit.”

“Of course you do. You should.”

“What? I thought-“

“You should want to quit. You should consider it, mull it over, list the pros and cons. When you’re done either you will see why you must never give in to that desire or you will see why you won’t allow yourself to be great.”

“Well,” started ????, trying to force back the flood of emotion long enough to conquer the concept.

“Well, without the desire to throw everything away holding on means nothing.”

“Hmmm.” Humming like mental drilling, giving shape to the new thoughts, he began to solidify his resolve.

“They key to perseverance is not in a tolerance to suffering, but in feeling the joy of the reward before it is earned. If you are determined to reach your desires, every bit of pain experienced on the journey becomes bliss.”

Like springtime to a frigid season of doubt, reason bloomed. Empowerment clothed his naked feelings and without shame, standing, a solid frame, he affirmed his understanding of the sage advice with a nod. 

rebirth

Overwhelmed, exaggerated and taxed by depravity, eyes with staring intentions broke their spiteful glance.  Looking up, forward, jostling the minds perception of near proportions, sinews tore attention from what lay eager and willing below. Keys lay in wait, languish in longing, and groaning under the pressure of not being touched. Finally the tap-dance tiptoe of ill timed triggers fired off at close range after a long silent drought. Unlearned and shaken, slithering digits dialed deliberate delusions. Cynical and sorry, new blanketing emerged, whipped and frothy the sound of it bellowed. Dulling the senses, the eyes, the cloud-in-head laughs joyous like ignorant i-told-you-so innocence. Something was. Some weak dully conceived thing, like an oil-doily, gross and gorgeous, was. It came, flourished like flowers of gothic fancy spinning out of control within the smallest sphere, nigh nakedly detectable. But it was, is and diminishes, a thought, a simple spark of a wh- sounding notion. Period. Created.