I fight monsters

A few years ago. I had a dream.

In this dream, I happened upon faces I had not seen in sometime. My brother, his wife and their daughter, my niece.

In the dream, she was a small, beautiful young girl, no more than five or six. In reality, she’s half that age but none the less still beautiful. Although if I am truthful, I would not know that really. It has been a number of years since I have laid eyes upon her.

At the core of that, it is perhaps my fault. My choice to remove myself from the equation for them. To sever the binds that tied us all in this mess of tainted string and poisonous barbs.

I could sit here and ponder the reasoning behind my decision, but I fear I would never truly be happy with an answer, or satisfied with a lie to sate myself. Besides, I am not here for reality. I bear news of a dream.

In the dream, the little girl did not know me, as to be expected. At first I offered little in words having not spoken to any of present company for many years but my niece was curious and prodded more.

               

  “He’s your uncle. Your father’s brother.” My sister-in-law spoke.

Her eyes were wide with fascination. Truly, if I were a weaker man, those eyes 

would have melted my soul. She pointed and prodded, she poked and asked questions. A hidden relative was joyous and exhilarating news, and she was a young and inquisitive child. The two went hand in hand together.

                “Where have you been?” She asked me. And for the first time, I truly regarded her.  I knelt to her eye level. Those beautiful dark eyes.

                “What do you do?” She spoke. And it took little time for my answer. In fact, it came so quickly I worried how long the words had been sitting upon my lips.

                “I fight monsters.” I told her.

Picture by my wonderful friend Jonathon Bone

Her face went still, expressionless and confused, but still curious.

                “Yeah. It’s true. I fight monsters. Mommy and Daddy would tell you they don’t exist. They would tuck you in bed at night and check underneath it, rummage through your closet, quelling your scariest nightmare. But monsters are real sweetheart.”

The small girl begins to get upset, but before tears flow and parents intervene; I interject.

                “But you don’t have to worry. I may have said monsters are real, but they will never harm you. In fact, you will never see one throughout your entire life if I can help it.”

                “I won’t?” She whimpered, stopping herself from the verge of tears.

                “No. Because you’re special. Your father used to fight monsters too. All of our family did. But Daddy wanted the peaceful life he deserved and couldn’t bear to raise his sword anymore. He met your Mummy and everything was…wonderful. Then they got married and there was singing and dancing. And then they had you and every day smelled of fresh roses and springtime rain. It was the life we Hunters aspire for.”

                “But as Daddy left, your grandmother and I had to do extra work. We had to cover a lot more houses, sooth more children and check every dark corner. We do what we must because we have no choice. We have little time for storybooks or singing. We have no time for family or friends. We stand as vigils for every sob story ever muttered. It was our oath, our duty of care.”

I explained in order to protect her and her parents, we had to hide away.

We couldn’t even watch from the side lines, the constant threat of danger ever looming.

I told her to never be afraid of monsters. Because whenever she had a bad dream of monsters and beasts. I was there, with sword in hand to remove it.

In the dream, I told a lie to hide a painful truth. In the waking world, the lie exists but in a different and complicated way.

It’s a stupid lie, but it is my lie and I’ll believe in it regardless.

Today marked my niece’s birthday. I do not know how old she is. I forced myself not to care because it was easier this way. Removing yourself from an equation is an act of sacrifice, something that should only be considered as a final thought.

For me it was easy. Sacrifice runs through my veins. But every day that blood boils within me. And I have no way to subdue it.

Today on my niece’s birthday, I walked over seven miles in pouring rain and utter, unspeakable despair and agony to deliver a present. I expected no answer at the door, my presence having not been announced. So I was forced to abandon the gift somewhere safe so they could locate it upon their return.

And so I began my excruciating journey back the way I came with no reward for reaping. No hugs or joyous laughter, no knowledge of kindred bonding. Just the choices we’ve all made and the path we walk.

This is the way of things, for a Knight does not falter.

I mean.

I fight monsters, after all.

The Two Day War

 The Two Day War

You want to know the most paralytic, soul-crushing moment of my entire life? How in the space of just two days I ranged from the most anticipative joy, to the utter grave walking despair?

I was seventeen years old, and lying in a hospital bed awaiting surgery. My mum was with me; as she always was. She knew I couldn’t stand hospitals, she knew the risks of the procedure I was about to undergo. Looking back on it now, she was stronger than I ever gave her credit for.

An infection had done significant damage to my left inner ear, eating away at flesh and degrading nerve endings. It had taken over four months to find a bed and time for surgery, but in that time, I knew pain.

At that point in my life, I was still young but I knew pain well. This was to be the seventh operation regarding my ‘bad’ ear. Each one more strenuous than the last. But this one was different. The risks were higher, and the result a pure 50/50.

Doctors had told me that if they were unsuccessful, I could lose all sensation on the left hand side of my face. But even in the positive, the outcomes might not be so pleasant. I recall that now, eleven years later, as I continue to suffer with flayed nerves and daily migraines. 

But there I was. Ready to fight the fight again. They took me to surgery as I said goodbye to my mother. I tried to remain calm as all the faceless doctors and nurses got to work around me. Crocodile snap on my finger showed how hard it was just to do that. I focused on my heart rate.

They put the needle through my vein and told me to count to ten.

One.

Two.

Three. My arm goes numb, but still hurts a little.

Four…

Five…

Six. The room goes dark for a moment, and I pass out.

…

Then a pain I have never experienced. And never, ever wish too again.

I opened my eyes with a shock. I was lying on my side, my head pounded and pulsated. The pressure of the packing and dressing around my ear told me they were finished. But I was not in the ward I was supposed to be.

I could just make out the details of the bright room, and I realised as I looked across the area towards other beds that I was still in surgery, albeit a recovery room.

And then I felt it. My body reacted to the shock, the trauma, the utter essence of a moment of clarity. I cried out, the pain so great I felt like a hole had opened inside my brain.

I heard a male nurse yell, ‘He’s awake. He’s awake’. I closed my eyes to stop the light burning my teary eyes. I heard rushed footsteps, felt soft hands grab me. I sobbed, and my body reacted as a cough built up. Air escaped my lungs, but it wasn’t the only thing to leave me. Blood caked the cloth in front of me and dribbled down my face. I struggled to breathe. Dense, dry crimson substance stuck to the back of my throat - filling my mouth. My head continued to pound so hard I could barely hear any sounds.

By now those soft hands moved erratically, lacking focus or composure. Between stifled gasps of breathes and lack of distinctive sense, I panicked and writhed.

I honestly thought I was going to die there.

And to this day, I believe that that was what death felt like. Panicked, chaotic, utter agony.

The entire scenario lasted no more than thirty seconds before the new drugs they pumped into me knocked me back into unconsciousness.  As darkness overcame me. I remember the pain slipping over, like water draining down a sinkhole. I remember the calm black. And empty nothingness as everything simply began to slow and stop.

But I remember the last sound I heard before I was gone. The unmistakeable sound of my own voice screaming, as the echo ran through me and into the dark. Reminding me of its eternal manifestation.  The agony I was forever bonded too.

The day that Death and I bumped shoulders walking down the street.

I awoke some time later that same day. Disoriented and confused. The memory of the event still fresh on my mind. A doctor prodded me to focus, eager to elucidate the results of his work. 

He told me to smile.

The request was so bizarre to me I just spaced forward, unclear how my body ever used to work before.

He requested again, clarifying that he needed to know if I had function on my left side of my face. It was important so I tried my best.

It took every inch of strength I had left to smile wide, my teeth apparently still red with blood. The doctor nodded in thanks and vanished from sight. I had no time for questions or the like before I slipped unconscious again.

The night was the same as any night I had spent in hospital. Awake. In pain. Surrounded by the sounds of the same or the dying. That night I listened intently to the sound of a nearby heart rate monitor. It was attached to a man who cried out for help every minute. I ignored his panicked and whimpering cries and focused on the machine, the rhythmic lullaby of life. I didn’t sleep because I was afraid of dying. The sound was a reminder of the real. The focused. I listened because my mind raced; it questioned why I experienced what I had done. Does that force of pain truly exist? Does Death feel like that?

I eventually slept but it was not a comfortable rest.

The next day…The second unfortunate chapter of my agony.  

I had demanded to be released from the hospital’s care as soon as the doctor had seen to me. I was tired, angry, in pain and entirely out of my mind. My mother was due to arrive in the next few hours so regardless I sat in my bed, forced to wait.

The Matron mother came over to see me. She was an older lady but patient and kind. Her face could tell the tale of every patient she had ever attended in that hospital. I was thankful for her gentleness after the past experiences I had with nurses whom had little sleep and restraint.

I said I needed to go to the bathroom. It had been many hours since I had done so and I needed someone to help guide me from the bed. She agreed. And helped me stand.

My feet were unsteady, and all my strength was almost gone as fatigue laid waste to my body. With gentle steps, we slowly began the sluggish walk across the ward floor towards the facilities.

Half way through my adventure, I had to stop.

My mind completely unable to process what I saw in front of me.

Two beds away from my own was occupied by an old lady, she was surrounded by her family, at count at least six different people. But as I walked past, I noticed one of these individuals from the corner of my eye. A man who I had not seen for quite some time.

My father.

There he was. Standing beside his lover and her family, wishing the old patient well and good company.

I just stood still. Like a rabbit in headlights. The man who had never been there for any of my previous hospital stays – stood right before me.

And he wasn’t there for me at all.

He didn’t even know I was there.

A few feet away, and still so completely and utterly apart.

Matron Mother asked me what was wrong; why I had stopped.

I pointed and said. “That’s my dad.”

She smiled. “That’s great. Let me just fetch him.”

“No.” I called out. She stopped and looked at me. “He…he isn’t here for me.”

Art by my wonderful friend. Jonathon Bone. http://aldersmoon.wix.com/aldersmoon

We continued onwards in silence. And as I looked at my reflection in the bathroom. I saw how destroyed I was. The bandage covered almost my entire face. My skin a mixed of dried blood and pale white. My eyes black and bloodshot. My lips cracked and dehydrated. My body had engaged in the worst fight of its existence, and it was victorious if not forever scarred.

And then came the flooding tears. The moment of destroyed ego. I had always had a strained relationship with my father. He never wanted a second son, him and his entire family. He always wanted a daughter.

He taught me nothing about being a good person. I was invisible to him, muted to his ears. I grew up hating and fearing every man I ever met because how he treated me. The only lesson he taught me was about betrayal. On how to get what you want and damn the consequences. He opened my heart only to exploit me, and left a sizable hole that could never be filled.

And at my weakest, most vulnerable time.

He didn’t see me.

Death saw me.

But he didn’t.

And so that’s my story. A story of a child fighting a war in two days on both the physical and emotional. I continued on at that point but something always was different. It wasn’t just the pain. It’s almost indescribable.

I lived that day, but only to experience agony.

I’m too afraid of dying, terrified of that horrifying pain. But now I’m too damage to continue living. Just like everyone else.

Game Review - Kholat

A little bit of history before I go head-first into this review. Does anyone know about the Dyatlov Pass Incident that occurred February 2 1959? It was an event that led to the unexplained deaths of nine hikers on the eastern side of Kholat Syakhl, along the northern Ural Mountains in Russia.

After being missing for some time with no news, family members of the hikers demanded a search and rescue expedition eight days after their expected time of arrival to Vizhai. Rescuers found their campsite six days later, badly damaged and covered in snow.

All of the hiker’s possessions were still inside, including clothes and provisions. It was also noted that the tent had been cut open from the inside, hinting that something had spooked the group and they fled into the snow.

The bodies were discovered in separated positions, the first two were found within the forest, having attempted to make a makeshift fire since they wore nothing but their underwear. Others were found around, all of who died of hypothermia. It took two months for the weather to lessen to find the remaining bodies, all of which bore fatal injuries to their bodies, major skull damage, chest fractures. As though they had been hit by something of tremendous force, yet bizarrely they showed no external injuries of any type.

The incident fell into a notorious investigation with many theories as to what led to the death of the nine individuals. Certain evidence pointed towards a freak avalanche, uncertain facts pointed towards the supernatural/extra-terrestrial, and others even pointed towards a secret Russian military operation.

Even to this day, the truth is not known.

So, why not design a game solely to answer that question?

Kholat is a survival horror game developed by Polish team IMGN.PRO, using the Unreal Engine 4. In it, you take the role of an unnamed protagonist who attempts to uncover the truth behind the disappearance and deaths of those young hikers from said incident.

A chilling start on your bitter journey,

On the off-set, the game is very beautiful. Visuals are very striking and after reducing the motion blur by almost 95%, I was able to enjoy the dense landscapes with elated awe.  However, there are the occasional screen-tearing issues but nothing to jarring in terms of the overall experience.

Music and audio is also very pleasant and engaging. We are even treated by the talented Sean Bean himself as a form of narrator for the majority of the story, as well as the wonderful Mary Elizabeth McGlynn to memorise us with a peaceful credit song. In-game audio is spot on, with the bitter, howling winds screaming through your headset and the soft, calm patter of water droplets as you explore the twisting caves.

In terms of gameplay, it certainly throws you into the deep end. The main element of the game itself is that of a walking simulator, in the mind-set that the game drops you in the middle of nowhere with barely any idea where to go. So it’s up to you to navigate the dense landscape with the help of the in game map and compass. It’s actually somewhat refreshing to play a game like this where nothing is holding your hand. Everything that there is to discover is all up to you and your own skills.

The caves are just as pretty as the outside environments.

It puts me in the mind-set of other games of its type, such as The Vanishing of Ethan Carter. Another fantastic and gripping game.

The exploration can sometimes be quite frustrating, with a sprint mechanic that only allows you to run for a few seconds. (Although that makes somewhat sense, have you ever tried to run fast in thick snow?) But the environments certainly makes up for some of that vexing back-tracking.  

The other side of the gameplay is survival. It is possible for you to die in this game. Whether that’s by falling to your death, being crushed by falling boulders, falling victim to a deadly spike pit, or something much more sinister.

The main enemy you will encounter is something that I found very fascinating once I noticed it. Being almost completely invisible to the human eye, it’s only as you are close to it do you notice the utterly horrifying outline of the beast haunting these dark and lonely mountains and it is shocking to find such a beast in your path with just seconds to react.

What is that..?

I do have a gripe with this game however and it will be a common problem that reviewers will pick up on, is that the ending is somewhat ruined by its rushed and ruthless pace. No overall question is ever fully answered, in fact they are replaced by numerous other questions. For a game that is thick of story elements, relaying upon an incident that comes from real life itself. The ending came across as something very dashed and forced. I’m aware of an extra ending segment if you collect all of the hidden diary pages throughout the map but that has the same problem as I mentioned above. No answers, more questions.

In the end however, I somewhat imagine that was the developers main goal. To work with the notion that the events of the Dyatlov Pass Incident is something that will never be truly known, and so we will be left pondering upon the ending concept for Kholat as well.

One of the most unnerving locations in the game.

For a final conclusion, the game gave me three solid hours of tense, atmospheric gameplay. The horror was very gripping, music beautiful composed and a story that had me wanting more. Kholat can be purchased on Steam for £14.99. And as a whole, I give this game a 7/10.  

The Beginning of the beginning

So, it has been a while, little blog. Once again I am very sorry to neglect you for such a long time. I can assure you it is not your fault. You are a good little diary. One that tolerates my madness and strife and wishes nothing more than to make my life more organised and sensible.

On that topic then, I have some good news.

As part of my new life-change. I have committed myself to writing an entry into this diary every day.

This blog will become my proper journal, filled with my thoughts and feelings on the course of my life. I have always intended this to happen when I first created this blog but the slow decline in my writing and the lack of self-confidence to publish even the smallest of sentences meant that I had immediately push down on the brakes before even starting the engine.

So, let’s get the ball rolling.

Today is my second to last day off my current job. I have to work this evening till 11pm, head home, catch a few Z’s before returning promptly at 6:30 to start the early shift. To be honest, these kind of shifts are frustrating as hell, simply because the pressure you are under in order to get some rest so you can be fresh and ready for the next morning. This never works out for me, I am too much of a worrier. I worry whenever I step away from the job, knowing that the smallest thing can derail the entire thing for me the next morning. Thankfully, nine times out of ten, this is never the case. But it does happen.

Anyway.

I have been spoilt rotten by the chef here this evening. He’s such a sweet guy. I’m gonna miss him when I go, but I have to remind myself of a simple fact. It is not goodbye, it is simply ‘Catch ya laters.’

I hate goodbyes, the finality of it all. Sometimes whenever I see someone go, I know that somewhere down the path I work, I’ll see them again. And everything will be as it should be. But then, all I have to do in the mean time is think about all the fun and excitement I’ve had with them and that’s enough to make me realise that I was lucky to have met someone like them.

Funny how people react differently to that kind of behaviour.  

And just like that...

Seriously, I devote time and energy into a blog post that I want to share with people in the world. And then I go and forget all about it and come back a month later and think to myself, FFS why didn't I continue on with that?

Well. Fuck it. I am still being very healthy. I haven't been to the gym since yesterday mind you, and that was kind of intimidating. Isn't it strange for a gay man to be VERY intimidated when he goes to a place where strong, sweaty and handsome men work out and look amazing? Weird, right?


Then again. I have a problem with men in general.

Men are assholes realistically.

90% of all the men I know in my life are bastards. They either care nothing about me or use me to get everything that they want and then forget that I exist. It's no surprise that I get on a lot better with women.

I read in an article a while ago describing about the social standing and emotional outcome of a child who grows up with no strong father/male role-model. In the short answer to this statement, it's not very good. They either become very aggressive to compensate for the loss of authority or revert into a form of passive behavior.


Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm just writing some bullshit here. Not like anyone will read it anyway.