The Amazing Story

By Craig Hayes II

He started with a thought.

Starting with a thought that got him thinking.

Thinking so he began tinkering. Tinkering with what he had. And this was the beginning.

The sole. He started building. And a sole turned a pair. Solely meant for this project. And at the core, there was an essence of soul.

Mind, will, and emotions this was something | something special | somethin soulful

Cause his mind needed a path to tread and his will was driven by emotions running low on fuel offroad became the street turn back

See it's not easy

To walk this creation. Of sin and mercy among the monsters and men

-turn back-

Men and monsters

On this street walking as monster among man

Trying to walk in mercy and sin can he not see the creation of his own two feet?

See, his story, this story that he was out walking

He is searching for a new start

His soul was what he was fighting for in the beginning

But tinkering began he so thinking and thinking got him a thought

And with a thought started He of

-turning back-

Now enter the mind of this project

Who is looking for a rubric to follow

That does not simply fall hollow

He can’t swallow

His pride and his sadness His shrine of short-falledness My… sorry

This is not about me

But it is for him, with the monsters in his closet with the costumes in his drawers and the shadows under his skins

Peeling away at his self esteem and his courage

This is for him who is looking for a way back and

Remember, they hate people like him, people like that, people with that

Eventually, see, that’s funny,

He always believed that eventually he would be discovered, he would be found but you know how that goes and

Believing he was

Justified by his silence and his absence he was the

Equivalent of Zim to the planet Earth, to Krypton’s last son in Metropolis, Hank Pym to Cross Industries and a stable mind and the Wanda’s of his spiraling ego push it to the Max “I’m Off” my rocker”

The limit has been pushed

And a Quicksliver of hope would be useful but

He really wants a Retcon ‘cause that quicksilver has died too many times for too many stupid reasons and I don’t like the movies screwing up my

Comic continuity… sorry

This is not about me…

It’s about him. He wants to find a way back

A way back to… the silence

When snakes did not hide within grass fields

And wolves pastures, when beast and man knew control/ a moral compass

When the nightmares were simply imagined within the landscape of the mind

And the magnitude of character came first

And when the fire of my heart, my ego was not snuffed out like the dying light

And something is choking the vine

Something is killing the garden

The tombs are being filled Born on a Monday

And this is the death of the Mind Of his Will Of my Emotions

I want to come back but He thinks that he is the only one left

Elijah Complex and I, I mean He, is descending off a cliff

Of despair but…

This is for Him, who stares into a mirror every morning and sees a tomb and a rotting corpse

Who’s only friend of imagination is self hate

Who sees reality and sees the putrid annoyance of love and of the mistake that is life

And sees nothing but bait for a goldfish

To stupid to realize the that no one loves him but tries over and over again to obtain it

And again and again realizes that

No one cares

See This is the death of the mind

Broken on a Monday

Corrected on a Tuesday

Marveled on a Wednesday

Trampled on a Thursday and grew worse on a Friday

Driven mad on a Saturday

And buried on a Sunday

This is the tale of a soul Solomon Grundy

It wants to find a way back

He wants to turn back

I WANT A PATH BACK... to before then

To before the noise

To before the voices that told me that they were they disease

To before the stages, the faces

To before the hatred

From before… Before I lost my mind

Before I lost my humanity

My clarity

Before I found my insanity

This is the death of him

And Lord knows He deserved it

He lost himself, yeah, yeah, I hate people like them

You could never count on them you couldn’t count on their love, their kindness their devotion

They always left you they were the ones who talked behind your back

And… And they....

No no no it… it was him

He is the reason why…

He is the reason

Behind every goodbye

And he is the reason… they ruined everything!

And there it is...

He, They, there have always been four fingers pointing back

And now we are back to fourth grade

When the idea of love was still overshadowed by Pokemon and Bayakugan

When exchanging was our trade and we were too innocent to know

The brutality of reality and its cruel game of long proportions

Now we are back in sixth grade

When we found self worth in our looks in our reflections

And the voices that were unleashed in silence

This is where it started

And now I am in ninth grade

When the destruction that was broken friendships made itself real to me

After I discovered the trinity

Anger, seclusion, and apathy

I’m in twelfth grade

And it’s all coming back to me

How it was before I ran away from responsibility and my Jezebels

When loving my neighbor was more than a tedious fantasy

When innocence was in my repertoire

And you’re right… I am the reason

That whenever I look at them I see traitors

That every time I look at my reflection I see a failure

It is my fault that

I never could face my illusions fear toxin

And I could always count on one hand the number of times I was honest with myself

And I can’t blame anyone else

And so the glass shatters

See, this is the death of a reflection

Of an image

Of a scapegoat

No more hiding

No more pretending

No more faces

This is the amazing story

A story not of the supernatural

A depiction not of the eternal

But of the danger of blame and of introverted emotions

The danger of silence

The danger of thinking but not speaking

Of unreconciled hate and bruised self image

Of failure and begging

Of someone who is desperate for redemption amongst the weeds of his seemingly meaningless life dying in the shadow of a reflection

This is the life of an imperfect mind

He started with a thought. A thought that got him thinking

Thinking that he could be something more despite his actions

So he ended his irrational fear of self and of “Them” and of “him”

And every morning he looks in the mirror and all he sees is The Tomb

Out of which He was raised and the rotting corpse that is absent

And the spotted, blemished corpse that was once his soul

This is not perfection. Nor is it a manifestation of my anger.

This is an example. Of a fall from grace.

This is the tale of a dead man

Fallen Creation,

Brought to life on the first day

Chastened on the Second

Malevolent throughout the third

Treacherously rebellious after the fourth

Redeemed despite the fifth

Offered an opportunity on the sixth

And all will be revealed on the seventh

So was the tale of a soul, of the Fallen Creation

-turn back-