Nigrim Puer et Dark et Eius Mammouth - The Black [~] Dark Boy and His Mammoth by The Roman Memoir - HTML preview

Chapter 32- The return from war

I was just another soldier until I was given my leave from my service. When I arrived home, she was waiting for me, wrapped in a gown of my choosing, along with her dogs that had moved into my house. It had been twilight since the day we met. I had my documents in hand and the thought of going back into service was not an option. The country was in turmoil and day by day, people were abandoning their education in pursuit of good employment. Since the 86

country just left a way, companies were hiring citizens left and right, along with illegal immigrants. The democratic establishment didn’t tell apart nor distinguish based on credentials since they needed humans to work the land. The borders of the country were being penetrated from the south, and laborers poured into the city in search for a better life daily. I hated the climate since it was constantly changing but the fact that I had met someone who could possibly be a friend to stick with me through the cold times appealed to me greatly. I enjoyed my own company, much more than I loved to exercise outside my house.

I prevailed above all others in training. I loved the heat of the moment, the tables turning on my side as the strength of my arms grew, the assignments we were given were finished with ease in class. I was a good person at heart and longed for the constant affection of a human near me, telling me they loved me. I wanted someone to shape me into a person that was sort of a family guy. I had all the raw materials. I was educated, I was a person of character, and most of all, I was thoroughly educated in the ways of free men. The idea of abusing my rights through subjugating other humans for my service didn’t appeal to me much. Constantly, the city called my name at night, and the whispers of the dim sunset by my door, was the topping of my day.

Much like a Turkish delight, when the evening rolled around, I enjoyed the taste of the cold breath on my neck while I sat outside and read the evening news. My first love was drawing. I found her lurking around the corners. She was hiding from the daylight since no one would look at smile. She was looking for someone to be pleased with her and one lonely 87

evening, she came to my door and asked me for my name. She was the first liberal education that took my breath away. She was the naughty daughter of the peasant preacher, the protestant wife’s child who loved to be shrewd and talk naughty words in your ear. My heart sought after her. I lingered around the break of dawn, right when the sun would rise just to feel her, and when she walked to me like a bright idea, her delight took me by surprise and the way she called my name was that of a person that loved who I am. Since the moment I met her, I no longer thought about my previous duties. I started letting her undress me in character, and the taste of her whip made me feel closer to her than the wounds my father laid on me when I was a child. She was bittersweet yet the more I spent time with her, I loved her presence.

With the stroke of my pen, I was her husband. With the stroke of my pen, I was her bright sunshine rising in the morning to take her out on a date. Before the sun said goodbye at the end of the day, after the birds chirped no more, she lingered with me, in thought, helping me find the best of myself. When the moon was way up in the sky, when the sky was beaming with starlight and people wanted to gaze at them in delight, she was in my bed with me, keeping me happy away from the drama of the population. She was never my freedom, neither was she, my liberty.

When I was delighted with her, it was often because I wanted to be her subject and gave her my time. I gave her the best that I could, and with every effort, I was rewarded with good art. To this day, I do not think I believe in freedom or liberty much. Oftentimes, in search of one, we as persons lose a government. Freedom in a sense becomes useless, because if I wanted to be free, I would have to leave her alone and go far far away into a distant land where the stroke of the brush has never been seen, or the slight movement of the pen has never been used, like an 88

employment at your local grocery store. More often than not, when I was myself in a position of employment, looking to earn money, I found myself free and away from her. More often than not, when I wanted freedom, the only paths I could take were going for a drive, or going to the beach somewhere just for the sake of going to a beach. The more I sought freedom, the more I was away from her. Pretty soon her attraction was kind of growing on me, I wanted to be her subject all the time. I wanted to be by her side whenever I could and started to make the time for it. In return, her rewards were great. Eventually, I started to realize that liberty worked quite in the same way. The more I found liberty, I wanted to administer it to other humans all across the community. In constant advocacy for liberty, I was also moving away from her again. The papers were looking empty by the day and the work was not getting done. In constant struggle to make time for her, I realized liberty itself was another problem that needed to be dealt with.

Distracted I may have been, and the sweet taste of liberty on the top of the tongue although oftentimes the best feeling of them all, the liberation was anti-affection. I was not able to fully give her my time. I think there were points where I wished I was by her side when I was not yet the nature of freedom and liberty is very appealing. They are basic requirements. They should be something everyone has from the beginning. They are the basic wants of human beings that exist from birth. They are by your side at all times. I do not think they should be the central point of any political campaign. There are no feelings nor are there any points of passion to follow when it comes to liberty and freedom. I think more often than not, they are identical in practicality.

They exist in nature, untouched yet as a result of their value, they become a distracting point for 89

any artist, and especially in my case, a lover. The divine being that she is, I believe she has more to give than anyone can ever achieve.

Much like a family member, it was then she introduced me to her sister, painting. If drawing and painting were the protagonists of the story, then freedom and liberty would be the antagonists of the story. When painting and I met, she was dressed in all white, her canvas was shining like the twinkling gleam in the north star. Much like the morning sun, I rose early in the morning to meet her. She introduced me to all of her children, for she had many. Their names all together were colors. Her children were delightful and soon enough, I grew closer to her favorite child, red. Red and I started most of our work together. Whenever I wanted to travel large distances, or (wanted to create a masterpiece (in the normal nature of the language of painting)), I often started the journey with Red. Red was sort of majestic in nature. He was her favorite child because she would tell me how hard it was for her to speak well on behalf of her well beloved son. He was not well kept nor was he the best at making his voice heard. He liked to conquer but his dormant nature often needed an accomplice. I tended to be that person who gave Red his time of day. I think since painting demanded more of my time than drawing, I had to prepare long moments before the canvas, the oil and the colors were ready. The conversations had to be ready.

The time we spent with each other was among my favorite because once I left my first love, painting was just around the corner, waiting for me to warm her with my tough tales. My stories started with serious and ominous tones. I tell her about the ambitions I have and in return, I get a panorama of a city I would rule over. I tell her about the long distance I traveled to get to her house, the narrow roads carved with precision and dark corners crossed through fear, after which I get rewarded with realities brought out from the darkness.

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With her and the children, we made characters that I could expand on to make a different reality where a life lived by the individual is one that I could afford since there was no restriction in finances. The imaginary nature of the other realms was quite appealing. The character can spend as much money as he likes and go wherever he could go. He could change into any clothing He wanted. The persons can own any private object, and they could have natures that were not from the earth we were living in. The ability to create stories mystified me. Her willingness to be help me make anything I wanted, and bring out the ideas that were stuck in my head made me smile more than the sparkling lights in the dew of the rain on a hot summer day.

We liked the conversations beforehand, in which the actions that followed were of the quiet nature. The preparation, although required, put us in a little bit of heat, the fruits that we ate were kind of tasty. My imagination grew stronger. The compassion I had for other humans improved, and the knowledge of their nature, the fragility of the species also seemed to become clear. When I spent time painting, the nature of planet earth, and the restrictions that were there for the human species became less vivid. Humans can’t fly, but with painting by your side, you can give them wings they can use to take to the air, and in this particular moment, I gave the wings to myself.