First
Exception - Double Action Trigger
Emile Henderson was born at 7:30pm on the 28th day
of June, in the year 1995 in Rose Hospital, Denver.
Emily Hanover was born at 7:30pm on the 28th day
of June, in the year 1995 in Rose Hospital, Denver.
Twelve days before their collective birthday, they
meet for the first time properly in Roswell, New Mexico. At their first
meeting, Emile wears a navy blue shirt and black jeans. Emily wore a black
blouse and blue jeans.
On the day of their collective birth, elsewhere in
the world, Emily’s grandfather would pull three people from a burning building,
while Emile’s grandfather was killed when he fell asleep a lit cigarette in
between his teeth.
Each has a birthmark in the shape of a triangle,
Emile’s just below his right eye, Emily’s on her left pinky toe.
Does fate ever feel a sense of irony, or is it
simply chance and circumstance? Are these two so drawn together by birth and
life and (eventually, it may be presumed) death as simply a matter of that being
just how things go, or are deeper forces at work here, some driving engine,
some godly ulterior motive?
When each were sixteen they, unbeknownst to each
other, passed each other heading down E470 between Denver and its International
Airport, her on her way home from a trip to see for one last time a dying
childhood friend, moved now to somewhere warm to pass quietly from this earth,
he on his way to witness the birth of his uncle’s first child. As their cars
passed each other, they looked out the windows at the exact same moment, and
saw each other separated by a median, and though they do not now remember it,
one moment amongst many, in this their fates were tied further, a second
meeting, beyond the nursery. Their souls, perhaps, drew to each other in that
moment of proximity, remembering fellow passengers on the bus from the beyond
to that hospital in a Denver now long gone.
In moments of ultimate life and death, what draws
these two together? For souls, as is well known by now, do not travel by bus,
but instead by idea and quiet words, the faintest suggestion of their very
existence, uttered forth only, at least in the case of rational men, in Final
Moments, caught in rainy neon-soaked back alleys, knife thrust quick between
ribs, and the soul, here, in these last words, these last, dying demands of
Something More, well here it truly travels.
Every woman who Emile has ever fallen in love with
(five, by his count) has been named Julia or Juliet or Juliane or something
similar. Is it Freudian? Or has the word itself simply run amok in his head, as
a virus?
But Emily, she too is prisoner to a name, for each
man she has loved (seven, maybe) has been named James, Jamie, or Jay. Does this
then further indicate a binding of their souls? Or is maybe the suggestion of a
virus more correct, some mold spore breathed in together in that nursery now
leading to life choices just one slight variable off each other?
By whatever means the two were drawn so similar,
we can presume so too that they were somehow destined to meet in the way they
did, when they did. And from this, we can also presume that it was natural that
from their first meeting they would find it impossible now to break away from
each other, tied at the waist, by friendship or some deeper force of nature.
This is not a love story. Rather, it is the story
of two people whose souls were somehow intermingled, aspects of humanity
forgotten by God in one, overcompensated for in the other, so that, when they
met and combined their respective lives and intellect, they became something
far greater than the individual, instead molecular and spiritual
simultaneously, a perfect devotion that holds past the end of Something, on
through the end of Everything, right down until the great so-called Gods that
exist just beyond our plane of understanding, creatures of dark matter or pure
light, depending who you ask, will study this bond forevermore as a sigil, in
amongst our world of hate and violence, of something good to stand long past
the fall of our greatest symbols of Civilization.
No comments:
Post a Comment