A Bildungsroman, Abridged

The first ever choose your own story received a record breaking ONE suggestion! Yes readers that is right, one of you rose from the circle and shouted out a yarn they were ready to have spun! And I shall appease; or at least make an effort. That being said, at the conclusion of this post, be sure to leave comments with your suggestions! Not a follower on the blog? That's okay! It only takes a gmail account to join! Also, this week's suggestion came via facebook; that means, if we are friendsies on fb, you can submit requests there as well! But, I'd like to add, I would very much appreciate if you'd at least consider joining the blog, because I just want to know you care :)
NOW, without any more shameless plugging, I present A Bildungsroman, Abridged



It's truly amazing looking back on one's life and deciphering the paths which led to your current destination. Doubt was my constant companion through the journey. As far back as I can remember it's always been present; perhaps not active, but at least presiding.

As a child, I distinctly recall always being confused; and now through reflection, I realize that what I mistook for perplexity was only a need for sense. It was the worlds fault. Nothing seemed right, nothing seemed the way I expected or wanted it to be. My mother would regale me with stories of the past.
"Well you see, my love," she'd say to me, "when your father and I, were neigh but children ourselves, a great evil was committed. There was a man, who terrorized London; the bobbies where calling him Jack the Ripper, because of the vile ways he would ravage his female victims. The entire city was terrified by the man from his earliest mutilations. But despite curfews and patrols the the deaths were unyielding. At the time no one knew there was any type of scheme happening; simply the evils of a lunatic. With his ninety-ninth victim, the seceret behind the atrocities were revealed; the murders had all been committed in accordance to a heathen blood ritual. It was through these sacrifices that darkness was given a physical presence, not just here in England, but across the world. Evils' which plagued the human mind were no longer metaphysical fears, but tangible beings. Death was everywhere the night it happened, and still is; but now we have learned how to avoid it. Darkness comes with the night and flees with the day. We need but avoid the night, and keep the fire of our village always burning and we shall be spared."

"But why do we live in darkness to avoid it mother?"

"That's simple child. The world above belongs to these evils. We remain under the ground to avoid there wrath, for they take offense to all whom roam in the day."

"But father is on the surface during the day!" I'd respond, overcome with fear for him.

"Yes he is; but your father provides a duty which must be done. Do not be scared for he is safe. You need but lead a life of righteousness, do what the village requires, and banish all evils away from your heart."

"But..."

But no matter what I followed with, the answers were always the same, "You will begin to understand when your older."

My age never clarified the questions I asked her; it only led to more uncertainty.

At the ripe age of seven it was finally time for my apprenticeship with my father. My seventh birthday; a milestone toward adulthood, and the my first encounter with the surface.

" 'cited about your first visit up top?" he asked me while I handed him the pitchfork through the man hole.

"Oh yes father! I've always wanted to see the surface!"

" 'aha!" he laughed, "bet you'll be singin' a diff'rnt tune by the end of the day!"

He took the reins of his cart, much like the one we had in the sewer, and led me through the derelict streets of above. I don't know why I expected the surface to be vibrant and beautiful. The tales of the streets were always foreboding and eerie. Regardless,I found myself deeply saddened by the sight when I first experienced it. Beautiful feats of architecture and engineering, which seemed to die once abandoned. Though it wasn't what one might consider razed, it was clear that any attempts to preserver, maintain or advance aesthetics had fled with the former residents.

" 'ere's the first stiff. Why don't you 'andle it? I's about your size?" his question pulled diverted my attention from one sorrow to a greater one. The first body I ever encountered, to which it was my father's duty to collect, was a young girl; not a day over five, yet still brutally slaughtered.

"Well? W'at are you waitin' for? Pick 'er up and throw 'er in the cart!"

A numb went through me as I adhered to a code driven into my being, "always do what the village needs of you." Her cold rigid body, frightened me as I lifted it with all of my might. Rigomortis made walking the most difficult task I had ever performed. Her unmoving legs, colliding into mine, while I tried to carry her. When I was near the cart, my strength and dexterity abandoned me and gravity finally prevailed over the duel between our legs. With balance lost I fell to the ground and landed upon the cold, wet corpse I'd been carrying. As I lifted myself, found blood was not the only liquid on my face, tears were pouring down my face.

My father laughed. And through his hysterics he drove the pitchfork into her chest and hurled the body onto the corpse.

" C'mon, there's still plenty more."

He didn't ask me retrieve anymore of the bodies that day; I simply followed and observed. As the cadavers piled upon the cart, I found myself still questioning the young girl.

"Father?" I asked, "Mother said the darkness only prey's upon evil people."

"And it's so."

"But that little girl; how could she have been evil?"

"Is that w'as been bot'ering you then? Well, i's simple; she's was a surface dweller. The world above, belongs to darkness."

"But, then why are we up here collecting people whom are evil?"

"Now tha's a silly question. If we don't collect the bodies and burn 'em they will rise up and bring darkness upon us. Our ever burin' fire repels the physical darkness, but it won't do much to a reanimated corpse."

"I still don't understa..."

I never was able to elaborate because he grabbed my wrist and started yelling, "Look, you don't 'ave to understand everything. And you better get that! Your refusal to accept the order of thing's breeds evil and discontent. And no child of mine is going to ruin life for our village! Got it?"

I didn't; but at that moment the only thing I feared more than the darkness was his wrath, so I nodded my head in compliance.

When we returned to our subteranean abode before dusk, and loaded our haul onto the fire, I resolved to stop bothering my family with my doubt. I felt if I just accepted what they said, then perhaps I could aquire there solace.

Years of silence yielded no solitude. As I debated internally I found I understood less and less. When I was thirteen I encountered an epiphany so startling, I didn't know if I could truly believe it. I was still apprenticing as a corpse collector with my father. The day had seemed routine enough. With pitchfork in hand, I gathered the remains of people while he towed the vessel of their conveyance.

" Oy! Loo' at the lil' workers' roun'ing up their masters trophies!" The statement came from a living corpse. It was the first time I had ever come into contact with living person from the surface; in the last six years I had been given no reason to believe people actually lived above, aside from what seemed to be a never ending supply of bodies.

"Why don't you jus' shut the 'ell up lady! You chose damnation!"

"Oh, your so self righteous in fron' of the lil' one aren't you!"

"Bah! Ignore her my child; this is the world of sin the surface breeds."

"If i's a sin to be 'uman an' not just 'onor evil, I will always be a sinner."

My father dropped the reins and wretched the pitchfork from my hands, before accosting the woman.

"Quie' you lyin' w'ore! If you don't go back in your 'ovel I will stick you an' add you to my cart!"

She smiled at us and turned away. My father gave me back the pitchfork and began to draw the cart.

"Father?" I began.

"No! Don't you dare ask me about anything that evil woman said! She's an evil surface dweller!"

I chose not to press the matter upon him, but now my doubt began to flourish. I couldn't shake the words she had spoken. It seemed to me as if we were accused of being the evil ones. As if our civilization was the affront to humanity.

After dinner that night, when I was able to gain a moment alone with my mother, I recounted the story of the day too her. Her reaction to my questions affirmed that my answers would have to wait two more years; for no sooner had I finished than she brought her hand across my lips and yelled, "Do not ever speak of such hersay again!"

I was distraught. It seemed the more I yearned for enlightenment, the more hostility I faced. I couldn't understand what I was doing wrong by wanting to understand. When I was fifteen, answers came in a way I had never prepared for.

While out on a routine collection with my father, the day had remained overcast. The clouds had choosen to set a dreary background for the dilapated city. A storm was forming and the clouds were becoming darker; without realizing the time we hadn't even begun the trek home until dusk was setting.

That's when I saw it. A shadow, which seemed to stretch from no where. Its form indisinguishable as it turned to vapor and some manner of form.

"Hello my servants."

It spoke to us and though it had no features with which to identify its target, it was clear we were the intended recipients of its orration.

" 'Ello darkone," My father responded, while words failed me.

"Awfully late for you to be out collecting for us isn't it?"

" T'is because of the storms sir; we di'nt know what time 'twas."

"Is that so? Are you certain, you weren't plotting with the top dwellers?"

"Never sir! These fool's 'ave chosen their fates. We were simply honoring your wishes."

The words pierced my very core. My doubt was qualified. It was clear to me the dangers behind my questions.

"Ah, but our wishes are for you to remain underground when we walk."

"I know sir."

"Do you? Then you have chosen your fate as well."

"But..."

I never knew what my father's rebutle was intended to say; before he had the chance to articulate, the wraith had lanced through his chest.

I ran. I knew not where too, nor why even but I ran. Away from the cart. Away from the darkness. Away from my dying father. Away from the sewer. As my feet carried me I heard the sounds of his body being shredded. The wet plops of severed meat falling to the ground. Shadows were stirring. Everywhere around me, the darkness was moving. I was crying. It was raining. I still don't know which happened first.

Ducking into the first open door I saw, I continued to run. There was a light at the end of the hallway. Pausing to breathe I looked to the direction I had come from. A formless mass was advancing. With renewed vigor from fear, I pushed toward the light shinning from below the door jam. My hands pouned against the wooden frame. My voice shrieked for sanctuary.

The door opened and golden candlelight poured out. As I fell into the room, I was caught by a set of arms; arms that pulled me into the light, and slammed the door behind me. They were the arms of an elderly man. The arms that lay me on the floor, as exhaustion pressed  me to sleep.

When I awoke I found I had crashed into a completely differnet form of living. The populace of the topworld. An entire civilization of people refusing to be driven underground. A society unwilling to be bullied.

I rarely spoke. I never explained my origins. They accepted me none the less, but it was I who couldn't accept them.

Any trade I knew wasn't applicable to there shell of existence. They did not gather the dead. They did not burn their  dead. They simply lived.

I spent many days and nights listening to the stories told over drinks. Hearing about the other above world communities all over the world. Learning about those whom had parlayed with the darkness, and ultimatly served it, in order to be spared of it.

More doubt. Serving the darkness had not spared my father and blatatlntly disrespecting it, as living on the surface did, merely prolonged its conquest over one's self. Life was wrong. It was not what it was meant to be.

My refusal to conform to the choices before me, ultimately left me osterized. My inability to contribute, my total silence, resulted with the top society which had accepted me to begin and resent me.

I had to leave but I couldn't return underground. I needed currency and I needed to find other's and expierence there perspective.

It was nearly six months after I had become a burden when I found my opportunitiy. The resident carpenter had lost himself in tumblers of brandy, while regailing listeners with his tales. When the audiences' attention waned, the speaker took the opportunity to fall asleep upon the nearest table. My chance. Casually I strode next to the sleeping orator and removed a sactchel of coins from his belt. Hiding the prize inside my garmnets I retreaded to the bed I had been given and waited until moring, when I immediatley left the community to find another.

This was my life. For six years I performed this. Finding a new assembly. Staying with it, while never joining. Stealing from it's inhabitants so I could one day abadon them as the others before. It's sad to think about it, but I feel its was good for me. It affirmed my doubt. No longer was my quest for understanding shunned; I could gain information and I had no one to justify my actions too.

Until my doubt redirected inward. I was on my way through Wales when I encoutnered a father and son performing the same duty I had aheared to with my own father. During my time on the surface I had never witnessed a corpse rise. The very reason I was told our job must be done was something I never expierenced. I approached the duo.

"Excuse me sir," I said.

"We seek no trouble from you top dweller," the father said to me.

"Nor I with you sir. I simply would like to know why you gather these bodies?"

The son fielded the response to my surprise. "We gather them to burn. The smoke of their corpses is our sacrifice to the darkness, so it will not steal us away."

I was amazed. This child understood more about its culture than I did until I abandoned mine.

"I see..."

"Now before you try an' convert us to living uptop," the father spoke before I could continue, "we know the evils of either choice, but we simply want to live rather than stir the pot."

"This may be brash of me, but could I perhaps return to your village with you?"

"No. I'm sorry, but we'd be banished ourselves for such an act."

I nodded in acceptance, "I understand. Thank you for your time and good luck to you."

This encounter made me understand. The people uptop were no different from those below. People just wanted to survive; as I had just wanted to survive. The lines distinguishing right and wrong had been skewed by humanities will to continue. The cultures, the societies, the lives that I had refused to accept, were the same as me. For the first time doubt had led me to certainty. I knew what I had to do.

Every culture shared a legend. There was a physical tether which bound darkness to the world. A tangible object which had come into existence through the blood sacrifices. I had to steal this tailsman, in order for society to set down its differences and unite to live, I would have to strike against the darkness.

I proposed my plan to the abover's in Wales. They gaffed at me, but more importantly they doubted me. I was not detered. I spent the entire next day looking for the local corpse collectors; the father and son whom had been pivotal to my decision. They disregarded me, becasue they too doubted me.

According to legend, the anchor to the physical realm existed within all darkness at once. The task seemed simple; I needed but find a wraith and use my nimble skills of theft to remove the tether

When night fell my opportunity came. A shadowy smoke was meandering through the streets. My hiding place behind a heap of barrels seemed sound; for I wasn't noticed. Slyly I left my vantage and skulked behind my foe. Inching closer, until I could lightly waft my hand through it.

Inside the smoke my fingers wrapped around some manner of precious stone. Carefully, I removed the object from the creature. It was as if the very blood which corses through our veins had solidifed into this mass. The legend was true. My doubt had ultimatly led me to hope.

The shadow was not pleased to find it had been robbed. From somewhere within its for a scythe lashed out and into my chest.

I feel the crimsion life force draining from my body but still my hand clutches the gem.

"Give it back to me!!" the beast screams.

Still I am silent. It shakes me off and onto the ground.

"RETURN IT TO ME!!!"

Doubt is with me again, but this time its comforting; for it is not mine. I understand my fate. I will die, with this rock in my hands. Perhaps, the darkness can't retrieve the tailisman themselves. Even if they can my body will stay where it has fallen. Either the corpse collectors or the top dwellers will find me; their doubt in me confirmed, will hopefully breed new doubts within them; doubts that will lead them to find hope and reclaim life, as it did for me.

"RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHH!!" the shadow screams while lashing a claw toward my face.