Excerpt - The Point (Working Title)

Yesterday, my husband and I had a discussion about religion. He wanted to know why Christians took the Torah and made it a part of their bible. He wanted to know why they couldn't create their own old testament without using the Torah as the foundation.

As he asked me these questions, I thought, why does it matter? The bottom line should be the traits that bring us together - the similarities - not the nuances that tear us apart. It's one of the things I dislike about organized religion; and although, according to statistics, it's normal to belong to an organized religion, it's one of the normal activities I choose not to partake in despite my strong belief in God.

Initially, I was a Muslim (as a child), then my mother went to Seven Day Adventists, then Baptists. I think she was searching for an answer that maybe she has found now. So, I have been in a slew of religions. My husband, although he has identified with Judaism, does not practice it.

Being exposed to so much religion has given me a holistic perspective, in my opinion, of how we view each other as spiritual creatures. I have also studied to be a deacon, so this has given me the intellectual basis to support my spiritual beliefs (religion is more of a science than most people know). So, having said all that, I was well prepared for this conversation we were having. I tried to explain that according to the bible, Jesus was Jewish - so why wouldn't Christians take the life lessons from the Torah and incorporate them with the New Testament to create the bible? To eliminate the Torah would be like eliminating Isaac Newton from Physics texts. Although the ideas of Isaac Newton seem arcane, the study of the science behind gravity is still a fundamental building block to the complex ideas of today, like Stephen Hawking’s worm-hole theory. Perhaps you don't want your religion associated with my religion, if you take the Holy Scripture as the truth, you cannot deny the Torah its rightful place in the bible.

I am sure I can make a better argument for my point than this (get it, The Point??), but I promised you an excerpt from my novel. If you would like a more academic discussion of religion, I suggest you visit Dead Theologians. [Random Mention: My blog entry, All That Ever Was, is noted at webzine The Bill Zucker News on Sunday, February 27th, 2011]. . .

The Point (Chapter 1 Excerpt)

He crossed the shale crusted shore half a mile from The Point and slipped soundlessly into the cool water. The only evidence of penetration a few benign ripples rolling towards mainland. He swam with strength - speed and grace despite the adrenaline coursing through him causing his heartbeat to thrum in his chest. The swim was a mile and a half of bliss. The water was a dark silent body surrounding him, a perfect match to his murky soul. He imagined how he must look, a gleaming white human torpedo glowing with moonlight steadily heading towards mainland.

He couldn't help but grin at the vignette he'd left behind for discovery. He couldn't help but feel a little more complete and he ached for the day he would be whole, yet he had patience. He wanted to savor every ounce of misery, terror and humiliation he could produce in her. His eyes squinted with the emotional pain of memories that he worked so long and hard for years on end to escape - much more - forget. But soon it would be over. He felt a wave of calm wash over him. As he glimpsed the full moon, he identified with its singular solitude and felt a solidarity that he found when he reflected on outsiders, single ones, lonely ones. For the moon was lonely in spite of the sun, because of the sun, vulnerable to its heat and glare. Nude, as he was now. He watched the oncoming shoreline and thought it held a placid state that only a warm summer night could induce.

He headed towards one of the last remaining untouched pieces of shore, wild with trees, bushes, groundcover, and underbrush. In his current condition he could appreciate it all. He drank it in like he never would have before his metamorphosis.

Once he reached his destination he started towards a tree, taped to which was a plastic bag containing keys, overalls, a short shaggy wig, a matching mustache, a baseball cap and work boots. He dressed quickly, but was sure that nothing was out of place. He strolled through the woods hoping to reach his home without being spotted. Although he wore a disguise, he'd just as soon be invisible.

The trip home was uneventful and cleansing. Once he reached the back of the house he rented, he climbed the steps to the back porch and opened the screen door, he unlocked the beat up solid wood door and entered the stifling innards of his "home". He shed his disguise immediately, went to the basement, and threw it all into an old tin tub and watched it burn.

Oh, how shocked she was! Oh, how terrified! At her first view of him from the top of the stairs, the realization hadn't come. Her eyes were heavy with sleep - her body was limp with exhaustion and when she processed the scene before her? Her brows furrowed in hopeful disbelief, her lips began to tremble, slowly at first and then with increasing rapidity they began quivering. "I knew where she would go. . . I knew she would try to hide.", through the smile dancing on his face these whispers came. "ohhh, hmmmm, knowing she was watching me the whole time, hmmmm - That fuckin' biiiittccchh!", a roar enveloped the darkness surrounding him. It covered him like a blanket and comforted him. He stirred the burning remains of his costume with a long ago broken broom handle, ". . that fuckin' bitch. . ."

Whispers filled the air in a steady coherent stream of madness, "i know, i know. . .i will always be broken. . .no matter how much glue, the cracks will always show. . it will never change - GOD has made me. . . i am justified, I must be justified. Why? Why did it have to be this way? so much to give and so much to take. . ." He rocked back and forth in his skin on a tiny three footed rusty stool watching the fire as his joy once again slipped away. She would stay for the memorial services and return to New York for the funerals. He would follow her back. He would watch. He would hate. Then, he would take out his vengeance on whomever.

I hate the character names, so any suggestions would be welcome. Also, I appreciate criticism, even if I don't always implement the advice. :)

The excerpt I wanted to include is gruesome and a bit amateurish so. . .you got the above :) Maybe one day I'll be brave enough to expose it, but not today. . .

Tomorrow, Fighting The Crabs (The ones you eat). . .