stirdgit
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Jun 5, 2005
- Messages
- 89
Inside, the small mobile home stood as a perfect parallel to its owner; disheveled, squalid, dark, random. And John did not even want to try identifying the smell emanating from the kitchen.
“Have a seat, please, have a seat.” Virgil suggested, pointing to what appeared a large pile of filthy clothes.
John approached, apprehensively knelt down, and saw that there was indeed a chair underneath the pile.
“How have you been, John?” Virgil asked.
“Well. You?”
Virgil did not answer. Instead, he shot his gaze around the dark, mobile home, as if looking for something.
“Ok... So uh... what was so urgent?” John asked in his smooth, mellow voice.
Despite the darkness, John saw an unnerving expression on Virgil’s face, and he couldn’t begin to explain it. Was it humor? Sarcasm? A coy little smile? Whatever, it was extremely out of place. “Listen to me, John, listen good.” Virgil began, his eyes still blazing with the fires of psychosis. He paused but then began searching through the darkness, once again. After many moments, he pulled out a scrap piece of paper, upon which was written:
1 - AJS
2 - BKT
3 - CLU
4 - DMV
5 - ENW
6 - FOX
7 - GPY
8 - HQZ
9 - IR
“Have you ever seen one of these?” Virgil asked.
John shook his head in the negative.
“This is a... a uh... template for drawing up a Numerology chart. Pythagoras believed that anything and everything could be explained by numbers. You know that. I mean, we’re talking about Pythagoras here. We took several math classes together at CMU, I remember us studying...”
“Yeah... alright, I got it. What does this have to do with anything?” John asked, growing just a touch irate at the unbearable circumlocution, and realizing more and more that this was yet another of Virgil’s meandering theories.
“I have drawn up a few charts... actually, drawn up is probably not the proper way of saying it... actually there probably is a way that the Numerologists say it, but I don’t know what it is... or maybe I do and just forgot.... Anyway, the point is, I have done some charts.... dammit! I wish I could remember what the term is that they use...”
“Virgil! Get to the point!”
“Right. Listen... I have done a few charts... and they are very telling. Now before you get all bent out of shape on me and you know, start... getting pissy and skeptical, watch this.”
Virgil began scribbling feverishly on a separate piece of paper until yet another template had been made, along with the added bonus of John’s full name and a corresponding series of numbers above it.
“What you do,” Virgil began, “is you write down a name... as you can see, each letter of the alphabet has a corresponding number, up to nine... then you add up the numbers, and voila! You have a person’s personality right there before you. According to yours, you are kind of... flighty, creative, real head in the clouds kind of person. According to your name number, you should be in sales. And Ha Ha! You are! As far as flighty goes... well, you’re the only CMU graduate I know of who sells cars for a living. But wait there’s more! Check this out! Look, according to this, if I continue following the steps and adding up the numbers of your birthday, year... all of that, at the age of twenty seven you should have had a pinnacle in your life. Wasn’t that the age when you lost your job at Bayer?”
John shifted forward on his seat to gain a better vantage of the paper laying on the cluttered table. On it was his name, his birth date and a series of numbers, each adding up to another number that was then added to make yet another number. Above the numbers were thinly drawn lines that came together into triangles.
“In Numerology there are only two compound numbers: 11 and 22. The rest you add together to make a single number. For example, 21 would add up to be three. Two plus one is three. Get it?” Virgil frantically explained.
“Yeah. But what does this have to do with anything?”
“My good man, certainly you can see the validity of this age old method...”
“Not really, but I’m sure you have a point that requires my buying into it, so... go ahead.” John calmly said.
“But what about your name? Were you or were you not twenty seven when you lost your job at Bayer?”
“Yes, I was. I admit, it’s uh... it’s interesting. But, I think it’s a lot like Astrology. It can fit anyone. Had I not lost my job at Bayer at twenty seven, you could’ve easily made an argument for something else... some event that happened because events happen to everyone, during every year of their life.”
Virgil looked away in disgust and frustration. His lower jaw protruded; words appeared to get stuck behind his mouth just before coming out. Obviously, things were not going as Virgil had planned.
“Virgil, is there a point to all of this? I’m sorry but I don’t want a lesson on Numerology today.”
“I intend to show you, through this and many other things... oh and please do trust me, there are many other methods that I will use to prove my hypothesis, many, many more things other than just this... your mind will ache from the amount proof I offer and the many...”
“Virgil!” John stammered as he rose from his seat. He began pacing the filthy floor, being very careful not to disrupt any of the mounds of debris laying strewn about. “Virgil... listen, I’m sorry to have to say this but this is starting to sound like this past summer when you thought the Russians were responsible for the hurricanes. That isn’t what this is about, is it? Or something like that, because... listen, I am off today... you see, at work, things have been a bit stressful lately, but... I’ve managed to... get by, and.... I have twice as many cars out as anyone else. As a result, I have been given a very unexpected, and much needed day off. And I really don’t want to spend it talking about... conspiracies. I’m sorry.”
Again Virgil flashed that inexplicable expression. Cynicism? Condescension? What the hell was it?
“This is not about anything like that. This is about the End Days.” Virgil finally said.
“The end days. The apocalypse?” John asked, trying not to loose his temper, trying desperately to remind himself that this friend had lost his parents only three years ago, and had not yet recovered from the shock.
“Yes. And... if you will just give me a little time, I will prove it to you. And you will see. Trust me. You will see.”
John had stopped pacing now. He stood perfectly motionless, allowing the thoughts in his head to run their course, feeling the rising tides of anger sweeping over the shore. He would not succumb to it, however. He would allow the anger to pass, even though it was his day off, even though he had traveled for over forty-five minutes just to hear this; he would not blow up at his friend. Besides, part of his anger was due to the un-original idea that had brought him this far. He had come to expect more from Virgil; usually a very creative, albeit paranoid, conspiracy theorist. This was not up to snuff, was in fact extremely contrived and... well, un-original. He couldn’t be too angry when really, he had only decided to entertain the theory for purposes of humor.
“I have to be honest,” John began, feeling the urge of truth moving through him, “I expected a little more.”
“More than the End Days?” Virgil exclaimed. “How can there be more than that?”
“Well, Virg... it’s uh... it’s pretty common for... you know, people to assume that the end times are here. They’ve been saying that since the... well, since the beginning times.”
“You don’t understand me. This is not... this is not about... this is real! I’m telling you, it’s real.” Virgil pleaded, realizing that he had already lost his audience. “This isn’t mystical bull-dung, this is real, man, very, very real. I’m talking flesh and blood, mortar and concrete real.”
“And if you say it just a few more times, will that validate how real it is?” John asked, now simply testing this psycho path’s conviction.
“Listen, I don’t believe that any divine inspiration conjured the Bible. You know that. But I do believe there was some good old fashioned wisdom in it, wisdom and science, man, wisdom and science.”
John felt as if he were sinking, losing the joy that the day off had provided. And knowing the extreme level and volume of work that awaited him the following day, he could ill-afford a stressful day off. He thought about the long drive he had made to get here, thought about the fact that it was still very early, and there was still plenty of time left in the day, and he decided that he must leave as soon as possible.
“Virgil, I have to go.” John calmly stated. He had already heard enough and was not feeling up to his usual accommodating self. He began walking toward the door.
“John, you can’t leave.” Virgil said very quietly. Again, something was out of place about his demeanor. Somehow the volume of his statement did not match the menace.
“I do have to go, Virgil. I don’t have a lot of time”
John did not turn around to look at his friend, nor did he walk another step toward the door. A rising sensation of dread had begun to swell; tingling, electrifying the air.
“You can’t go, John. And you won’t go.” Virgil said.
“Yeah, I wish I could stay but I can’t.”
“You’re not going anywhere, John.”
At last John identified the odd behavior. Virgil had gone over the edge, and was completely lost within his current delusion. He had never surrendered so completely to anything in all his life, not even the grief of losing his parents. More than anything, John heard within his voice the tones of mastery, of one who has decided to master another person’s life.
John tilted his head back toward Virgil, saw him holding out his arm, as if aiming something. And with a nervous or simply unsteady jerk of the hand, a flash of light, streaking in through the Venetian blinds, reflected off of the instrument in Virgil’s hand.
“You will stay, John... you will stay.” Virgil said, now hefting the gun into a more accurate and effective position.
“Have a seat, please, have a seat.” Virgil suggested, pointing to what appeared a large pile of filthy clothes.
John approached, apprehensively knelt down, and saw that there was indeed a chair underneath the pile.
“How have you been, John?” Virgil asked.
“Well. You?”
Virgil did not answer. Instead, he shot his gaze around the dark, mobile home, as if looking for something.
“Ok... So uh... what was so urgent?” John asked in his smooth, mellow voice.
Despite the darkness, John saw an unnerving expression on Virgil’s face, and he couldn’t begin to explain it. Was it humor? Sarcasm? A coy little smile? Whatever, it was extremely out of place. “Listen to me, John, listen good.” Virgil began, his eyes still blazing with the fires of psychosis. He paused but then began searching through the darkness, once again. After many moments, he pulled out a scrap piece of paper, upon which was written:
1 - AJS
2 - BKT
3 - CLU
4 - DMV
5 - ENW
6 - FOX
7 - GPY
8 - HQZ
9 - IR
“Have you ever seen one of these?” Virgil asked.
John shook his head in the negative.
“This is a... a uh... template for drawing up a Numerology chart. Pythagoras believed that anything and everything could be explained by numbers. You know that. I mean, we’re talking about Pythagoras here. We took several math classes together at CMU, I remember us studying...”
“Yeah... alright, I got it. What does this have to do with anything?” John asked, growing just a touch irate at the unbearable circumlocution, and realizing more and more that this was yet another of Virgil’s meandering theories.
“I have drawn up a few charts... actually, drawn up is probably not the proper way of saying it... actually there probably is a way that the Numerologists say it, but I don’t know what it is... or maybe I do and just forgot.... Anyway, the point is, I have done some charts.... dammit! I wish I could remember what the term is that they use...”
“Virgil! Get to the point!”
“Right. Listen... I have done a few charts... and they are very telling. Now before you get all bent out of shape on me and you know, start... getting pissy and skeptical, watch this.”
Virgil began scribbling feverishly on a separate piece of paper until yet another template had been made, along with the added bonus of John’s full name and a corresponding series of numbers above it.
“What you do,” Virgil began, “is you write down a name... as you can see, each letter of the alphabet has a corresponding number, up to nine... then you add up the numbers, and voila! You have a person’s personality right there before you. According to yours, you are kind of... flighty, creative, real head in the clouds kind of person. According to your name number, you should be in sales. And Ha Ha! You are! As far as flighty goes... well, you’re the only CMU graduate I know of who sells cars for a living. But wait there’s more! Check this out! Look, according to this, if I continue following the steps and adding up the numbers of your birthday, year... all of that, at the age of twenty seven you should have had a pinnacle in your life. Wasn’t that the age when you lost your job at Bayer?”
John shifted forward on his seat to gain a better vantage of the paper laying on the cluttered table. On it was his name, his birth date and a series of numbers, each adding up to another number that was then added to make yet another number. Above the numbers were thinly drawn lines that came together into triangles.
“In Numerology there are only two compound numbers: 11 and 22. The rest you add together to make a single number. For example, 21 would add up to be three. Two plus one is three. Get it?” Virgil frantically explained.
“Yeah. But what does this have to do with anything?”
“My good man, certainly you can see the validity of this age old method...”
“Not really, but I’m sure you have a point that requires my buying into it, so... go ahead.” John calmly said.
“But what about your name? Were you or were you not twenty seven when you lost your job at Bayer?”
“Yes, I was. I admit, it’s uh... it’s interesting. But, I think it’s a lot like Astrology. It can fit anyone. Had I not lost my job at Bayer at twenty seven, you could’ve easily made an argument for something else... some event that happened because events happen to everyone, during every year of their life.”
Virgil looked away in disgust and frustration. His lower jaw protruded; words appeared to get stuck behind his mouth just before coming out. Obviously, things were not going as Virgil had planned.
“Virgil, is there a point to all of this? I’m sorry but I don’t want a lesson on Numerology today.”
“I intend to show you, through this and many other things... oh and please do trust me, there are many other methods that I will use to prove my hypothesis, many, many more things other than just this... your mind will ache from the amount proof I offer and the many...”
“Virgil!” John stammered as he rose from his seat. He began pacing the filthy floor, being very careful not to disrupt any of the mounds of debris laying strewn about. “Virgil... listen, I’m sorry to have to say this but this is starting to sound like this past summer when you thought the Russians were responsible for the hurricanes. That isn’t what this is about, is it? Or something like that, because... listen, I am off today... you see, at work, things have been a bit stressful lately, but... I’ve managed to... get by, and.... I have twice as many cars out as anyone else. As a result, I have been given a very unexpected, and much needed day off. And I really don’t want to spend it talking about... conspiracies. I’m sorry.”
Again Virgil flashed that inexplicable expression. Cynicism? Condescension? What the hell was it?
“This is not about anything like that. This is about the End Days.” Virgil finally said.
“The end days. The apocalypse?” John asked, trying not to loose his temper, trying desperately to remind himself that this friend had lost his parents only three years ago, and had not yet recovered from the shock.
“Yes. And... if you will just give me a little time, I will prove it to you. And you will see. Trust me. You will see.”
John had stopped pacing now. He stood perfectly motionless, allowing the thoughts in his head to run their course, feeling the rising tides of anger sweeping over the shore. He would not succumb to it, however. He would allow the anger to pass, even though it was his day off, even though he had traveled for over forty-five minutes just to hear this; he would not blow up at his friend. Besides, part of his anger was due to the un-original idea that had brought him this far. He had come to expect more from Virgil; usually a very creative, albeit paranoid, conspiracy theorist. This was not up to snuff, was in fact extremely contrived and... well, un-original. He couldn’t be too angry when really, he had only decided to entertain the theory for purposes of humor.
“I have to be honest,” John began, feeling the urge of truth moving through him, “I expected a little more.”
“More than the End Days?” Virgil exclaimed. “How can there be more than that?”
“Well, Virg... it’s uh... it’s pretty common for... you know, people to assume that the end times are here. They’ve been saying that since the... well, since the beginning times.”
“You don’t understand me. This is not... this is not about... this is real! I’m telling you, it’s real.” Virgil pleaded, realizing that he had already lost his audience. “This isn’t mystical bull-dung, this is real, man, very, very real. I’m talking flesh and blood, mortar and concrete real.”
“And if you say it just a few more times, will that validate how real it is?” John asked, now simply testing this psycho path’s conviction.
“Listen, I don’t believe that any divine inspiration conjured the Bible. You know that. But I do believe there was some good old fashioned wisdom in it, wisdom and science, man, wisdom and science.”
John felt as if he were sinking, losing the joy that the day off had provided. And knowing the extreme level and volume of work that awaited him the following day, he could ill-afford a stressful day off. He thought about the long drive he had made to get here, thought about the fact that it was still very early, and there was still plenty of time left in the day, and he decided that he must leave as soon as possible.
“Virgil, I have to go.” John calmly stated. He had already heard enough and was not feeling up to his usual accommodating self. He began walking toward the door.
“John, you can’t leave.” Virgil said very quietly. Again, something was out of place about his demeanor. Somehow the volume of his statement did not match the menace.
“I do have to go, Virgil. I don’t have a lot of time”
John did not turn around to look at his friend, nor did he walk another step toward the door. A rising sensation of dread had begun to swell; tingling, electrifying the air.
“You can’t go, John. And you won’t go.” Virgil said.
“Yeah, I wish I could stay but I can’t.”
“You’re not going anywhere, John.”
At last John identified the odd behavior. Virgil had gone over the edge, and was completely lost within his current delusion. He had never surrendered so completely to anything in all his life, not even the grief of losing his parents. More than anything, John heard within his voice the tones of mastery, of one who has decided to master another person’s life.
John tilted his head back toward Virgil, saw him holding out his arm, as if aiming something. And with a nervous or simply unsteady jerk of the hand, a flash of light, streaking in through the Venetian blinds, reflected off of the instrument in Virgil’s hand.
“You will stay, John... you will stay.” Virgil said, now hefting the gun into a more accurate and effective position.
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