The Quill Newsletter

Issue II (March 2009)

Order of things

Intro

Poem

‘Am I Confused?’ by Daniel Levesque

Poem

‘Hulk’ by Luke Landtroop

Short story

‘Spirit of ‘78’ by Luke Landtroop

Commentary

I Am Legend starring Will Smith

Luke Landtroop

Perspectives

‘The Idea of Progress and Reactionary Reasoning’ by Luke Landtroop

‘Life or Living’ by Daniel Levesque

Influences

Outro

Well, fortunately, our endurance and inspiration has continued on long enough to allow the second installment of the Quill Newsletter. Hopefully, The Quill will remain onto a ripe old age. This month, little has changed. We will still strive to put up noteworthy and hopefully entertaining material, something that will doubtfully change as long as this lasts. That said, read to your heart’s content!

-Daniel Levesque

Am I Confused?

Daniel Levesque

Break the impression

Of feeling sad, or maybe rad

Its makes me mad

Sometimes

What’s the difference anyways

One brings you up, the other breaks you down

I’m fighting these colors

The sensations of others

To find my own

If I can break past these emotions

This oasis of mirages

Has induced all these barrages

I’m feeling upside down

Which may be right side up

Maybe it was right before

Time to stare out the door

Break it down, hoping for more

Call me red, or call me blue

It will depend on if I’m in the mood

If I’m ever not confused…

Hulk

Luke Landtroop

Worm-ridden cadaver
Of what was meant to fly
Over the gale-tossed spray
Now a repository of thieves

Black and crumbling bones
Hewn long ago from vanished wood
Latent verdancy extinguished
From the twilit forests of Albion

Sail-binding sinews frayed
Warped and rotten from neglect
Anchor-chain corrodes in the brine
Chained souls linger in the hold

Yet through an unofficial porthole
From the bowels of the moribund beast
The vernal mist-bound shores of home
Can yet be seen, if not remembered

Spirit of ‘78

Luke Landtroop

January, 1778

Across the glistening, ermine snow, below the overhanging grey of sky, stretched an errant track of crimson patches, irregular, yet following a clear path. At the end of the track was a man, plodding, head bent against the evanescent flurries of snow. To look at him, one would not have guessed that he was a soldier, but so he was. In the dead of winter he wore little more than a motley jumble of rags; bits of uniform and odd items of clothing ’borrowed’ from dead comrades. On his head was perched a dirty tricorn hat that was too small. In the drift-deep snow the man wore no shoes, only small scraps of cloth bound about his feet. At every step the surrounding whiteness was spattered with startling scarlet. It was fresh blood from the festering sores and frostbite that lay beneath the rags. Beneath what clothes the man had, he was a gaunt near-skeleton. The man’s face, which bore remnants of a feeble attempt to shave, showed that he was young. The man trudged forward, arms wrapped about his thin chest, vaguely trying to reach a cluster of log and earth cabins, from which wound slight wisps of weak smoke. The man reached a stand of straggling, naked black trees and collapsed against one of them. A racking cough enveloped his lungs, causing flecks of spittle mixed with red to spray onto the ragged scarf about his neck. The enfolding coldness of the snow was oddly comforting to the man, making his dazed mind wonder why he was trying to reach the shelter of the cabins. The man grunted, disgusted with himself, and shook his head madly. He turned pale blue eyes in the direction of the cabins and tried to focus his hazy vision on them, remember the warmth. From his position they appeared to be nebulous shadows, unreal imaginations. The man slapped his head vigorously to wake up. He turned his thoughts to memories of ’before’ to keep his mind from slumber. He saw in brilliant colors his father’s prosperous Virginia farm, where the meals had been simple but hearty, where he and his brothers played, innocently enough, at slaying Frenchmen and Indians, basking in the glorious southern sun. He remembered hearing of Concord and Lexington, his patriotic fervor, eagerness to fight for Virginia, for Virginia’s rights. He joined the Continental Army as soon as he could, scorning mere militia service. Even dying hadn’t seemed so bad then, being cut down instantaneously, gloriously, by an oppressors bullet. Not like now. He was dying sure enough, but slowly, agonizingly. Whether smallpox, typhus, or unadorned starvation, it didn’t much matter.

The young man thought now of his early days in the army. He had met many new kinds of men, Pennsylvanians, New Yorkers, New Englanders, Georgians, gaining as much knowledge of the outside world in a few months as he had in his whole life before. Gradually the realization came, first in shards that broke through his prior understanding, which grew and united into a glorious tapestry of truth. He became aware that he was fighting for something much grander than taxes or the rights of his own state. Nor were they fighting for mere independence, it was to preserve their ancient liberties, and perhaps expand upon them. The common fighting man was not ignorant of these things, they were bandied about camp, argued over, thought out.


Then there were the first battles. He discovered quickly that real war bore little if any resemblance to his boyhood games. The ominous thunder of artillery, the fiendish shriek of a flying ball, these sounds became ingrained in the soldier’s mind. The rolling crackle of musket fire was seared into his memory, from the first terrifying moment. But he had learned swiftly. He now knew the shock of having a comrade beside you torn to bloody shreds by an exploding shell, to feel a musket ball whiz by, brushing his hair. He still was afraid of course, but he could now control his fear. Whenever he felt it rising from the depths of his stomach into his throat, he fiercely stuffed it down and concentrated on the task ahead.. Now he joked and ribbed along with the others before each encounter with the enemy.
The enemy. Long lines of men in red coats, marching in perfect order to the drum’s beat. These were no savage Indians or foreign Frenchmen. They were Englishmen, just as the soldier and all those he knew had considered themselves until very recently. He still had not learned to hate them, as some had. It was not the ’lobsterback’ who was the oppressor, he was only the symbol and front of the oppression. Besides, the American cause had friends in England as well, such as the great statesman Edmund Burke. No, he would not hate them, only fight them.

Then came the great event that occurred a year and a half ago. Representatives from each state had convened and declared their colonies independent of Britain. It was a time of much soaring patriotic rhetoric and enthusiasm. A year and a half ago. Then they had come to this place, Valley Forge, Pennsylvania. They arrived on December 17th and had been there over a month, and it had been the hardest time of the soldier’s young life. They had little food, few shoes, and no warm clothing. It had been a dreary Christmas a few weeks ago. Gone, vanished like the autumn leaves, was the jaunty jingoism of ’76. For most it was replaced by black dejection, sinking into a pit of despair. Enlistments began to expire, and many took advantage of it, few feeling up to holding on as the officers pled with them to.

The young soldier’s enlistment had expired a few days ago. He had waited, trying to make up his mind. He had made his decision after bitter wracking of his mind. He had rationalized it; he was sick, he needed to go home. He remembered the empty stares of his bunk mates as he had packed his slender bundle of belongings. He had pretended not to notice, and had tried to focus on home, food, and the sun’s friendly warmth. He had left camp, fooling himself into thinking that he was light-hearted and felt nothing but joy at doing so. As he had trekked across the snow, trying to ignore the cold steel bite of the snow on his feet, unbidden thoughts had crowded into his mind: his father admonishment him to be a good soldier echoed hollowly in his brain. Vivid visions of his best friend lying on a cot, leg blown off and infected, begging someone to save him, flashed before his eyes. Unwittingly he had slowed his pace, his legs beginning to feel like bars of iron. He saw again his friends’ stares, piercing him like darts. Were they resentful, envious? Angrily he had shoved the thoughts away, again and again, to no avail. Was he abandoning them? Was he betraying the cause? Suddenly his strength was sapped, he had stopped dead and turned around. The camp was no longer in sight. His mind was a battlefield, torn between two opposing forces. What good would it do to go back?, he reasoned. One more half-dead man wouldn’t matter much. But the rationale was overcome by the images of comrades, dead and dying. Almost without knowing it, the soldier had started back, dragging one tortured foot in front of the other. Every step was new torment. Several times he stopped, unable to continue for coughing. More thoughts came, mental demons vigorously assuring him that it was hopeless, there was no way that he would make it back. But their was a tiny spark, a flame that said, maybe…

And that was how he had come to sit, completely exhausted, against the bare tree amidst the snow. He knew he would not go any further. A bitter laugh, sounding like pained grunt, squeezed past his cracked lips. What good had it done, trying to come back? He was going to die, how would that help his friends, or the cause? Then he remembered the spark, the maybe. The soldier eased a hand into his jacket and withdrew a worn pocket Bible. With shaking fingers he opened the frayed pages at random to the book of Job. He read the first verse his eyes lighted upon.

‘Though he slay me, yet will I trust him.’

Then it all became clear. It was not a matter of living or dying, success or failure, it was about trying. He had not won a battle for freedom or saved the colonies by coming back. But he had tried. This was what it was about, not glory or enthusiasm, though they had their place. Now it was about simply trying as hard as one could, despite evil odds and apparent defeat. It was about holding on. It was about… The soldier fumbled on the ground beside him, found a stick, and cleared snow from a small patch of dark, sodden loam. He scratched about in the dirt then dropped the twig. The soldier flipped to the Psalms and read a few, then replaced the Bible. Once again he turned his eyes to the direction of the camp, nothing but blurs now. He opened his mouth and tried to shout. It came out as a groan that ended in more coughing. He actually smiled in fatal amusement at his weakness. He felt curiously warm, and knew the end was near. He closed his eyes and breathed his last prayer. A darkness began on the periphery of his vision. It grew slowly till all that remained was a beam of pure white light surrounded by blackness, and in that pinpoint of light the young soldier saw. He saw what his death meant, what was to come of… trying.

When they found him the next day, he had a wide smile on his pale face, and there was a single word scraped into the soil.

HOPE

I Am Legend starring Will Smith

Luke Landtroop

When much of today's pop culture is abysmally vulgar in an attempt to be clever or insipid in an attempt to be wholesome, it is refreshing when something comes along that is both an artistic masterpiece and an affirmation of the best of truly human values. Such was the Lord of the Rings motion picture trilogy by Peter Jackson, and so, I am glad to say, was I Am Legend, a post-apocalyptic horror film starring Will Smith.

Since the film has been on DVD for some time I will not get into much plot summary but simply make some observations on the film as a work that is truly moral in that deep sense that Russell Kirk meant when he spoke and wrote of "the moral imagination." A writer at LewRockwell.com actually called it "The Coolest Christian Movie Ever." While the film is certainly not out to proselytize, it is full of Christian themes and subtly Christian imagery. When Robert Neville, the protagonist, is rescued from rabid mutant humans by Anna, a crucifix is seen hanging from her rearview mirror. When Anna and her son Ethan finally arrive at the survivor's colony and the haven's gates are opened a church is prominent in the background.

There are more explicit depictions of spiritual themes, though. There is the prayer shared by Neville and his wife and daughter as they prepare to evacuate New York. His wife prays aloud for the Lord to watch over Neville and keep him safe as he remains as a military scientist in the city to seek a cure for the manmade virus that is destroying humanity. Later, when Anna expresses her horror with "My God!," Neville tells her "God didn't do this, we did." evoking the tragedy of scientific promise gone awry. The cancer-curing virus had been seen as a miraculous breakthrough before its sinister effects manifested. Anna claims that God told her about the survivor's colony though she has no proof and Neville, on the verge of despair, tells her that there is no God. Anna replies that all one has to do to hear the voice of God is listen. It turns out that Anna is right.

But the strongest Christian characteristic of this movie is found in the character of Robert Neville himself, who is indeed a kind of Christ figure, albeit a vulnerable, flawed, and very human one. While it is Anna who most visibly demonstrates love of her son, faith in God, and hope for the future, Neville too, despite his apparent despair and lack of belief in God, exhibits those three attributes most dear to Christianity. The fact that he remains in the city, continuing to seek a cure, shows that he has faith and hope that somehow he can find a solution and restore humanity. His determination must be grounded in a sort of love for his fellow men, even in their corrupted state, as he could easily leave the city and live out his life in peace.

Neville's Christlike nature is most clearly demonstrated in his final realization that the cure for the curse is in his own blood, and sacrifices himself both for Anna and Ethan and the mutant cannibalistic humans who are trying to kill them. The idea of the ability of the blood of a sacrificial victim to redeem a hopelessly corrupted humanity is the single element that most strongly characterizes I Am Legend as a Christian story. When he sacrifices himself, Neville tells a protesting Anna that he is finally listening to the voice of God as she admonished him to do.

I am no expert on cinematics, but suffice to say that the film struck me as beautifully effective visually. Mechanically speaking, I think the best thing about the movie was Will Smith's absolutely brilliant performance. It was an inspired portrayal of human need and the depths of human emotion. The film is heartbreaking and of course frightening, but it is the most vivid and moving portrayal of the idea of hope I have seen in a movie since The Lord of the Rings. It deeply moved and affected me like no other movie has done for a long time. Some might think I am stretching the point, but I feel this is the kind of movie that can actually change the way one looks at life. I certainly intend to never take my fellow humans, especially those close to me, for granted. Not that I ever did, but the experience that I Am Legend provides reaffirms that resolution.

The Ideas of Progress and Reactionary Reasoning

Luke Landtroop

In his work, Ideas Have Consequences, Richard Weaver mentions more than once a particular idea which he refers to as the “Whig theory of history.” This is the idea that the course of man’s journey through time has been one of constant social, ethical and technological improvement. This idea has received the illustrious christening of Progress. Essentially, the idea of Progress is the historical counterpart of scientific Darwinism. This theory carries the implication that change is valuable for its own sake, that all that has come before is outdated, archaic, and to be unreservedly discarded. According to this idea, Progress is the product of vast and inevitable social and economic forces, which no action of individuals or groups of persons can avoid. Those who attempt to slow progress, that is, to preserve beliefs or lifestyles held from time immemorial are viewed as unenlightened irritants, and are branded reactionaries. Those who subscribe to this idea of Progress believe that the civil government and societal structure are to be its faithful instruments. However, I am firmly convinced that the idea of capital ’p’ Progress is a fable, and that the goal of government and society is not to facilitate some ephemeral concept of Progress, but rather to achieve the best balance possible between opposite poles

I think it is profitable to examine the word ‘progress’ a little closer. To ‘progress’ is simply to move towards something. You can ‘progress’ towards a burning building or the edge of a canyon. Things can become “progressively worse“. Yet today, how many times do we hear leaders say, “We are making progress!” Is it of no importance what we are progressing towards?

A few historical examples will greatly illuminate the point I am attempting to make. The French Revolution, which was initially hailed by many as a bold and admirable stroke in the service of Progress, became a bloody debacle that horrified even the most progressive and liberal minds of the day. Certainly there were abuses under the Old Regime, but the attempt to overthrow, rather than ameliorate, the established order, became much worse, and in the end led to Napoleonic tyranny. In what is popularly called the American Civil War, slavery, which was assuredly an evil stain upon the land, was ended, but at the cost of state sovereignty and the system of government laid down by the Founding Fathers.

So we see that there is no unadulterated Progress, but that when we attempt radical measure to achieve what may be a desirable end, we risk losing something just as valuable, if not more so. As John Randolph of Roanoke forcefully declared, “Change is not reform!” Here is shown the value of what I call, “Reactionary Reasoning.” The wise scholar of society realizes that whenever the balance of order is disrupted in an attempt to attain a feat of “Progress”, chaos can ensue. While moderate reform is necessary and desirable, we must establish safeguards for the treasured heritage and hard-earned freedoms before we embark on a crusade. The cost must be weighed, and sometimes reform must be rejected in favor of continuity and preservation of better things. The real objective of society is not everlasting movement towards some ultimate paradise, but a prudent balance between liberty and order, justice and mercy, prosperity and morality.

Civilizations and cultures rise and fall, not by impersonal, unavoidable forces, but by the conscious decisions and ruling passions of human beings. To believe that we are destined to progress infinitely in every way is sheer, incautious, arrogance. Certainly we are much more advanced technologically than at any point in history, but that does not mean that the ancient canons of spirituality and morality are outmoded, or that we may discard the ways of our ancestors without a second thought. We must always cultivate the virtue of historical humility, and realize that we see so far because we stand upon the shoulders of giants.

Life, or Living

Daniel Levesque

In this world that we live in, life appears in an almost overabundance. We live in a world filled with life; with thousands, millions, billions of lives and lifetimes fill every corner of the earth. There is a question that many, many have asked, and the answer in itself has never been completely answered.

We live in a very different culture from the one that the people of a hundred years before us knew. We are surrounded with technology, immersed with a way of living that would seem impossible, unreachable by those merely one or two generations before us. There are, like everything else that anyone must face in life, benefits and disadvantages to this fact.

But, one of the biggest disadvantages of them all, has the greatest question attached along with it. In this world and culture that fills our every waking moment; there is a question, one that deserves an answer. The question is simple, but, unfortunately, the answer is not.

We have more benefits, more advantages then any other time in the history of mankind has. Technology and the higher value of human life has given us privileges that we have never had before. For example, the privilege to…enjoy life. Sounds quite simple. But, for thousands of years, all humanity never had that option to choose.

And yet, how much of that option have we truly chosen? The many aspects of this modern world give us so many more ways to turn away from just trying to survive. Really, very few have to worry about just surviving, at least in this country. But still, as a culture, we seem to be more trapped in that mentality then many times even before us.

Entertainment and leisure in its true form has become so irrelevant for so many. Work, business, and the channels of bread-earning have become so much more important, that many people have turned away from other things. Ironically, this was not the way it was in the recent generations of past times. In the times past, there was so much more required of them all, when it was so much harder to live, and when survival was a little more of a reality then it is today.

However, that did not change those in that time from enjoying life for what it was. The realization that life is not just to survive, not just to earn money, or to work. That is living, but, it is not life. Life is not just surviving, or just doing the things that spell of survival. The irony is that when the time comes that life can be truly enjoyed, the elements of surviving have only became so much more important to our culture.

Why is it, that in this time that we have so much more time, so many more commodities to help us and allow us to enjoy the beauty of the world around us, that we have only become even more busy? Too busy to stop and smell the roses. Too busy to enjoy this day, the day that we will never have the opportunity to enjoy again. Too busy to sit down, stop, and see the true gloriousness all around us. Why is that?

The question we must answer is, why are all of us guilty of this way of life? Unfortunately, it’s not a question that can be answered that easily. But, we are all capable of realizing the relevance of it. Just looking to the day ahead of us, for the next weekend, the next paycheck…. That is not what life is about, that is only living.

The time comes when just being able to live is not always enough. And, we are blessed to live in a time that we don’t have to worry about being forced with that. Now, the question is, will we take advantage of it? The time has come. Live life, like there is no tomorrow. And perhaps the time to enjoy what we have been blessed with is here.

Influences

Daniel Levesque

Book: ‘1984’ by George Orwell

Movie: ‘The Prestige’

Music Album: ‘Absolution’ by Muse

Luke Landtroop

Book: ‘The Paradise War’ by Stephen R. Lawhead

Movie: ‘A Beautiful Mind’

Music Album: ‘Noble Beast’ Andrew Bird

And this is how we bring the second installment of The Quill to a close. I hope that it has been an enjoyment, and don’t forget to check back! Next month we plan to integrate a new format for the newsletter that will make navigating in much easier. Till then!

Daniel Levesque

The Quill Newsletter (February 2009 Edition)

The Quill Newsletter

Issue I (February 2009)

Order of things

Intro

Poem

‘Leaves’ by Luke Landtroop

Poem

'Yadda Yadda Yadda’ by Daniel Levesque

Short story

‘Love at Last Sight’ by Daniel Levesque

Commentary

His Majesty’s Dragon By Naomi Novik

Daniel Levesque

Perspectives

‘The Bardic Role’ by Luke Landtroop

'Commonplace Contentment’ by Daniel Levesque

Influences

Outro

Greetings, salutations, and welcome to the very beginning of a great endeavor between two individuals. In this first edition of The Quill Newsletter, and all others for that matter, we have but one simple goal. We desire to put forth material that we have created, for your enjoyment and consideration. In the future, it would be excellent if we could also have individuals who wished to get their voice out somewhere they knew would be read, and submit material for us to post as well. With that said, read, give your opinions, and tell others about it. Peruse, and enjoy.

-Daniel Levesque

Leaves

Luke Landtroop

That leaf is cursed
That falls alone upon the hard-packed ground
Or perhaps upon the stony surface
Of a concrete drive
And lies lonely to wither
And crumble into fruitless dust
Unless some kindly breeze
Waft it into woods where many lie

That leaf is blessed
That falls in a forest full of trees
Or on any wooded grounds
Even in a lawn
Coming to rest among brethren
Dying away into the warm
Embrace of earth and kin
Among the roots of the tree that bore it

Yadda Yadda Yadda

Daniel Levesque

Yadda yadda yadda
That’s what they all say

Its trying to break me

But they can’t take my life away

Bring it on

Try to break me out

But I’m stuck here in this cement

And I don’t care what its about

Because they all say something

They all shout loud

But there’s a thousand voices out there

And its hard to see with my head inside these clouds

So shake it off

Brush off the stains of shame

That come from just forgetting

But you are not to blame

For we all fall

In the muck or in the mire

But in this filth and failing

Is when we climb up higher

Love at Last Sight

Daniel Levesque

Some people don’t believe in love at first sight, but I do. I have a good reason for believing in it, because I experienced it. I can say that with all sincerity, but I must admit, in the end it didn’t help me at all. You see, what everyone does agree on is that love is one of the greatest things that God put in this world, but unfortunately, it can also be the worst thing.

Perhaps I had better tell you my story first of all. This story is just about to end, and though there has been many, many happy days, I will say-good riddance. I just hurts too bad

It was over twenty years ago when I met her. I was eight years old, she was at the ripe old age of seven. It was a bright Sunday morning outside, but inside the church that my mother had penned me inside of, it was getting a little stuffy. I was squirming around in my seat, praying as fervently as an eight-year-old could for God to betray his own minister and blow him away from the pulpit that his was droning away behind.

But then I saw her. Now, I admit, eight years old is a little young for love at first sight, but I got very close to it that beautiful, glorious morning. She was sitting two pews behind of me, with her chin propped on the back of the pew in front of her, and believe it or not, she was smiling at me. At me!

I can’t you a single thing that the minister said after that, though I probably couldn’t have told you anything anyway. Our subtle eye contact continued until the dismissal rang out, and believe it or not, I was disappointed when it was all over. Needless to say however, I now had a chance to meet her. I hopped out of my seat and trotted over to hers, only to see her and her parents already disappearing out the double doors and into the parking lot. I almost called out to her, but realized that I didn’t even know her name.

The next week was the longest I had ever experienced, and I’m sure I had never been so eager to go to another long service as I was the next Sunday morning. I jumped up into the pew, and acted like an angel for the next half-hour of the song service. But the second the minister stepped up to the pulpit and drew his first breath; I turned around in my seat and scanned the pews behind me. I felt a terrible shock in my heart, and faintly wondered if I was having a heart attack before I even realized why I felt this way.

She wasn’t behind me, anywhere. I frantically scanned the entire church, desperately hanging onto the thread of hope of that she might just be sitting somewhere else. But she simply wasn’t there. I slumped back into my pew, feeling hot, salty tears clog my nasal passage. The minister’s voice droned into my depressingly morbid thoughts. He was talking about how God loved you more than any other person ever could. I just didn’t feel like hearing it. Suddenly, his voice trailed off. His train of thought had been interrupted by some latecomers. The doors thudded closed behind them, and my heart lurched up from its abysmal depths. Could it be her? I rocketed into a kneeling position on my seat. My joyful feelings escaped into a tiny squeak that caused my mother to gently nudge me.

But she was here! My life became bright and happy again, all in the matter of 5 ½ seconds. They managed to find a seat in the exact same pew that they had sat in last week. The moment they had settle into their seat, out eyes connected. The rest of the morning was spent in perfect bliss. We said nothing, and we were nothing more than children, but to this day, that is one of my happiest memories ever. By the time that the service had quickly screeched to a halt I was ready.

I shot up from my seat and barreled into the nearby walkway, nearly running into her.

We both said it at the same time. “What’s your name?”

She answered first. “ My name is Candice,” she lisped in an absolutely angelic voice.

“I’m Darrell,” I replied, sticking my hand out, and feeling like an idiot the second I did it. But she took it, and shook it gently. I felt a thrill of excitement that told me to jump around and scream. I had touched her! Oh happy day!

Instead, I stood there like a fool until my mother grabbed me and guided me out to our car. “Who was that?” she asked.

“Candice,” I whispered, still flying above Cloud 9.

She said nothing else, and somehow we got home, I’m not really sure if there was any stop lights on the way or not. Through the next six days, everything was a haze, and I lived in a daze. I have always been a vivacious eater, and so I really had my mother worried by the end of the week.

The next week, I was prepared. I somehow convinced my mother to sit behind the seat that we usually sat on, and I eagerly awaited her arrival. Thankfully for me, she didn’t disappoint me. Also, she sat directly behind me. I smiled at her, staring like a buffoon, until I remembered the reason that I had sat here.

I whispered to her through the song service. “How old you?”

She told me. I told her how old I was. The next question I had to ask, though I hated to. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

She told me no.

“Do like someone?”

She nodded, a mischievous smile appearing on her beautiful little face. She was taunting me! I felt a single tear escape from where it belonged, and course down my red cheeks. The smile disappeared from her face, being replaced with a frown.

“I like you!” she whispered desperately, gently touching my trembling arm. Wiping the traitorous tear away, I managed a shaky smile. “Just me?” I asked cautiously.

She smiled, saying everything with that one gesture. We smiled back and forth for the next hour and a half, whispering any little questions that popped into our minds during that time.

The end of the service once again cruelly ended our time together, but I was already a very happy man. I walked to my mother’s car, without being escorted, wondering pensively how I had ever lived my last eight years without this little girl in my life. The next six years continued on this way.

I shamefully admit that Sundays were not almost my happiest days, actually sometimes very bad ones, that is when she wasn’t there. But as I began to grow up, my emotional life revolved around two hours every Sunday morning.

By the time I had turned fourteen, I was beginning to see more of her. Through the years I had discovered that she lived only four blocks away from me, and every once in a while, when I could get her out of bed or away from her job, I was able to convince my mother to take me for a visit to her.

I had other friends at the time; I was a pretty outgoing kind, but none like her. She was the only one that I always wanted to see, never got tired of being around, and could talk to about anything. The years flew by in a happy haze. School, friends, family, drifted by me, but she was always there, no matter what. I graduated from high school with high honors, the second in my class.

She graduated from her school, the same year, first in her class. I had just turned eighteen, and prepared to move out. I’m sad to say my mother was glad. It wasn’t my fault, I had always been a good kid, but she never could never seem to handle me very well. Thing never felt right around her, words never came out just the way I had planned them to. But, thankfully, she wasn’t the one that I got most of my emotional needs from.

I heard ‘I love you’ from her three times, that I can remember of. I had already lost count of how many times I heard it from a certain someone else.

The next night, Candice and I met in the nearby park. It had been very busy that week, and I hadn’t seen her for three days. The moment she stepped out of her car, I felt like a drug-addict that had suddenly seen a needle after an eternity of forced abstinence. We met in each other’s arms, as I finally kicked aside all the worries that had built up through the demanding week that I had already began to forget.

I breathed in the aura the surrounded her, and knew that heaven was here. Though I hadn’t quite gotten accustomed to it, today was a special day, and our lips connected. It was the second time, and I feared I was going to suffocate with joy, but I also knew that I would die happily. After an eternity of pure bliss, I put my arm around her slender waist, and we walked over to a nearby bench. “I love you,” she whispered, sending unexplainable thrills racing through my heart.

I had things that I planned to talk to her about, but right at the moment, I couldn’t think of anything that I wanted to do besides feel her body snuggling against me. The hours drifted past, us accomplishing nothing unless attaining perfect happiness could be defined as an accomplishment. I think it can.

Night and darkness began to drift into the silent world around us. A light chill started to permeate even the warm glow in our hearts. Candice shivered delicately beside me, sending chills up my spine that weren’t from the cold. I stood up, hurriedly clutching her warm body against mine.

Just then, a light mist began to drift down from the cloudy atmosphere above up. Holding tightly to her, I dashed to my car. Opening the passenger’s side, I helped her in, then dashed to my side. Jumping inside, we silently watched as the sky open, and the torrents poured down. I clutched the steering wheel, not really sure what to do.

“I’ve got to take my car back home,” Candice murmured.

“I know,” I replied, trying to glimpse her vehicle through the downfall surrounding our little oasis.

Realizing that I was feeling obligated to do something, Candice clutched my arm. “I don’t have to go right now,” she whispered, causing my heart to gallop away from me. Our bodies reconnected after an eternity of five minutes apart. I don’t remember much of what happened after that, though it is the happiest memory of my life. I’d like to think that I didn’t break any rules that my moral standards had created for me, but I’m not sure. After a certain level of rapture had been reached, nothing else registered anymore, and I really don’t know what happened after that.

Sometime that night, I somehow got back home, but I never went to sleep. I stared at the ceiling and wondered, could I live without her? I hated myself for even dreaming of a life without her, but it had escaped from the prison that I had locked all my evil thoughts away to. I began to imagine the life ahead of me, and felt nothing but excitement for my future and hers. If anyone could life happily ever after, it was us.

There were memories to create, vows to be made, children to steal a little drop of the love that I had for her. Suddenly a laugh escaped from my throat. I had the whole world going for me, just because of one person. What more could I dream for?

The next two weeks were filled the flurry of moving to a new home. I was moving to a shoddy apartment in the nearby suburbs. I still managed to get little moments of time with the main thing that I lived for. After I had settled in, I began to look into my next steps in life. I already had college planned, and coincidentally the collage that Candice was going to had also accepted me. Just one more reason to look forward to my future ahead of me. We both planned to get doctorates, hers in literature, and mine in law. We would both be living on campus, and therefore would be seeing each other very frequently.

The night before we moved onto the college campus, we spent another memorable evening together. Once again, I have very few memories about it, but the ones that I do, and the ones that I don’t are some of the best I have.

But now, another time of our lives had begun. No one had taken the time to tell just how hard college really was. Courses crawled past, and the months flew by. We still saw each other often, and there was nothing I would place over spending five minutes in her presence, outside of spending more time than that with her.

But, life began to demand more from me than she did. I still tear up when I say that I began to drift away from her. There came a day that, should someone have asked me who the gorgeous girl who walked by was, and it was Candice, I would have said, “Oh that’s my best friend.”

Nothing wrong with that, but there was a day when she was so much more than that. Nearly a year past and it had to come where I only saw Candice about once a week, sometimes twice. We still spent time together, very happy times, but they were different. My career had almost become more important. When she nervously mentioned that she had met someone else, and asked what I thought, I barely even bristled.

Two years past. Candice was still my best friend, but that was mainly because I just hardly even had friends anymore. Other things were more important, or so I told myself at the time.

She was still the girl I dreamed of marrying, but she would have to wait for another six years. I guess somehow, in my heady, naive way, I didn’t even realize that I was drifting away from her. She was still there waiting for me, waiting for when I would wake up and realized that this diamond was still here, ready, whenever I would realize that there was things more important that a career. I might have realized this all, had I had the time.

But everything ended one terrible day. I can’t even call it a day. Nothing on God’s green earth could create such a terrible event. I never even had the time to realize how much I truly loved her, and just had forgotten. It was a beautiful Monday morning, at least in the beginning. I had just turned twenty-one two weeks before. She was one of the two party guests I had, the other was my favorite professor. She was now twenty. The most beautiful young woman you would ever lay eyes on. The sweetest, kindest person there ever was, and the greatest asset to anyone.

Anyway, it was a bright, warm Monday morning. I hadn’t seen her since my birthday. It had been the longest stretch I had gone without seeing her for as long as I could remember, and I had mildly rebuked myself for it, but really hadn’t suffered for it. She had called me the night before, sounding a little odd, and asked to meet me for lunch the next day, today.

I was on my way when my cellular phone rang. I answered, half expected Candice, but instead heard a gruff male voice on the other side. I first thought it was one of my professors, but marked them all off without placing the voice.

“Is this Darrell Maline?” the voice asked.

“Yes sir, it is,” I replied, shifting curiously in my seat.

“Are you related to Candice Turner?” I felt a hot flash sweep across my body.

“She’s my best friend,” I hurriedly answered.

The man identified himself as a police officer, and gave me the address to a nearby hospital. “Get there as quickly as you can,” he ordered.

I ran more than one red light, my heart pounding almost as fast as the last time I shared a kiss with Candice. In record time, I flew into the hospital’s parking lot, and dashed inside. I was immediately directly into a ward. When I found her room number, I flew inside, and screeched to a halt the moment I entered.

The only person I had ever truly cared for. The only woman that had ever stole my heart, lay strapped to a bed, surrounded by hospital personal. They saw me, and a hush rang out in the room.

Candice’s eyes opened, and she saw me. Her bloody, torn, and beautiful face lit up with immediate happiness. Her hands outstretched to mine, and with sobs racking my body, I took them. Her ragged lips labored to say something, and I struggled to hear the words gasped through her pain. “I love you. I always have. You’re the only person I’ve ever really loved.”

“I love you too,” I gasped, tears pouring from my eyes.

Her hands contracted, but still held tightly onto mine. I stroked her bleeding knuckles, and cried uncontrollably. “I’m so sorry,” I sobbed.

Candice shook her head, wincing from the pain that the selfless act caused.

The doctor laid his hand on my shoulder, gently guiding me to a nearby chair. “She was crossing the road, and got hit by a car going sixty miles an hour.”

I groaned, agony coursing through my body.

“You should let her get a little rest,” he cautiously advised.

I shook my head. “I’m not leaving her,” I stated through clenched teeth.

The doctor nodded, and rising left the room, leaving us alone.

“I won’t leave you,” I repeated, turning to her pain-stricken face. “Never again.” The day passed, and I never left her side. I spent that time thinking of the times that I spent with her, every time more perfect than perfection itself. I then thought of all that time that I didn’t spend with her. I would never forgive myself, no matter what happened.

Suddenly her body shuddered. I jumped out of my seat, touching her torn cheek gently. Her eyes opened, and she struggled to say the same words as before, but this time it took a little longer. “I-I……….love….you.” The life that I so cherished then flickered out, never to return, to leave me and my pathetic life alone, with nothing left but a career to comfort and taunt me.

The doctors and nurses poured through the doors and frantically surrounded her, trying to revive her, but I knew it was too late. If there was as much as a milligram of life still in her, I would feel it. The world fell down around me, crushing everything that I knew into nothing.

I turned and walked out the door, but one of the nurses stopped me. She handed me a envelope with my name on it.

“She was carrying that when the car hit her. That’s how we contacted you.”

I nodded blankly and ended up at my car. There I tearfully opened the envelope. A single sheet of paper fell out, covered with my darling’s handwriting. I read it, tears smearing the pages, and washing the ink into meaningless blobs.

Dear Darrell,

I know we haven’t spent that much time together lately, and I’ve started to worry about you a little bit. I know I’m going to be talking to you before I give you this, but maybe this will help you realize where I’m at right now. I still love you just as much as I did three years ago, which is more than I thought I could love any one person. I can only hope you love me just as much. Whether or not you do, I just want you to know that I will always be here for you. No matter how far we fall apart, or how close we become and become used to each other, I will always be here for you. Just think about where you are today, and decide if that’s where you really want to be. I miss the days we used to spend together, our simple love that meant so much. Darrell, I’m begging you, don’t lose me. I don’t know if I could take the pain that it would create for me. I could only hope that for your sake that you could if I was no longer in your life, but I hope that that time never comes. I’m still here, don’t ever forget, I will never go anywhere else.

Candice

I didn’t think I could cry any harder than I already had, but somehow I did. I had no chance anymore. I remember nothing about the next month, and very little about the next year. I dropped out of my classes.

I don’t know how I have made a living during these last ten years. Somehow I have, though I wonder if it would have been better I had just starved to death.

It would now, I’m sure. I’m now a drug-addict. Live in a toolshed. Drink rainwater and eat out of trashcans. I’m your first class bum, but I have an excuse for it. I have absolutely nothing to live for. She’s gone.

That letter is nailed to the only sturdy side of my toolshed, and it’s the only reason I haven’t overdosed already. But I’m fed up with life. And to makes things worse, or better, depending on the way you look at it, is that today’s a special day. Exactly ten years ago, to this day, was the day that my darling died. I really think that I died that day too, because I don’t think that this body that I’m in now is me. Tomorrow, they’ll have one more dead bum to dispose of, but I’m happy about it. Well, not really happy, but I’m not sad, and that’s almost happy, cause it’s the happiest I’ve been in ten years.

Okay. She died. I’m about to die. We’ll both be dead. Maybe, just maybe, we will somehow come together again. That’s why I’m happy.

I still have one picture of her, and that’s the last thing that I will see. I lay it before me, and drive the whole needle of poison into my bloodstream. It won’t take long. Goodbye world. Goodbye pain. Goodbye everything.

His Majesty’s Dragon By Naomi Novik
Daniel Levesque

In His Majesty’s Dragon, we are presented with a very original and immersive style of story that, while introducing an excellent fantasy ideal, revolves around our world, in the time of the Napoleonic era. As we enter the story, we find ourselves in a time that is identical to the early 19^th century except for in one respect. This world is inhabited by dragons, though they are just as widely accepted as ships and gunpowder.

The story begins with Captain Will Laurence, commander of the HMS Reliant. He is comfortable and content with his life as the captain of a frigate in His Majesty’s Navy. However, when his ship captures a French frigate, his life takes a shocking turn in circumstances. The frigate had been carrying a dragon egg, an extremely valuable find because of their rarity and zealously guarded condition.

But the dragon begins to hatch while they still at sea, a very serious situation. Dragons must immediately be mastered, nearly at the moment they are born, or they will quickly become wild, a very dangerous prospect from a creature that could attain the size of 10-20 tons. His sense of duty obvious, Captain Laurence steps up, asserting himself as the dragonling’s master, thus forever tearing himself from the life at sea that he had known and loved for so long.

But now, a whole other world is now opened up before him. The rarified and revered Aerial Corps, the protectors of Britain’s skies, accept him and his young dragon, Temeraire, into their ranks. Thus, they enter into a world that few imagined even existed. The time for enjoying the turn in events is scant, however. Napoleon’s forces are swelling, eyeing Britain more and more, full realizing how stretched and inadequate Britain’s armies are. Every dragon counts, and Laurence is immediately pulled into intensive training with his fast growing dragon, which he is more and more realizing is much more than just an ordinary creature. Thus, the true adventure begins.

This story unfolds in a leisurely, but somehow addicting pace, drawing any fantasy lover in almost instantly. A contemporary story to the core, it yet has the writing and feel of a classic, and reads like ‘Master and Commander’ meets ‘Eragon’, making for a highly enjoyable and original read that I would heartily recommend to anyone.

The Bardic Role

Luke Landtroop

Richard M. Weaver, an eminent philosopher of the 20th century, described the foundation of any culture as something he termed its “metaphysical dream”. He defined the metaphysical dream as “an intuitive feeling about the immanent nature of reality, …the sanction to which both ideas and beliefs are ultimately referred for verification.” Furthermore, he asserted that “Without the metaphysical dream it is impossible to think of men living harmoniously over an extent of time.” The metaphysical dream is to the philosophy of a culture what axioms are to geometry and logic, givens that must be accepted before any further examination can progress.

To my mind, it is obvious that the contemporary Western world is suffering from the lack of consensus on our “metaphysical dream”, our weltanschauung. The West is internally divided and in conflict with its own sense of identity. The growing economic prowess of the Orient and the cultural hostility of the Middle East threaten to supplant or destroy the West, but we cannot summon the collective moral authority to deal with these issues. The moral vigor which called forth such enterprises as the Crusades (questionable though their enactment might have been) eludes us at every turn. How are we to understand our global rivals (friendly or otherwise) if we cannot understand our own legacy? In my opinion, this malaise is due to the infirmity of our metaphysical dream. To be sure, it has not perished altogether. It has survived in the basic impulses of our people, but we have denied the authority of the sources which nourished these impulses, hence they are never firmly backed by principles. How are we to confront this illness? In answer, our society is ever more in need of bards.

What is a bard? Perhaps we can gain a better understanding of this by first looking at what a bard is not. In our modern world, the majority of creative matter (books, music, art) is produced solely for the purpose of mass entertainment. As it is a commercial product for the masses, such matter often appeals to the lowest common denominator. In reaction to this, those who aspire to a higher level of literary or artistic achievement practically abandon the common culture and form their own super-culture of literati, composing without regard for the masses at all. In this view, the accomplished artist functions separately from society and culture, congratulating himself on his self-imposed isolation from it. So far I have only identified what I see as problems of modern society, so now I will turn to what I see as part of the solution, at least in literary terms. We must revive the time-honored model of the bards, scops, and skalds of the old cultures of Western Europe. The bard was neither vulgar entertainer nor did he dwell in an ivory tower. He was an integral and special part of a community, he communed with kings and commoners, and most importantly, he was the one responsible for preserving and nourishing the community’s metaphysical vision. He it was who passed on the myths and legends of a culture, and the values that went along with them. He did not just recount ribald yarns, nor did he sit about merely moralizing. Instead, he was a living reminder of that society’s ideals of right, truth, and beauty. Through the grand old tales which went naturally along with the hearth and the feast he communicated and perpetuated the weltanschauung. He was the thread which maintained the continuity of the tapestry of life. Today, there is a need for artists who neither succumb to the lowest common denominator nor secede from society in lofty disdain. The artist’s goal should not be mere self-realization, but to nourish and sublimate those things which are best in a culture.

Now, with all this talk of the metaphysical dream and its necessity, one might understandably wonder just what is that guiding vision which the West must recover. That is really the subject for another paper entirely, but I will attempt to attain some measure of resolution. In the face of the threat of collectivist systems some have come to the conclusion that our goal is maximum individual autonomy, that is, spiritual and moral individualism. However, that would seem to negate the very concept of culture. The purpose of the metaphysical dream, according to Weaver, is to carry, “an evaluation, which is the bond of spiritual community.” I will not seek to define our vision here, but I will say where I think it is to be found. It was foreshadowed by the pagan Greek philosophers, but they lacked the moral authority to imbue it to the common man. It was only with the advent of Christianity that the West gained this authority, and only there will we find it again. Is this to say that we must return to the Middle Ages, with all its bloodshed and brutal intolerance? No, but now that we have thrown out the bathwater of brutality, it is time to recover the baby of wisdom and spiritual vision which we threw out along with it. We must always temper moral certainty with the ethical restraint of a civilized society, but we must not be in a continual flux of doubt as to the virtue of our values. Rather we should sift out the chaff without destroying the grain. Without a defined system of authoritative ethics, we enter an age of vast technological potential at our social peril.

Commonplace Contentment

Daniel Levesque

As I stare out my window at this very moment, I am absorbed by what most would call a beautiful and entrancing view. My second story window overlooks a pasture, albeit somewhat dead and brown at this time of the year, filled with peacefully grazing goats and cows. Beyond that the entire landscape is filled with a vista of rolling fields, now empty and dead, but somehow still all the more breathtaking for its condition. It is a sight I see every morning, every time I look out the window, and as such, is so easy to not take the slightest notice of. That is the form of beauty that I live in and have grown accustomed to.

People see beauty in so many different ways and forms, usually in the perspective that they live in, but only as a standing point to look out from, as they admire and envy all the other choices out there, that they cannot have. Personally, I see an almost paranormal attractiveness in the veneer of a bustling city. The towering skyscrapers, lines of shining cars, people rushing by street corners. However, oddly, that description would just as soon repulse some people as attract others. For others, that is just a thing that they see every single day, and yet never have truly noticed it, but, really don’t even care. All those points of view are primarily because of the lifestyles that these different individuals live in. And all these lifestyles have created personalized perspectives for individual preference.

What defines beauty, and what defines the subject’s definition and understanding of that beauty? The maxim, ‘The grass is greener on the other side’ certainly begins to have a very important role in this question. Perhaps, ‘Familiarity breeds contempt’ would be even more appropriate. But beauty and what attracts an individual are only truly surface reactions to something a little deeper. It is almost inevitable that no matter what one has, they will still always want more. That’s pretty well a proven fact. Now, point made on that, the next question is, what causes such a lack of satisfaction in the true sense?

People as a general rule are never satisfied. That is one of the greatest blessings and also one of the greatest curses of humanity. While it gives us a sense of drive, a desire to constantly better ourselves, it also puts us in the place of never being able to completely be happy, always wanting a little something more, a little more than we can ever get. And possibly most importantly, it almost indefinitely causes us to never be able to entirely appreciate our own little worlds.

I’m still sitting at my window, looking outside yet again. It’s dark now, completely dark. No city lights to keep it all eternally lit. No people walking past. No cars whizzing by, a sound I have always oddly loved. Sometimes I tell myself I’m missing something because that isn’t there. But, I can see the stars. I can sit outside, in silence, or walk without any interruption. And in all that, perhaps gain one of the hardest things to find. Appreciation for what I already have. A satisfaction for where I am right now. And since satisfaction is such a rare thing, I think its safe to say that attaining that is a very noble goal.

Influences

Daniel Levesque

Book: ‘Mark of the Horse Lord’ by Rosemary Sutcliff

Movie: ‘Stardust’

Music Album: ‘The Best Worst-Case Scenario’ by Fair

Luke Landtroop

Book: ‘The Journey of Desire’ by John Eldredge

Movie: ‘Walk the Line’

Music Album: ‘The Light of Things Hoped For’ by Brave Saint Saturn

Well, that’s it. And if you have actually completed this, there is really little more to say. So, we both hoped you enjoyed this as much as we enjoyed making it, and hope to see you next time! Thanks for checking The Quill out!

-Daniel Levesque