Reflections in Time

By Deacon Weeks

A collection of three short stories written on very different subject matters in very different times and places. Take a short walk with the characters as they face life's challenges; the ones we can relate to and some we may not. Peter a man seeking a home for his little family outside of the struggles in the city. Next, a collective dream or shared experience among men, for a reason. The third is the story of Max returning from 20 years in captivity, the life he lived in comparison to the life he lost. They are all stories of love, loss, and hope.

-The Thought of Home-

He walked forth into the sunlit streets, generic clothing to go with a generic smile. There are nods of acknowledgement to certain folk and passers-by. It is a complex puzzle determining who is worthy of the action verses who is not. Those who receive, often leave with a puzzled feeling concerning this character. If his ego knew how often these meetings survived in the minds of his fellow man, he would be more generous with the gesture.

-Of One Mind-

Vision

Only in the fall, when the trees change, when the air dampens, when the clouds are gray. Only then does the spirit of man walk among the souls that were. The journey is one that has and will be; time and place simply are. Where and when is only where we look.

A whistling breeze dampens his garb as he paces onward. The ground is soft with moisture. There are various windblown leaves patterned along the path. It has been human worn, this path, but none so recent that nature has not already concealed her invaders. On each side are overgrown soft grasses swaying like seaweed with the tide.

The Long Way

The long road home they call it. Is there such a thing as home in this world? One cage to the next, one room, one cell, one world that the living cannot escape.

The man most people know as Max was approached by a guard. Four a.m. in the morning, most folks are sleeping, Maxwell Toner had not slept a wink. He was instructed to gather his belongings, those which had not been packed away, inventoried by the guards last night. He was further instructed to slide his wrists out the trap, behind his back, to be handcuffed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deacon Weeks
• Release date: Mar 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310693175

Deacon Weeks

Deacon Weeks wrote his first book "Christianity in a World that is Antichrist" in 2009. He has since written and published numerous books on various subjects such as faith, success, and love. His life and work are an inspiration to any who have had to overcome difficult situations. He now resides with his wife and four children on their gentleman's farm in Upstate New York.

Book preview

Reflections in Time

The Thought of Home

Of One Mind

The Long Way

Introduction

The following are a collection of three short stories written on very different subject matters in very different times and places. Their only common thread might be heard in the echo of a verse:

I will fade away now, I will disappear, I will drift back into that world of endless fear. Closing all the books, all the pictures in my mind being washed away, the hopes built over a lifetime being shut out by voices and thoughts that were never real. They were real to some… only those who might one day sit and listen to the story of the lonely ones. The ones who walk this earth but with something quite undone.

Enjoy them who are among us.

Deacon Weeks

Copyright 2014

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The Thought of Home

He walked forth into the sunlit streets, generic clothing to go with a generic smile. There are nods of acknowledgement to certain folk and passers-by. It is a complex puzzle determining who is worthy of the action verses who is not. Those who receive, often leave with a puzzled feeling concerning this character. If his ego knew how often these meetings survived in the minds of his fellow man, he would be more generous with the gesture.

He was headed for another job interview, already this week he had experienced three, don’t call us, we’ll call you responses. Perhaps this would discourage most people but Peter was less concerned with the pompous jackasses who turned him down then he was with providing a better life for his wife and their daughter. Maybe they are one and the same; the job, the status, the money. Maybe they really are polar opposites though; a house, a yard, and even a dog.

He is still so young, barely into his twenties. People in this neighborhood had raised families, lived out their entire lives on the same block, the same row of apartments day in and day out for twenty, thirty, even forty years. Had they not had such ambition, had they not held the same dreams in their mind’s eye at his age? He was sure they had… that part was discouraging. The old men would stop him in the halls, they would tell him, You remind me of myself at your age. Gee thanks… he would think, as visions of himself standing in these halls saying that to some kid haunted his thoughts. He would rather not survive so long in a place he could never call home.

Suicide, despair, they are real things… especially among his less successful peers… it just was not Peter’s style. He might be negative, he might have a chip on his shoulder, but it makes him push forward more rather than less. Suicide was giving up, saying that you are too weak to face reality. He could stand to be called a lot of things, even a failure, but he could never accept being labeled a quitter. There is a thing called pride that men like Peter must hold to, when it leaves it takes hope with it.

He walked on toward the bus stop, he had planned on taking it the rest of the way, he still had about two miles to go. Maybe that was part of the problem; he hadn’t pushed far enough away. Maybe he needed to get outside his comfortable circle, find a new place to be. He decided to skip the bus ride and walk the rest of the distance. He did not want to lose his train of thought, the crowded bus filled with bumbling passengers would see to that. It seems they already had.

He centered his mind on Sabrina, his baby girl. There are certain joy filled occurrences in life that are without flaw, absolutely perfect, the times when nothing else in life matters… not the world around you… not even yourself, just that moment. They are eternal memories that elicit feelings of bliss every time they are relived. Sabrina was that moment for him. Tears of joy don’t make sense to most men… it is a woman who can cry in happiness, sadness, joy, or pain. Peter understood tears of joy on that day. Overwhelming emotions mix before coming together, soft laughter from the soul as he held the bundled up creature close, moments after she was born into this world. Wet eyes caught off guard like a gut shot, a pleasure filled gut shot that could never bring pain. The little face straining, the little muscles tightening, she cries out to them who would have her. That is the pain of a father’s breaking heart, the sweet laughter from the deep, she is well when she cries but he never wants her to feel the hurt.

The feelings were evident on the face of his wife Candace; they traded looks between themselves and their child. Peter held Sabrina to the hospital bed containing his wife… so beautiful still in her rawest most natural form. They are the world within a world; it was Peter’s duty to see them safe. The mind did not analyze, the brain did not over think or under think… each moment was all the mind knew. There was a connection that is otherwise long broken in this world, a connection to everything… a wisdom which feels eternal. How could they ever go back, how could they ever see the world in any other way?

The memory fills him with joy, but the memory always ends. He did go back, he did break that eternal moment, he is right here on this city street headed toward a place. It is a place he will find meaningless in contrast; yet, he will be expected to treat it with the highest regard. He will be told that the job is of the utmost importance, that it is serious business which must be done or the sky will fall. The sky falls for him every time he is expected to put work first, to leave that memory behind, building less meaningful ones which are supposed to indirectly benefit his family.

Peter was making better time than he had expected. The office building he was headed toward came well into sight. Arriving or even nearing a destination is like releasing a long held breath. He was actually enjoying the experience when he suddenly, seemingly without reason, shifted gears. Why did he care to arrive at such a place? If he gets the job he will be working a few short miles from the place he wants to leave, the place he