Defying Gravity: The Hyperion Chronicles

By J.J. Fox

What if I were to tell you that every day of your life you have lived a lie? If your every memory, experience, and interaction with the world around you was tainted by the fallacy, would you strive to learn the truth? Do you possess the inner fortitude to break the shackles that have imprisoned your mind?

We can give you that power. We can show you the truth. Each day, we bask in the glory that was intended for all humanity. From Hyperion, the last free city, we endeavor to preserve the way of life of our common ancestors so that one day, those of you who have been lost might reawaken.

Defying Gravity is the first installment in the journey of a young man from among you who chose to learn of the truth. The account details the triumphs and defeats necessary to cast off the bonds that had held him for sixteen years of life on Earth. Though some were resistant and all were uncertain, none could have predicted how his coming would forever change the course of humanitys collective destiny.

We invite you to share in his journey. If you lack the courage to challenge the assumptions of your reality, perhaps walking the footsteps of one who has come before you will inspire. As you will invariably come to learn in The Hyperion Chronicles, even the slightest shift in your perspective is a monumental victory for our cause.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 11, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463438128

J.J. Fox

J.J. Fox began life in rural Michigan January 11th, 1984. After enjoying a youth rich in the benefits of small town America he relocated with his family to the sun-bathed coast of Southern Florida beneath whose infinite skies The Hyperion Chronicles were born. His forays into the world of creative writing began at an early age and his unshakable captivation by the written word followed him to an English Literature degree at University. He remains an avid reader of the fantasy genre and firmly believes in the power of the human imagination to innovate and invigorate. His passion for writing is second only to love for his family. Through his work, he hopes to one day inspire the generation of his children to rise and meet the wildest of their dreams and to always challenge the assumptions of the world around them.

Book preview

Defying Gravity

The Hyperion Chronicles

J.J. Fox

Illustration by Jim Driggs

US%26UKLogoB%26Wnew.ai

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2011 by J.J. Fox. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 11/07/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4634-3814-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-3813-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-3812-8 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011913017

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

DEDICATION:

To R.S.E, the first of us to see Hyperion.

For your courage, optimism, and inspiration.

Modern Civilization, the phrase so often invoked by your leaders in times of great trial or triumph, the supposed culmination of humanity’s greatest achievements, is nothing more than an elaborate farce. Your definitions of modernity imply scientific and technological advancement as required tenants for inclusion. Those that by choice or by force, go without such advancements, are so easily dismissed as backward or peculiar. What if I were to tell you that at the core of your so-called modernity there exists a fundamental falsehood that has become so ingrained, it is almost never challenged? As you read these words, you believe beyond any doubt that gravity is responsible, in its ever-present, naturally occurring way, for your glass of water’s peaceful resting state upon the table; for your table’s immobility on the floor; for your floor’s inextricable cling to the Earth. Hopeless fool.

Thankfully, among you there are some beautiful and as yet, unsullied minds. What child has not, at one time or another, questioned such a ridiculous notion? Perhaps even you, in your youth, once mused: ‘If I cannot see gravity, how do I know it is real?’ Perhaps you gazed enviously at the cloud-laden heavens and imagined what it might be like to defy the restrictions of gravity as the winged birds do.

Tragically, the evidence heaped upon you has long ago extinguished such childish flights of fancy. Unforgivably, you have already, or will one day in the future indoctrinate your own progeny, rendering them forever enthralled to the lie. You are of course absolved of any guilt or responsibility in so doing as you, yourself are also a victim.

I did not set out to write you this message from a position of judgment or condemnation though I will be the first to admit it must seem so. You are wondering: who am I to pass any judgment upon you? To which, I offer my congratulations for the first of what I truly hope will be an infinite number of good questions you are finally brave enough to ask. However, the answer to your query is a bit more complicated than who I am. I think the more appropriate question ought to be what I am.

Those like you have called me many unflattering things, not least among them freak, mutant, and monster. A few misguided but kinder souls think me to be an angel. Simply put, I am a human being. Does that revelation comfort you, or give you cause for concern? If you are wise, it should be the latter because if I am human, it means that you certainly are not. Though we may look alike, I assure you I am the shark in form and function to your minnow. Both fish, I admit, but you will agree that is where the correlations cease. Enough deflection now, I began this writing with purpose.

I offer you a precious truth, a chance for salvation. I have but a single condition. You must, with the same fervor you placed in its infallibility, reject all that you have been told of gravity. Before you resist, simply consider what that world might be like. Enclosed you will find the history of an adolescent, not unlike your past, your present, or your future, who took the ultimate leap of faith. In becoming a man, he became a human being.

-F.R.

For ten, long years Benjamin Meaks had stared out these same windows, imprisoned within the prestigious walls of Oakwoods Preparatory Academy. Though he gazed out into the free air of the springtime Vermont skies seeking solace, he received only further reminder of the condemnation, the life sentence he was bound to serve within the confines of his own reflection. For sixteen years the despondent visage, ever struggling to control the dark, unruly head of hair, had been his silent tormentor. The bone structure of his cheeks and chin apparently lacked the menace that would have garnered the respect of his fellow inmates. Yet, above all else, it was the eyes, the cursed green orbs that followed his every move and mocked him endlessly that he hated most. Outside these hallowed halls of intellectual advancement, some might find Ben’s combination of dark hair and light eyes appealing. However, within the culture of conformity his peers rigorously adhered to, his failure to match dark hair with brown eyes gave just one more stone to heap upon his tomb of isolation.

Benjamin!

Professor Marble’s voice snapped him back to attention. Professor Marble was chief amongst his jailers this year. The stern dispenser of Physics knowledge viewed Ben with a disdain so pure, it could only be viewed as if Ben’s very existence offended him. It was the same misunderstanding that led all of his professors to similar levels of contempt for him. The cruel hand of fate had seen fit to reward the only son of Doctors David and Patricia Meaks, world renowned for their contributions to the scientific community, with neither the aptitude nor appetite to excel in their fields of expertise. Despite his best intentions, Ben’s lack of performance was always interpreted as willful disrespect. So it had been in his elementary days and so would it be until he was finally through with Oakwoods.

Perhaps, Mr. Meaks, you would be kind enough as to tell me why objects that are thrown into the air return to Earth at an acceleration rate of nine-point-eight meters per second squared?

Ben’s pallid cheeks flushed briefly molten as he sat quietly in his chair. The other fifteen members of the class fixated upon him, grinning ravenously like a pack of wolves on cornered prey. The answer seemed so simple and yet, Ben had been down this road countless times. The same melodrama unfolded on a weekly basis. Ben would offer a logical, seemingly correct explanation to the question posed, only to find himself mired in a deeper level of Marble’s ire.

Well, Mr. Meaks, we are all waiting.

The show must go on. Better, he thought, to give them what they want rather than allow them the satisfaction of a suspenseful climax.

I suppose the objects fall to Earth because they cannot fly, Sir.

The class broke out into raucous laughter, delighted not by his response but by the prospect of his impending consequences.

Silence!

Professor Marble’s face was scarlet with rage.

Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?

Ben sincerely wished he had been kidding; nearly as much as he wished his desire to have furnished the correct answer made any real difference to the quality of his academic life. Out of habit now, he braced himself for his instructor’s venom.

That is the last straw, Meaks! I have been lecturing this entire class period about the force of gravity and you have once again seen fit to make me regret that effort. I will be writing to your parents about your utter lack of respect. You will remain here until I have finished. The rest of you read chapter six for tomorrow. You are dismissed!

Ben sank deeper into his seat as the rest of the class filed out of the room, many of them still laughing or pointing at him. When they had finally gone, having satiated themselves upon his bleeding pride, he gathered his books and approached Professor Marble’s solid oak desk. He stood there silently as the elderly Professor scribbled furiously on a sheet of paper, muttering darkly as he wrote. This was the part of the ritual Ben found to be most tedious. At this point there could not possibly be anything his parents had not heard dozens of times already. Why bother waste everyone’s time with another lengthy diatribe?

After several minutes the charade came to a merciful end. Professor Marble stood up quickly and shoved a sealed envelope bearing the Oakwoods crest into his outstretched hand.

You will return this letter signed by your father tomorrow, Mr. Meaks, or you will face suspension.

With a flourish of brown suit coat and maroon necktie Professor Marble turned his attention toward erasing the whiteboard. Ben slunk dejectedly out of the room.

In the hall students were still milling about, depositing books in lockers, or chatting with friends. Several freshmen girls from Marble’s class snickered as they passed. It was embarrassing enough to be a full year behind that being at the bottom of his remedial class seemed an unnecessary insult. He ignored them, as always, and made his way to the end of the hall and front exit of Oakwoods Prep. Ben paused on the threshold of the exit and looked out of the imposing, brass framed, glass doors. Rain was pouring down harder than it had all day. He fumbled around in his backpack searching for his umbrella. It was still in his locker on the school’s third floor. Of course on a day like this. Pushing off from the door in frustration, he turned back toward the main stairs when he heard the all too familiar voice of Scott Ricter. Sure enough, blocking his way up the stairs were Scott Ricter and his cronies. They were a walking, breathing cliché. Were they not a constant in his recurring daily nightmare, Ben would have chuckled to himself as though watching a scripted teen drama where the jocks arrive to bully the hapless intellectual all the while revealing themselves to be shallow troglodytes. In this reality, their fists and malice were not a clever piece of acting and the expression of both seemed to require Ben.

Did someone forget their umbrella, Meaks?

Scott Ricter grinned at him cruelly amid the chuckles of his friends.

"Why don’t you just fly up and get it then?"

Ben’s cheeks flushed again with embarrassment. How did Scott Ricter already know about Physics class? He was in no mood for trying to get past the bullies today so he simply turned around and went out into the rain as their harsh laughter filled the hall.

Ben did not run quickly toward the bus stop. He walked slowly, allowing the rain to utterly soak him. The heavy drops masked the few, hot, renegade tears that managed to escape the typically stoic prison of his eyes. As he sat down heavily upon the saturated wooden bench to wait for the bus, Ben wiped away the last tears with shamed disgust. I am too old to be crying. That’s just what they want anyway. When subjected to daily doses of any environmental stimulus, human beings show a remarkable capacity for adaptation. Yet here, cold and alone, Ben was once again reminded that the bite of cruelty never seemed to lose its potency despite his constant interaction with it.

His parents worked at Wellington, the most prestigious University in the state of Vermont. Naturally, they were still teaching when Ben got out of school so he took the bus home alone every day. Thinking of his parents reminded him of the two letters he had in his pack. He had also received a letter of admonition from Mrs. Nickel, his Geometry Professor. Seeking reprieve, he looked hopefully down the winding road for any sign of the bus. The heat of his body was rapidly losing ground to the elements now, but the oily sheen off the distant pavement showed no signs of salvation. Ben stared across the road crestfallen. A strange man under a tattered, black umbrella was crossing toward the bus stop. The man was wearing brown pants and a green garment, belted around his waist that fell just above his knees. His hair was long but not unruly and was a striking blond. This, however, was not what prompted Ben to characterize the man as being strange. He was not wearing any shoes. What was a grown man doing crossing the street in the rain without any shoes on his feet? Ben thought of calling out a warning as the man approached the jagged edge of a water filled imperfection in the pavement, but was hesitant to draw any attention to himself. Ben’s next breath lodged in his throat and his heart pumped blood to his ocular nerves to give him hyper focus. The man seemed to float above the puddle until he had crossed it. His feet never sank below the surface of the pool, nor did they disturb the water contained within. Ben instinctively closed his eyes for a long moment as though they needed an opportunity to return to normal functionality. When he opened them again the man was seated happily beside him on the bench. Though he knew it to be socially unacceptable, Ben could not help but stare. The stranger smiled warmly and extended his hand.

My name is Prennen. It is a pleasure to meet you, Benjamin Meaks.

Still staring, Ben shook the hand extended toward him and managed to stammer a polite response.

Prennen’s face beamed a glittering white smile and he winked conspiratorially.

I hope this does not offend you, but I should very much appreciate it if you kept the circumstances of our initial meeting confidential.

At sixteen, Ben was caught in the awkward form of limbo where it was no longer possible to identify with those individuals classified as children and yet, neither did he fully consider himself an adult. As such, the lessons of his youth about engaging in conversation with adult strangers came flooding back, but Ben was uncertain if they still applied to him. Regardless, this particular stranger knew his name and apparently defied the laws of nature. Ben felt justified to treat him with caution. Prennen’s matter of fact continuation of their thus far one-sided conversation forced Ben back into the present.

In all my years of doing this, recruiting young men and women like yourself; I find the easiest way is to simply start small. I know full well you don’t know me and have no reason to trust me. I know you are quickly filling with questions that I have no intention of answering at our initial meeting. For today, I will address two small pieces of the puzzle. If we go beyond that is entirely in your hands.

Prennen smiled again disarmingly and with an unmistakable glint of remorse for being purposefully vague.

"First, as I said, my name is Prennen. I am here to recruit you and you want to be recruited. Second, I am certain you are wondering why I do not wear shoes. To this end, I am afraid I am forced to answer a question with another question. Rather than focus on my lack of shoes, consider why you are wearing them in the first place. I look forward to hearing your response at our next meeting. Please keep the umbrella as it would appear you are in greater need of it than I."

Ben mechanically reached out and took the metal handle of the black umbrella that was offered to him. His mind was fighting desperately to catch up to the speed of reality, but the mire of his thoughts would not release him. Prennen waved cheerfully as though this was quite an ordinary day for him as he stepped back into the street just ahead of the bus coming to a stop there. The bus doors opened and the heavy fumes of exhaust reached his nostrils. Ben stared blankly into the impatient face of the bus driver, the same driver he had every day, until she called down to him.

Are you coming or not? I don’t have all night.

Ben’s mind was still racing when he thanked the bus driver and stepped onto the street in front of his house. He could not get the strange man Prennen out of his head. Why do I wear shoes? What kind of question is that? He turned the key in his large, dark green front door and slipped inside out of the rain. He was shivering, but there was no room in his thoughts for the cold. He raced upstairs energetically and threw off his wet clothes into the hamper next to his polished oak bed. Ben searched in his drawers until he found a dry pair of blue jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. Most of the clothes he owned were school uniforms for Oakwoods. He walked into the bathroom just across the long hall from his own room and dried his face and soggy black hair. Finally satisfied that he was warm and dry, Ben returned to his bedroom to unpack his backpack. He was thankful that the bag was waterproof as he removed the Physics and Geometry books. Two letters slipped from between them and landed gently on the floor. He instantly remembered the contents of the official looking envelopes and lost his brief feelings of warmth and comfort. A knot was growing steadily in the pit of his stomach. Even the writing on the outside of the envelopes looked angry.

To the parents of Benjamin Meaks:

Ben winced at the site of his name and placed the letters carefully on his dresser. He sat down heavily on his bed and checked the nightstand clock. It was nearly 4:30 in the afternoon and his parents would soon be home. There would be no avoiding their wrath. Like every other time in his sordid educational past they would demand he dedicate himself to his studies and threaten his non-existent social life if he failed to do so. He grabbed his Physics book and turned to chapter six.

Chapter Six: The Force of Gravity.

Gravity is the natural force that is generated by the rotation of the planet Earth. It is responsible for the tendency of objects to remain anchored to the surface as shown in diagram 6.1.

Ben stared intently at the diagram. Visible red lines represented the invisible force of gravity acting upon a soccer ball. The ball supposedly remained steady in one place not because no one kicked it, but because gravity magically held it to the spot. He attempted earnestly to decipher the mathematical explanation for this phenomenon. Numbers and references to famous theorems began to melt into gibberish the farther he read. Geometry was even worse. What did it matter that the world around him was completely explainable by math and science? Ben had never cared to know the mathematical explanation for why or how his bedroom door opened and closed, merely that it fulfilled its purpose was enough. He set aside both books in frustration just as the front door opened to announce the return of Doctors Patricia and David Meaks, his illustrious parents.

Benjamin, come down. We’ve brought dinner home tonight.

His stomach churned as he stared at the letters on the dresser. He walked slowly to where they lay. Grabbing them up quickly, as though removing an adhesive bandage, he strode out of the room and down to the kitchen. His mother was busy preparing fresh vegetables to go with the roast chicken they had brought home. Her long, jet-black hair swayed slightly as she chopped carrots. His father was slicing chicken into thin strips off the bones. Ben could not help but think that this might not be the best time to mention the letters while both his parents were so armed. After all, these were nowhere near the first letters he had ever brought home. He quickly hid them in the back pocket of his jeans.

Please set the table, Benjamin.

He could not tell if he had heard a note of severity in his father’s voice or if his mind was prematurely making assumptions. Sadly, severity was unmistakable in his mother’s voice.

You will place those letters on the table as well. Your father and I both received calls today from Oakwoods. It was very embarrassing, Benjamin.

She swept the carrots into a large dish of salad with a flourish of her knife and marched over to the table closely followed by his father. Ben could see his father’s flushed angry cheeks. They ate in silence. If his meal was flavorful the sensation was lost on Ben because his mouth was so dry. After the dishes had been cleared away and they were all around the table again the silence was broken by tearing envelopes. His father read the first, from Professor Marble, out loud.

Doctor Meaks,

I regret to inform you that your son Benjamin has once again outdone himself with disrespect to his fellow classmates. I gave an entire class lecture on elementary gravity and not only did your son fail to pay attention to a word of it, he then proceeded to make a mockery of himself upon questioning. I quote, "I suppose objects fall to Earth because they cannot fly." It was an utter outrage. I would expect that the son of the most prominent physicist in New England would have some concept of gravity! I assume I need not mention that your son is currently earning an F in this course and that we are but a few months from term’s end? Immediate improvement is needed if your son expects to even pass this course let alone this grade level.

Sincerely,

Harold Marble.

When the letter was lowered the dark eyes of David Meaks were nothing short of dangerous. His mother had silently read the letter from Professor Nickel. She was also fuming with barely controlled rage. Ben shrank before them. After ten years of school as their son he should have known better than to speak first. Worse still was his decision to not only speak, but attempt to highlight his other academic accomplishments.

I’m earning an A in English and European History.

His father’s fists impacted the table with enough force to rattle the salt and pepper shakers against one another.

Of course you’re earning A’s in those worthless subjects! A trained ape could do as well! Do you realize that I am the head of the Physics department at Wellington University? How does it look if my own son fails elementary physics?

His father’s shouting seamed to awaken the anger in his mother and she took the next shot at him.

"I am the Professor of Differential Calculus, Benjamin! My son cannot accomplish anything mathematically more challenging than addition! You should be ashamed of disgracing your father and me. Oh, I promise you, young man, you will improve in these subjects immediately if you know what’s good for you! Go to your room and study until your father and I have decided how best to motivate you!"

His mother’s words still ringing in his ears, Ben walked up the stairs to his room. He slammed the door shut and threw himself on his bed face down in frustration. How am I supposed to understand when my own parents refuse to help me? An unexpected thought entered his mind then. In the midst of an impossible question to answer came another far simpler query. Why does a person wear shoes? Ben calmed down slightly as he repeated the question to himself. His thoughts turned to the answer naturally and, mercifully, Ben’s mind was able to momentarily release the painful echoes of his parents’ angry disapproval. The answer seemed so simple. People wore shoes to protect their feet when they walked or ran. Surely Prennen had to have meant something more complicated. Ben scoured his mind and soon fell asleep, accidentally, still thinking about the strange man’s question. He was awakened more than an hour later by muffled voices outside his bedroom door.

He’s asleep, David. Just let him sleep. We can talk to him in the morning.

Patricia, I want to speak with him now.

His father sighed deeply.

You’re probably right. He wouldn’t understand anyway. How am I supposed to pass on my legacy if my son cannot even comprehend elementary gravity equations?

I don’t know, David. I just don’t know.

Their footsteps receded down the hall followed by a muffled door closing. The pale moonlight that fell on Ben’s face was not nearly enough to comfort the stinging pain. He lay awake, utterly consumed by darkness in his heart, for a few long minutes until he was able to sink back into sleep.

When Ben awoke the next morning to the sound of his alarm clock, the rain had finally stopped its relentless attack upon the southern Vermont skies. The sun was shining warmly through his bedroom window on the second floor. He felt slightly relieved after a full night of sleep, but the thought of facing his parents again was more than a little disheartening. Nevertheless, he showered and got dressed in his collared, white, uniform shirt and black pants as he always did before going down to breakfast. He crept hesitantly into the kitchen, but found it already empty. He could tell by the empty coffee cups in the sink that his parents had already gone to work. A happy sigh of relief escaped his lungs. He poured himself a large glass of orange juice and a bowl of cereal. When he sat down to eat at the table, he saw the infamous school letters lying in an orderly pile. The weight of his parents’ signatures forced his head to sink and he stared into his cereal bowl shamefully. He ate quickly and packed the letters into his backpack to force their hateful whispering to an end. Beneath the two Oakwoods letters there was another handwritten message on the table.

Benjamin,

You will come straight home after school and study until we arrive. You will apologize to Professors Marble and Nickel for your despicable behavior. You are grounded until further notice.

It was the same as always. They can’t possibly think I was going to go anywhere after school anyway. Where would I ever go? Ben grabbed his backpack and left the house to wait for the bus on the street. It came exactly at seven-thirty in the morning and once again, he was the only passenger. All the other students of Oakwoods Prep had their own cars or parents to drive them to school. As one of the myriad motivational ploys of his parents, Ben had not been allowed to even apply for his driver’s license. He rested his head on the cool glass of the bus window and watched the fall scenery glide by. His father’s words came back to his head as he drifted with the passing trees. What had he meant by his legacy? Ben certainly had no intention of ever being a college professor. His father’s choice of words had seemed odd, especially from a man who never did anything less than perfectly. Of course, his mother had understood his father’s meaning so the words must have been clear enough. Just like everything else; they understand, but it just doesn’t make sense to me.

The bus came to a halt outside the front entrance to Oakwoods. Ben nodded politely to the bus driver and headed toward the school doors. Once inside, he headed up to the third floor to his locker. He exchanged his Physics and Geometry books for his European History and English books. Benjamin always enjoyed the beginning of the day. English and History were his best and favorite subjects. As he headed toward Professor Apple’s classroom, he passed a large group of students all dressed in crisp looking Oakwoods uniforms. A familiar voice called after him.

Hey, Meaks, I hope your arms aren’t tired from your flight to school this morning. Oh, I forgot, you ride the nerd-wagon all by yourself.

Scott Ricter and the students around him laughed gratingly in the narrow brick hall. Scott Ricter’s black hair and dark eyes had a slick, serpentine shine to them. The burly senior caught Ben’s green eyes in his own vice-like, abyssal orbs. He could see Ricter’s dancing with cruel delight. Ben pretended not to hear them as he pushed open the door to Miss Apple’s English class. Professor Apple’s kind smile greeted him.

Good morning, Benjamin. I heard about your day yesterday. How are you holding up?

Ben forced himself to smile, despite his embarrassment that Professor Apple had heard of how foolish he had been outside of her classroom.

I’m fine, thank you. It really wasn’t all that bad.

Professor Apple did not seem convinced, but she did not press him any further. The other students began to file in just before the bell rang. Ben sat quietly through the discussion of the literary uses of flight in modern poetry. He pretended not to have any ideas on the subject so as not to draw attention to himself. Even the dull-witted, spoiled students of Oakwoods would have been able to make a connection between the present topic of discussion and his physics blunder. Professor Apple glanced apologetically in his direction more than once, but Ben averted his eyes. Of all the times to discuss flying in poems, this was by far the worst. He was thankful when the bell rang to end class, but even more thankful that Scott Ricter was in his senior year and not in his class. He certainly would have made the connection at Ben’s expense.

The rest of his morning classes and lunch period passed uneventfully. In Professor Archie’s history class, they had watched a film on the Egyptian mummification process as a reward for enduring the week’s long dictation on modern British imperialism. There was a substitute teacher in Professor Nickel’s Geometry class. Ben was able to simply leave the letter on her desk and enjoy a study hall without having to deal with apologizing.

He was not so lucky when he reluctantly approached Professor Marble’s polished, oak desk after class for the second time in as many days. The Professor’s dark eyes radiated distaste down on him as he delivered the signed letter. Ben’s voice had a monotone quality, remarkably similar to Professor Marble’s, as he uttered his well-rehearsed apology.

Please excuse my disrespectful behavior, Sir. I will try my best to be more prepared and attentive in your class in the future.

There was no notable change in the expression on Professor Marble’s face, but he sighed and nodded tightly toward the door for Ben to go on his way. Ben escaped into the welcome freedom of the crowded hall. He had half-expected Professor Marble to write him another letter for his lack of respect and sincerity during the apology. Finally, something had gone his way in an otherwise dreadful week. He moved quickly up to the third floor to his locker and gathered his night’s homework. With one, final, furtive glance down the long, brick hallway leading to the stairs, Ben made sure there was no sign of Scott Ricter or any of his gang. He hated the fact that he was always watching out for his personal tormentor. After all, Ben could not remember a time when Ricter hadn’t been there. He was also ashamed of the fear that Scott Ricter’s mere image could produce inside him. To his relief, the coast was clear long enough to race to the end of the hall and down the stairs. In fact, even at the main entrance, Ricter was nowhere to be seen. This surprised Ben. Scott Ricter was like clockwork. He never let Ben go a single day without sending him off with a final, after—school taunting. He carefully crept toward the large glass entrance doors and pushed through them onto the sunlit steps beyond. Not trusting that his good fortune would hold, he ran as fast as he could to the safety of the bus stop. He was greeted upon his arrival by a now more familiar, pearly-white smile.

Benjamin Meaks, a pleasure to see you again. Your bus is ahead of schedule today on account of the pleasant weather. I must be brief. Have you considered our discussion yesterday any further?

Ben considered that question to be completely ridiculous. How could he forget watching a man walk on water? Their discussion had hardly left his mind. He nodded politely to indicate that he had indeed considered it further.

Contrary to expectation, this seemed to greatly impress Prennen. His smile widened and he leaned in closer to Ben, speaking in a hushed, furtive manner.

Well then, let’s have it. What did you conclude?

Ben responded as confidently as possible, despite his suspicion that he was once again, not fully comprehending the nature of the subject at hand.

I believe people wear shoes on their feet to protect them from harm.

Prennen’s bright smile faded slightly.

I guess that is the sensible thing to say and of course you’re not wrong either. You’re not entirely correct though. I want you to think long and hard about what I am about to tell you. It’s very important that you do. Do you understand?

Prennen’s smile was gone now and his light eyes were cold and intense. Ben nodded in solemn agreement, though he was beginning to feel awkward. Prennen’s smile returned and he looked instantly relieved.

"Thank you, Ben. Now, listen very carefully. People need to wear shoes in this place for protection. Not to ward off hazardous objects, but because their feet were never meant to touch the ground in the first place. People weren’t meant to do a lot of things that they have to do here. I know you don’t understand what I mean just yet, but I promise you will. Now, your bus is nearly here so I must leave you. Remember to think it through. I hope we meet again soon."

Ben only glanced for a moment to see that the bus was truly coming around the last bend, but when he turned back, Prennen was gone. He scoured the far side of the street, but there was no sign of the strange man. The bus came to a noisy halt and Ben was forced to stop scanning and climb aboard. In another moment, the bus was racing him home again.

The beauty of the Vermont landscape was lost on Ben. The explosive foliage of the autumn trees, still thick and vibrant amongst the boughs, streamed by the cold bus windows; unnoticed by the sole occupant. His mind was furiously trying to unravel the last words Prennen had spoken. What did he mean feet were not supposed to touch the ground? That was, after all, the purpose of having feet. He puzzled over these words again and again until he was routinely thanking the driver and heading toward his own front door. Ben entered, slipped off his uniform shoes absentmindedly, and headed for the stairs. Then the answer hit him, or perhaps more specifically, he hit it.

Ben was so wrapped up in thought that he stubbed his right, big toe painfully on the first wooden step leading to his second floor bedroom. He sat down to massage the throbbing digit and suddenly, he understood Prennen’s cryptic meaning. It stood to reason that if the purpose of feet was to walk upon the ground, the process should be painless. If feet were meant to come in contact with the surface, they should be perfectly suited to the task. Yet, as Ben examined his own right foot, sockless and reddened by the pooling blood beneath his nail, it seemed so fragile for such a task. Ben, like most people he imagined, had never in his life given a second thought as to why people needed to wear shoes and yet, the truth was that it simply didn’t make sense at all. No other animal on the face of the Earth required shoes. Why then, did humans? Ben put his sock back on and gingerly climbed the stairs to his bedroom.

When his mother and father arrived at home, they found him still pouring diligently over his Geometry and Physics books. Both of his parents seemed much calmer and far more settled than they had been the last time Ben was in their presence. He obediently came down the stairs from his upstairs bedroom when his mother’s voice called him from the kitchen. The kitchen table was set and his father was still reading some article of work from his briefcase. His mother approached the table with a large bowl of spaghetti and meatballs in her slender hands. She brushed her long, black hair out of her face and took her seat as Ben hungrily spooned a large portion onto his plate. He wanted so much to break the uneasy silence by telling his parents about his encounter with Prennen and his strange question. Something warned him against such an action though, and he ate silently with his parents in keeping with their custom.

The longer they sat at the table, the more apparent it became to Ben that his parents were longing to bring something up, but were also holding back. At last, the silence became so overwhelming that he practically shouted out the question Prennen had asked him to free them all from the smothering tension.

Why do you think people wear shoes?

His parents both looked up from their food with a start. Their expressions reflected both the sudden outburst and their distaste for the simplicity of the question. After a few, awkward moments in which both his mother and father simply stared at him quizzically, his father let out a slow sigh and answered in exactly the manner Ben had expected him to.

Son, people obviously wear shoes to protect their feet from broken glass, sharp rocks, and any other possible hazard when they walk or run.

Ben became excited that for once he had a deeper element of thought to provide his father. He smiled as he began to relate his newfound revelation on the subject. It felt good to smile whilst engaging his parents.

I think it’s because our feet were never really meant to walk on the ground in the first place. I mean, think about it. Horses have solid hooves to contact the ground. Cats have leathery pads. We have nothing to protect our feet. Don’t you think that is strange?

His proud smile left his face faster than it had appeared as his father bellowed back at him.

WHERE DID YOU HEAR THAT GARBAGE, BENJAMIN MEAKS?!

Ben did not know what to say or why his father was fuming at him once again. For some reason, he still did not tell them about Prennen. Instead, he very weakly replied while staring at his plate.

I was just thinking about it today, that’s all. I’m sorry.

This time his mother’s shrill voice sliced through the dense atmosphere of anger looming over the table.

So this is the kind of thing you think of when you are supposed to be paying attention in your classes? You will go to your room right this instant and study! If I ever hear you mention such nonsense again, you will certainly regret it young man!

Ben slunk from the table and up the stairs for the second evening in a row. When he reached his bedroom he could no longer contain his frustration. He slammed his door roughly and flung his books to the floor. What have I done this time that is so disappointing and worthy of punishment? He stared at the family portrait on his end table. There were his parents, black-haired and brown-eyed, their faces held in tight smiles, staring out at him. They both had one hand on the shoulder of a young boy with light, green eyes and a bright, innocent smile. Ben grimaced at the picture, retching the naivety of the foolish, younger version of himself. It was even apparent in the family photos that he was different and therefore disappointing to his parents. I hate them! The guilt at such a thought forced his head down to the floor.

Ben stared at the floor so often in his house that he never would have expected solace from it. On this occasion however, fate was with him. A foreign piece of unfamiliar paper lay on the floor slightly away from the jumbled heap of books. He slowly bent down and