Sargasso - Chapter 3

Sargasso - is a serial short story. If you missed Chapter 2 click here. 

To my readers:  So, when I started writing this story I believed I was going to be able to write it in 3 chapters. I apparently misjudged my own imagination. For all of you who were hoping for a conclusion to Sargasso today, you are going to have to wait until next week for Chapter 4. (That is, unless, I come with something for Chapter 5...) - Peter-John

"Sargasso"

by Peter-John Campbell

Chapter 3

So-young opened her eyes. She looked up and saw that her drop had only been ten feet, but she felt every inch of it. Her left leg and arm throbbed. The palm of her hand was scraped and bleeding. She felt cold, or damp. With a groan, she sat up and found that she was lying in a puddle of water. Standing, she felt dizzy. She reached to balance herself and cringed as she touched the wall coated with a thin filmy slime.

This dank hollow existed in stark contrast to the city above. With 10% of the population assigned to a special work detail, the metropolis was kept immaculate. Daily they would clean, polish, wash, sweep, and fix every blemish that could be found. Not a crack, hole, or smudge was ever seen. The city was flawless, all part of the Great Father's plan to show their nation's superiority.

The deep slurring sound of a whale passing over echoed through the tunnel. So-young knew that it was time to move.

Picture art courtesy of Six Wing Studios 

For the next hour she winced along through the musty darkness, the occasional beam of light giving her enough to see by, when the path took a sudden and slick decline. Struggling to keep her balance, she slid down the slope and into a large chamber, a conflux of several tunnels. It was an odd place, and from the decayed debris laying around it was obvious that it had at one time served as someone's home. 

Painted on the walls were signs and symbols. So-young recognized some of them. They were the marks of the rebellion from a few years ago, a sorrowful attempt to overthrow the government. The insurrectionists captured the Capitol for a day with the promise that their stand would embolden the public, and that they would rise to join them. But with a quick and fierce retaliation, the army responded by leveling the building. The rebels who survived were hung for a week in the public square. Barbaric, but the Great Father wanted to quell any other descent before it formed.

So-young looked around, slowly scanning the walls, reading what was written. Brushing the soot off of one spot to get a better look, she jerked her hand back as if she had touched something hot. Startled by the obscenity, written in white. It was an illegal word. Article 73: Any speech that is in direct defiance to the State is prohibited. There were nine illegal words. But this one was the most forbidden. So-young looked around with a nervous impulse to make sure no one saw her. To write, speak, or even read one of the nine words was punishable by death.

So-young had only seen this word one other time in her life, scratched into the back of a seat on the bus she road home from school. She didn't report it and became sick with guilt. Finally, her State Guardian forced her to unburden her obvious secret, and So-young confessed her sin. The next day she was greeted with a new bus and driver.

Standing in its presence now, So-young looked on with fear and awe. She stepped forward and touched it, almost reverently. She feared the word but longed to understand its meaning.

...

The rush of water and fresh air was a welcome change of scenery. So-young waded through the knee high water that drained out into the river. She climbed out of the tunnel into the ravine, looking around to get her bearings.

Picture art courtesy of Six Wing Studios 

This area was familiar to her because years ago it had been the national park. So-young and her husband would come here in their time off to hike and camp, the only activity permitted outside the city limits. As private citizens, acquiring the special permits needed was virtually unheard of, but he had done it. That was the type of man he was; always working to make her smile and find a way to make life more bearable for So-young.

It had all changed, though, when the frontline of the battle was pushed back. That was a dark time. The army encountered heavy losses, and the enemy, pushing hard, forced them back to the north base of the mountains. The city was on high alert at all times. Food was rationed, a stricter curfew was set, and the park was shut down. The city limits morphed into a fortress over night, all for the sake of protecting the people. But, when the war moved north and the enemy was again out of range, the policies stayed in effect. No one dared ask why.

The water was too high to cross, and still icy cold from the spring thaw. There were only two safe ways across the river; the main road, which would be guarded, and the old train-line bridge, if it was even still there. She decided that the storm drain must have positioned her downstream from the old train-line. She turned west and headed upstream.

She had only walked a few yards when she saw the figure of someone lying on the ground ahead. So-young ducked behind a tree, terrified. Considering her next move, the wind blew and the smell of rotting flesh smacked her in the face like cold water. Relieved, her heart all the same began to beat harder, and the horrid thought of seeing a dead body made her anxious. She took a few deep breaths to steady her nerves and slowly looked around the tree. It was the body of a man in peasant clothes, lying face down. It was apparent that he had been there for a few weeks.

Something up the hill caught her eye. Another body. Then two more, further up. So-young nervously came out from behind the tree. More bodies. The further she looked, the more she saw. Hundreds of corpses, piled and decaying, covered the ground from the top of the ridge to the river. So-young felt faint. She looked around, but there was no other way to go. She would have to walk through the open graveyard.

Closing her eyes, she took a shallow breath and stepped forward, not looking down but only at the trees ahead. The ground crunched beneath her feet.

Suddenly, she heard angry shouts from above. So-young turned and could see the silhouettes of several people standing on the ridge. She threw herself to the ground between two bodies. The shouts became louder. The silhouettes trembled. So-young jumped with the sound of the first shot. A body fell into the ravine, and the sound of men laughing could be heard from the top of the hill. Burying her face into her arm, So-young tried not to scream as the other silhouettes fell.

- Click here to read Chapter 4 - 

Sargasso by Peter-John Campbell ©2012 

Picture art courtesy of Six Wings Studio 

Sargasso - Chapter 2

Sargasso - is a serial short story. If you missed Chapter 1 click here.

"Sargasso"

By Peter-John Campbell

Chapter 2

Locks of long black hair piled up on the floor. So-young snipped the last loose strands with no time to think or grieve of what she had just done. Grabbing the bottle she dumped the remaining pills in the toilet and flushed them down.

Picture art courtesy of Six Wing Studios 

Returning to the bedroom she reached for the closet door, then hesitated. It had been two years since she had even touched the handle - too many memories of him. Putting her hand to her mouth to try and steady her emotions, she quickly opened the door. Sifting through the clothes she pulled out her husband's infantry field jacket and tossed it on the bed, then dropped to her knees and opened a box with camping supplies in it. Digging through it, she pulled out her boots, backpack, and a knife. At the bottom of the box she found a flare stick. After looking at it for a moment, she stuffed it in the jacket pocket.

Dressed, she went to the kitchen and filled the bag with as much food and water as she could reasonably carry. Zip-zip-zip. So-young stopped and looked up at the clock. It was five till ten. She slung the backpack over her shoulder and went to the mirror. Running her fingers through her newly chopped hair, she pulled a green army cap from the jacket. This was his hat, the one he was wearing the day he was killed. It still smelled like him. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she pulled the cap on and added a pair of sunglasses. She didn't look anything like him, but she did look like a young man. Or at least she hoped she did. “Hopefully that's enough.” she said to herself.

So-young could not recall the last time she had been outside. With her office on the first floor of the building, she lived the blissful life of a recluse. The streets were busier than she remembered; the traffic, the noise, and the mass hordes of people made her anxious. So-young had to move swiftly so as not to be seen. She wasn't sure if the Ministry would be watching the building, but she left through the alley never the less.

The buses and trains were out of the question - the security checkpoints were too risky. Walking was the only option, but she also needed to be selective of which roads to take. Cameras, the Ministry’s hidden eyes, covered the city. No one could ever be sure when or if they were being watched. It was slow going, every step calculated, every turn premeditated. Wading through the sea of humanity that flowed through the steel and concrete caverns, she consciously kept herself in the midst of the crowd as she worked her way through the city.

After a few hours, So-young began to relax. The sun was shining, and the warm spring air seemed to be calming her nerves. She was even becoming good at spotting the cameras and moving out of their sight. Her spirits lifted, and for the first time since she had set out she knew that she was going to make it.

Suddenly, a mass of government vehicles came tearing around the corner, their sirens blaring, and screeched to an abrupt halt in formation. “Stop!” came a commanding voice over a loud speaker. With a corporate reflex, everyone on the street obeyed the command and put their hands behind their head and looked down. So-young's heart pounded as she fought to stay focused and steady her breathing. There was nowhere to hide. The vehicles emptied with soldiers pouring onto the street. Trembling, she peeked around the man in front of her and gasped when she saw him. The thin man paced about five yards from her, scanning the faces in the crowd. He turned back and began taking quick deliberate steps in her direction. So-young ducked back and focused on the ground.

“So, you thought you could get away!” The thin man yelled brushing through the crowd. “How far did you really think you would get?” He marched up to her, put his hands on So-young's shoulders and pushed her out of the way, then grabbed the collar of the man behind her. “Let's go!” The thin man pulled the dissident away, knocking some bystanders over. The fugitive was stuffed into one of the nearby tanks. The soldiers backed away and vanished into their trucks.

“Continue!” said the voice over the loud speaker. In unison the hands dropped, and everyone went on their way as if nothing had happened. Moments like these were routine, and no one ever interfered out of fear of being taken away, too. Though it was never talked about, everyone knew where “objectors” went when they disappeared. It was the unspeakable word, the dreaded place known only as The South. Article 11: Any citizen found unable to perform his or her civic duties will be given a more structured life. So-young didn't want to imagine what would become of the man that was caught – she didn't want to imagine what would happen to her.

...

So-young was getting concerned. The sun was setting and she needed to find a place to hide for the night. Article 23: A national curfew for all citizens one half hour after sunset until one half hour before sunrise the next morning. Any citizen caught breaking curfew will be detained. She was beginning to panic when she turned a corner and smiled from the sight of a familiar place.

May Day Park, the central court of the city “created to honor the labors of our great city and give them a place to rest.” More importantly, it was where, five years ago, he had asked So-young to marry him.

Picture art courtesy of Six Wing Studios

Walking carefully through the park, she marked out a spot near the lagoon. She sat down on a bench and watched to see if anyone was near. After a few minutes, she slid off the bench and shimmied under a thicket of bushes. Laying flat on her back, it was uncomfortable, but it was out of sight. Hungry, she pulled a protein ration out of her bag and stared up at the sky through the thick branches.

The night was muted by the flood of light pouring off of the electronic billboards that shrouded the buildings. All night long they kept their vigil, flashing their propaganda and proclaiming the greatness of the nation and its leader. “Strength is in Unity!” declared one, showing a group of citizens standing with arms locked together. Another depicted the Imperialist as a horrible snake wrapped around a baby. “They want to eat our young. Support our troops!” Then the face of a man, stiff and strong, appeared with the words, “Our Great Father cares for his children.”

The high winding squeal of an Airship could be heard in the distance, and after a moment the patrol appeared over the skyscrapers, its searchlights scouring the streets. Every night they loomed above the skyline, supposedly keeping the city safe. These massive beasts reminded So-young of flying whales. She lay still as the creature swam over the park, seeking with its ever watchful eyes. It finished its rounds then with a grown and a roar the whale quickly flew away.

It was there in that quiet night under the leaves that the grief and fear of the day finally caught up with her. Her pain spilled out until the tears and lights fell into sleep.

...

His pounding on the door was met with silence. “Lamb So-young! Open up!” The thin man waited for a moment then pulled a small device from his pocket. He pressed it against the door. A thermal image of the apartment appeared on his pad. He moved the sensor around but found no sign of So-young. The thin man placed his hand on the knob. The bio-scanner read his thumb, and a window popped up on his control pad. He typed in a code and the door unlocked. “Sargent” was his only command. The five soldiers entered the room, safeties off.

“Clear!”

“Clear!”

The thin man stepped into the apartment. He took off his glasses and began violently polishing the already spotless lenses. “Find her!”

...

She awoke to the pleasant song of the birds. Emerging from the fog of sleep, she remembered where she was and lay perfectly still, listening. The city was beginning to wake. After a few minutes she shifted to get a better look around. There wasn't soul in sight, or at least as far as she could tell. Quietly she slipped out from under the bushes and sat on the nearby bench in order to gather herself without raising suspicions.

Looking around, she made her plan for the day. She only needed to make it through the Riverside neighborhood, and then find the old access bridge to the Reserve. She worked through the route in her mind, thinking through the trouble spots. With any luck she should be at the base of the mountains by noon.

Her eyes scanned through the park. There were a few people out now; an old man walking his dog, a few others taking a morning stroll. She got up and causally began walking north. Her legs and back ached from the hard night’s sleep.

One of the screens on the building projected the day’s weather report. It was going to be a nice day. So-young was grateful for that. Then in a flash, as if someone had flipped a switch, all the screens that surrounded the park and all over the city changed to the same image. A picture of So-young with her name, height, and weight. In large letters across the top was the word “Fugitive.”

Her fingers went numb with fear. In the distance, she could hear the high whistling of the whales firing up their engines. So-young quickened her steps, and then forced herself to slow down so as not to draw attention. She looked around frantically. Then she saw it. A place to hide. She walked over to the storm drain, looked around quickly, and dropped her bag down. Feet first, she slid in on her stomach. It was too tight and her ribs began to crunch. Her feet sought something to step on but it was all empty space. The fear of dropping to her death swept over her, but the escalating sound of sirens and whales sobered her up. Forcing all the air out of her lungs gave her chest just enough room. She slipped through and fell into the darkness.

- Click here to read Chapter 3 - 

Sargasso by Peter-John Campbell ©2012

Picture art courtesy of Six Wings Studio 

Sargasso - Chapter 1

Sargasso - is a serial short story that will be released here over the next three weeks. I hope you enjoy it. Feel free to follow my blog in order to get the latest. - Peter-John

"Sargasso"

by Peter-John Campbell

Prologue

There are 137 articles to the Government Mandate, to date, but the foremost rule is that the Mandate must be obeyed.

Article 41 states that:

1: All females of conceiving age, 16 to 35, must produce a minimum of one child every two years. Any female who chooses to conceive beyond 35 is granted a 1% tax decrease for every child they produce after their required time.

2: Any female who is unable to find a suitable male to breed with will be provided one by the State.

3: Any female or male who refuses to participate in the program will be considered an enemy of the State and treated in like manner.

Chapter 1

Picture art courtesy of Six Wings Studio 

So-young sat on the edge of her bed breathing shallowly, hoping that if she sat still enough the nauseous feeling in her stomach would go away. The room was quiet. Outside the sound of a massive city pulsed.

Glancing out the window she could see in the distance the large green billboard that hung high up on the Ministry of Population's building. The Citizens Growth Meter was emblazoned in yellow across the top. It gave the people a real time account of their population. The number of men, women, the medium age, employment and of course how many have died and were born. The numbers weren't looking good today; deaths up by 10%, births down by 7%.

Hearing voices outside, So-young's heart jumped with the pounding on the door. “Lamb So-young!” It was a man's voice, harsh and annoyed. “This is the Authorities! Open your door!” She winced, closing her eyes tightly in a vain hope that they would disappear. “We know you're in there, Madam!” the voice shouted again. “We can see you with the scanner. Open the door!” He pounded again.

So-young took a deep breath, stood up, and went to the door. Putting her hand on the knob, the red glow from the bio scanner lit up her thumb. Beep! The door unlocked. A thin man with black horn rim glasses met her. He wore a charcoal trench coat with a government patch sewn on the left shoulder. Five armed soldiers stood behind him filling the narrow hall. The door wasn't even open and the thin man was reading from his small electronic pad.

“You have violated the terms of the extension. You must come with us.” He didn't even look at her.

So-young held her stomach. She felt dizzy, her black hair emphasizing how pale she looked. “I don't understand,” she said weakly.

He looked at her over top his glasses. “You filed for a six month extension, no? And you failed to appear at your required check up at the hospital yesterday. So you must come with us for questioning.”

Questioning, never meant questioning. It was the polite way, the proper way, the civil way of telling one that they were leaving forever.

So-young leaned against the door jam. “Can we just do that here? I'm not feeling very well.”

The thin man seemed irritated by this request. “No, we cannot do the questioning here. Now please put some proper clothing on, we must go.” So-young closed her eyes, attempting to brace herself from the relentless pain in her stomach. Beads of sweat ran down her forehead as she began to shiver. She slid down the wall and sat on the floor. The thin man knelt down in front of her and spoke quietly. “We can take you by force if necessary.”

“I know,” she said without opening her eyes.

The thin man sat for a moment clenching his jaw. He took out a handkerchief and began to clean his glasses, a nervous habit, one he did when he needed a moment to think. “The Minster will have my head if he hears about this,” he thought. “Sargent, give us a minute?” The soldiers moved down the hall, still blocking the exits. The thin man sat for a few minutes reading So-young's file. Finally, after a long silence he spoke in a cold un-emotive tone. “It says here that your husband was killed in action on the North Frontier, two years ago?” Article 2: All males of 18 to 30 years of age are required to serve in the People's Army. She nodded. “And prior to that you and he did not conceive?”

“We were unable to.”

“Have you attempted since his death?” She did not answer. His speech was stark and condemning. “You realize that you are in serious violation of the Mandate? You have filed three extensions, and were permitted a six month mourning period after he died.” So-young didn't move. “Have you not found yourself a suitable mate?” No answer. “Have you tried?” He looked back down at his pad. “Dr. Lee wrote that he believes you are barren.” Barren. That word hung on her like a crushing weight. It was bad enough that she had to bear that pain of feeling less than. But to live in a world where your own body makes you an enemy of the State. Not your thoughts or opinions, but when your body rebels, what is one to do?

“You have been put in a special program to see if that could be corrected. You know, since there are so few women, it is your duty, for the sake of your country and the people that you conceive. And failure to comply with this makes you in conflict with the Law.”

So-young glanced down at her watch, it was 8:45. “It's only been half an hour,” she thought. “The woman said it needed an hour before it would work.”

The thin man now spoke in a patronizing tone that one uses when disciplining unreasonable child. “Now you need to come with us. You can either leave in your sleeping cloths or you can change into something proper but you must leave with us.”

“I'm pregnant.” A lie. She said suddenly, it even started herself.

“Pardon me?” His tone immediately shifted.

“I'm pregnant. This morning sickness is overwhelming.”

The thin man picked up his pad again to take down some notes. “And when did this take place?”

“Um, a couple weeks ago. I only realized it this morning when I got sick.”

He wrote his notes skeptically. “And why didn't you keep your appointment with the hospital?”

“I was afraid...”

“Afraid is for the weak.” He spoke the words as if it was a mantra. “Who is the father?”

“I don't know.” Another lie.

Annoyed, “You don't know? That is unacceptable. We must have it for our records.”

“I met him in a bar. One thing led to another...” A third lie.

The thin man wrote quickly. “No matter, we will resolve this in a few weeks with the DNA test. Hold out your hand, I must corroborate your story.”

She hesitated for a moment looking at her watch. “Oh God, please...” she thought. He pulled a small tube like device from his pocket and pricked her finger. Several moments passed and the light turned green. So-young internally breathed a sigh of relief. “Congratulations.” The thin man said flatly, putting the device away. Pulling his pad out, he began typing something.

So-young turned and looked out over the city. She could see the The Citizens Growth Meter through the wall of windows in the hallway, its numbers adjusting and moving along its sliding scale. There were 655 pregnancies. Beep, the thin man finished his report. The board changed. It now showed 656 pregnancies.

“I want to see you tomorrow morning at the Ministry for further tests. With your complicated history I would hate to see this child lost.” He stood up slowly then reached his hand down to help her up. “Take these.” He handed her a packet of pills. “It will help with the morning sickness.”

So-young slipped back into her apartment. A soft beep-beep indicated that the door locked. Quickly she made her way to the bathroom and vomited. A few minutes later her agony was over. The trick worked, almost too well. For a moment So-young nearly believe she was pregnant herself. She opened the vanity mirror and pulled out a small bottle with two small pills in it. It had cost her three months salary on the black market. She had hoped it would buy her more time. But it didn't matter now - tomorrow the jig would be up. The mirror drifted shut, reflecting the mountains beyond the skyline of the city. Beyond the mountains lay the Northern Frontier. Beyond that, So-young was too afraid to think. But she knew she had no other choice left.

- Click here to read Chapter 2 - 

Sargasso by Peter-John Campbell ©2012 

Picture art courtesy of Six Wings Studio 

Blind Man

Blind Man

A Monologue by Peter-John Campbell

            My hands were the first thing I ever saw. Dripping with mud, they glistened in the light. I trembled and marveled in disbelief. He said this was all I had to do, but it’s one thing to be told something; it’s another to see it with your own eyes. 

            My eye caught something in the pool of water next to me. Looking in, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I saw a face, mud smeared matted hair, with skin like leather from too many years of sitting in the sun. It was hideous and ugly by all accounts, but it was mine, my own reflection.

            Suddenly my sight became blurred and everything became unclear. “No!” I cried. Quickly I wiped my eyes in fear that this was all a momentary dream. All was clear again but then it quickly blurred. I laughed as tears poured out of my eyes. What a fool I was, but how was I to know I collapsed in a heap and wept. I must have looked crazy to all those around, but I didn’t care. I could see. I could see!

            Word spread faster through the street than I could run. “I can see!” I cried. The town was in an uproar. Everyone rushed toward me to see what all the noise was about. Faces that I’ve never seen looked at me with a perplexed familiarity. “Is that the man who begs down at the corner?” “No, but he sure looks like him.” “It’s him; I knew he was a con.”

            Everyone was arguing about whether it was actually me or not. “It’s me! It’s me!” I yelled, “I’m healed! I can see!” Most refused to believe; I don’t blame them. How many blind men have you ever met that can now see?

            In the midst of all the noise I heard a voice I knew, calling my name in the crowd. It was the voice of a merchant who sold fish on the same corner where I would beg. He was always kind to me, giving me some of his daily catch. He was the closest thing I had to a friend. He ran up to me, and seeing his face for the first time I laughed and cried and so did he. We embraced and then holding my face in his hands, he asked, “How is this possible?”

            “The man,” I choked through my tears. “The man called Jesus put mud on my eyes and told me to go wash at Siloam.” On hearing this, the crowd fell deathly silent. My friend looked at me, stunned, “What did you say?”

            “The man Jesus. He healed me.” The crowd became unsettled, whispering and murmuring was all I could hear. Many began to quickly leave. “My friend,” the fish merchant said, grabbing my shoulder. “Be careful what you say, for only God can heal.” 

            The crowd broke up but there were a few who stopped and asked if I knew where Jesus had gone. “I don’t know were He went. I wouldn’t even know what He looked like if I saw Him.”

            It didn’t take long for them to find me - the Pharisees, that is. I wasn’t invited so much as forced to be there.  A whole lot of them had gathered already while a few straggled in. They talked among themselves, with no regard for me standing there.

“Why would he waste his time healing a dog such as this?”

“This man was never blind; he’s only a beggar and a thief.” They went on like this for some time then finally turned to me. One of the Pharisees - a tall man - walked toward me.

“Beggar,” he addressed me, “you said that you were blind. How is it then that you can see?”

            “Well, the man Jesus put mud on my eyes and told me to wash in the Pool of Siloam. When I did, I could see.”

            A short fat man standing near the front of the group shouted out, “This man, Jesus, is not from God, for he does not keep the Sabbath.” Another I couldn’t see responded, “But how can a sinner do such miraculous signs?” They all began to speak at once, for they were divided on this matter. The tall man stared at me coldly, turned slowly, and walked back to the group. Their arguing went on for a few minutes until the tall man returned.

He spoke with a slow cadence though he was young, and donned his piety and arrogance like a robe. “Tell me, beggar, He opened your eyes. Who do you say He is?”

            I looked him in the eye and thought for a moment. “He’s a prophet.”

            An angry shout came from the group. “This man is a thief and a liar! You were never blind, only a con-man who begs for pennies!” Many agreed with a great noise.

            The tall man turned to them, “Silence!” Then to the temple guards, “Go find his parents and bring them here.” He looked at me. “We’ll see if he’s a liar or not.”

            It took some time for them to find my parents, so we had to wait. The Pharisees went back to talking, many left the room and, except for a few stragglers, I was alone. Stepping outside, to get some air, I got my first look at Jerusalem. I had no idea how marvelous it was! How could I?

People sometimes ask me, “What surprised you the most about being able to see?” I never knew how high the sky was. Or the beauty of a sunset. The way the light dances on the sea. The colors are more vibrant and there are more of them than I ever could of thought. Sometimes I close my eyes just to remember what it was like, but not for long. This gift is much too precious to me and I want to see everything.           

            I walked back inside. Across the room a woman and a man were waiting. When they saw me they became excited and the woman rushed over to me. She called my name and I immediately knew who she was. Her voice I knew better than any other; she was my mother.

            She hugged me and frantically kissed me. The Pharisees began to gather again. “Son,” she said to me, “just tell them what they want to hear. Everyone is saying that they will put anyone out of the Synagogue that claims that Jesus is the Messiah.”

            “Mother, I can’t do that. I know what I saw.” That was the first time I had ever said that. “Mother, the man who healed me said that it wasn’t my sin or yours that made me blind. It was for the glory of God.”

            My father said to me quietly, “Son, we all know that God doesn’t heal sinners.”

            “Well, maybe we’re not sinners… Or maybe He does heal us.”

            The Pharisees had finished gathering. The tall man approached. He turned to my father, with his same cold tone he addressed him, “Is this your son?”

            “Yes.”

            “And he has been blind since birth?

            “Yes.”

            “Then how is it now possible for him to see?”

            My father’s face was grieved. My mother’s hands trembled as she wondered what he would answer. He turned and looked at me, and for the first time ever we locked eyes; his were brown. “Sir!” repeated the Pharisee. “I asked you a question. How is it that your son can see?” My father stood silent, staring at me with his sorrowful eyes. “Sir!” The Pharisee was growing impatient.

            My father turned and looked at him, “We know that this is our son. And we know that he was born blind. But how he can see? Ask him, he is of age.” My heart fell, as did my father’s head. He didn’t even look at me. Embarrassed and ashamed, he left the room, my mother close behind.

            The tall Pharisee turned back to me again. “Beggar, give glory to God. We know this man, Jesus, is a sinner.”

            I watched my parents standing in the doorway, my heart still reeling from what just happened. My mother’s words hung on me like lead. Maybe I should just tell them what they wanted to hear, I thought. But how could I? I turned back to the Pharisees and said something that I wasn’t even expecting. “Whether He is a sinner or not, I don’t know. One thing I do know. I was blind but now I see!” At this, my mother collapsed into my father’s arms, sobbing.

            “No one doubts that you were blind. We merely wonder how it is that you are able to see. What did He do to you? How did He open your eyes?”

            “I’ve told you already and you did not listen. Why do you want me to tell you again? Do you want to become His disciple, too?”

            The group became angry. “Get this dog out of here!”

            The tall man’s face became like stone. “You are a disciple of this man?! We are disciples of Moses. We know that God spoke to Moses but as for this man we don’t even know where He comes from.”

            “Now that’s remarkable!” I said. “You don’t know where He comes from, yet He opened my eyes. We know that God doesn’t listen to sinners. He only listens to the godly who do His will. Have you ever heard of anyone who’s opened the eyes of a blind man? If this man isn’t from God, then how could He do this?”

            The tall man quickly stepped forward, grabbed my shoulder and pushed me backwards towards the door. “You were steeped in sin from the day you were born. How dare you lecture us!”

            “And you weren’t? And you weren’t steeped in sin!” I wanted to say that, but he threw me out too quickly.

            I began to make my way home. Some of the Pharisees followed at a distance, probably to see what I would do next. But I didn’t care. I was enjoying my newfound sense - the city, the buildings, the faces. People fell silent as I walked by. “Look, there he is, the crazy man.” Whispers and murmurs filled the street. Though I was the center of attention they all acted like I wasn’t there. Everywhere I went people moved away from me like I was a leper. My heart grew heavy.

            What has been the greatest, most wonderful thing that ever happened to me now made me accursed. “Maybe I had done the wrong thing. Mother was right; I should have told them what they wanted to hear.” I saw a Rabbi approaching from the other direction. When he came closer, he smiled at me and stopped. “Sir,” The Rabbi said to me. “Do you believe in the Son of Man?”

“Who is He that I might believe?” I asked.

“You have now seen Him.” It was The Voice! The voice of the man who put the mud on my eyes! I fell to the ground at His feet and wept, “Lord, I believe!”

He turned to the Pharisees who had followed me. “I came into this world so that the blind could see and those who think they can see would be blind.” Jesus said this, but He was not speaking of the blindness of one’s eyes but of the heart.

            The Pharisees replied back with indignation, “We are not blind!”

            “No, you’re not. If you were blind, you wouldn’t be guilty of the sin you commit. But because you claim that you can see yet still sin, your guilt remains.” He said this because the pride of men’s own hearts blinds them from the truth of their own sin.

            He said that if anyone tried to find God without believing that Christ is God, then he would never find God. He spoke this in a parable and the Pharisees did not understand Him. Jesus said that His followers would know Him by His voice, as I did, before they knew Him by sight. He called the Pharisees “thieves” and “robbers” and said that anyone who followed His teachings wouldn’t be misled by their lies. He said that He was the Good Shepherd and we were His sheep, that the only way to Heaven was through Him.

He said all this and much more, and because of His words the Pharisees and the rest of the people were divided. Some said that He was demon-possessed, but others said He was a prophet because He opened my eyes.

That was a long time ago, but I’ll never forget that day. It’s true, most don’t believe me; I hardly believe it myself. That day I was put out of the communion of men, but brought into a deeper and greater relationship with the one true God.

I’m often asked about that day, and of the other miracles and teachings of Jesus. People ask me if I think that the stories are true. I tell them, “Yes.”

“But how? Those things are too impossible to believe.”

That might be true. But then again, I can see.

Blind Man by Peter-John Campbell 

©2005

The Cow Tipping Affair

The Cow Tipping Affair

A Monologue by Peter-John Campbell

Cow tipping. That brings back many memories.

Cow tipping was one of my favorite pastimes when I was a kid. Just down the road from where I grew up, Old McDonald had a farm. And on this farm he had some cows. (It was a dairy farm.) At night if you listened, you could hear a "moo moo" here and a "moo moo" there. Here a "moo," there a "moo," everywhere a "moo moo." But I digress.

It just so happened that one day my best friend Drew and I were hiking down by McDonald's farm and we decided to hop the fence. (Little did we know how much of a bad idea this was at the time.) It was a field of hay grass that came up to about our waists. The cows had yet to make it out that far to graze.

Now snakes like to hang out in tall hay because they can find rats and other things that like to hide there. We begin looking for snakes, I guess because we didn't want to get bit, but also to catch one to scare my sister with. To our great disappointment we didn't find any that day. So we made our way down toward the farm.

On our way we came across a herd of cows in some low field grass, grazing. Besides one who took an interest in us, they didn't seem to mind that we were there. The cow who did looked up from her gnawing, gave us the once over, and went back to chewing her cud. (It was pretty exciting.)

For those of you who are cow tipping aficionados, you are probably more than aware of these few facts, but many people are oblivious of several very important things about cows.

First of all, they're HUGE! I mean, you see them from the road and you think, "Oh, look at that little cow over there." No. They aren’t little, and for not being a predator, they're very intimidating creatures.

Second, their smell is beyond anything you can ever imagine, which places them in a close second to a chicken coop. (You don't even want to know.)

Third, you never think about their "moo." A Cow’s "moo" can be heard up to five miles away or so. When you stand next to a cow and that baby lets one go, the sound about knocks you off your feet and blows your eardrums. It's terrifying.

Fourth, their tongues are purple.

And lastly, and the most important thing to know: you don't want to startle them.

Drew and I sat in the grass observing these robust creatures for some time before the thought of tipping one over ever came to mind. (I am not sure what it is that possesses young boys to come up with such ideas, but we do.)

So there I was, both hands pressed against the side of this cow, and her only response was a confused and annoyed, "Moo." She eyed me briefly and then went back to eating the grass.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" I asked Drew. He assured me that indeed it would, and we both proceeded to push the beast as hard as we could. The cow didn't budge.

"Push harder!" Drew said.

"I'm trying, she won't budge!"

We took a quick break. After some thought we gave it another go. This time, the cow only stepped over to the side.

"You're not doing it right!" Drew blamed.

I quickly defended myself, "Well, I don't know what I’m supposed to do!"

We tried one more time, and Drew found the snake that we were looking for earlier. He screamed. And I screamed. We both screamed and the cow "Mooed." And then they all "Mooed." And before we knew it we were running, not so much out of fear of the snake, (though it started as that.) it was more out of desperation as we frantically tried to stay ahead of the hundred stampeding cows running in our direction. Apparently cows don't like snakes either, or maybe screaming children…or both. But we were running - and they were running, it was quite the sight to behold.

It was quite the sight to behold by Farmer McDonald, who was standing on his porch taking this all in. He hopped on his horse like something you see out of an old John Wayne movie and came galloping towards us. I felt relieved when I saw him coming. Except that he wasn’t coming to save us, he was joining in the chase! Farmer McDonald didn’t seem too happy. So as he rode in front of the cows to calm them down, Drew and I thought it best to keep on running toward the fence.

I found my face in the dirt when I heard the first shot go off. Drew quickly reached down and grabbed me and we keep running.

“He’s trying to kill us!” I yelled.

“No, he ain’t, he’s just trying to scare us.” Drew barely got those words out of his mouth when the top of an old fencepost, sticking up from the hay exploded not three yards from us. “I think he means business this time Drew!” We ran as fast as our little eight-year-old legs could carry us. I never did think we would ever get to that fence.

We made it to the fence and we could hear Old McDonald off in the distance swearing his revenge. I never did get that snake we were looking for, but farmer McDonald did get his revenge. Then again, that’s another story.

The Cow Tipping Affair by Peter-John Campbell 

©2005

Updated my demo reel: