1 Search For An Archetype (Grant)

Running. Sprinting. Breathing heavily. I knew nothing aside from the feeling that I needed to keep moving. I wasn't sure what was behind me, but it felt as though the darkness was shooting out of the dimly lit alley, pushing itself into my veins.

Slowly, my legs started to give out. The impending fear began gaining as my speed decreased. The broken bottles and bricks littering the floor that were once avoided with ease became obstacles; my graceful steps becoming nothing more than a series of ill timed trips.

The beast was getting closer. I could feel its aura penetrating into me, attempting to devour what little spirit was left. I didn't have much energy remaining in my pitiful excuse for a body. I gave it everything I had, but it wasn't enough.

I never believed my gym teacher when he said that I'd regret cutting his class. To think that might very well be one of my last thoughts. Pathetic.

The beast's damp, carrion scented breath was now resting on the back of my neck. I had depleted every source of energy within myself, and my legs would no longer move. For the first time since my dread induced journey began, I stopped running.

My body collapsed onto the cold, cracked asphalt. I turned onto my back, and time began to slow. A number of thoughts crossed my mind. Firstly, I knew that the icy street that my body now sat on might very well be my final resting place, after all, isn't this how the books I read portrayed death? With time coming to a near stop, and a million thoughts racing through my mind? Secondly, I suppose this is as good a way to die as any. What better way for an unknown person to lose their life than for an unknown creature to take it, and thirdly, what makes me so special as to have this creature chase me throughout the night?

Time once again sped up, becoming meaningful, and I turned my head towards the creature, believing that if accomplishing nothing else in my life, perhaps I'd be able to catch a glimpse of my murderer. Surprisingly, I found myself to be staring not into a face at all, but at what appeared to be a whirlpool comprised of shadow.

The vortex standing over me began to spin faster, and faster. As the speed of the rotations quickened, the stars themselves appeared to be sucked into what I could only describe to be a vacuum of despair. I soon found myself in a world devoid of light, and as I prepared to meet my fate, as I believed that I had nothing left to lose, I was proven wrong.

A bright, astral sphere appeared, rising out of my body and hovering over my chest; shooting rays of light into the blanket of darkness surrounding me. Staring into the strange sphere, I began to make out shapes. These shapes soon became pictures, and these pictures became stories. Before I knew it, my life was flashing before my eyes. I saw the day that I got my first skateboard, only to be in the hospital with a broken arm an hour later. I saw my first kiss, and the way her crooked braces cut my lips. I saw my mom making my lunch on the day I lost her, and finally, I saw the sadness in my dad's eyes as her coffin was lowered into the ground.

These were the many stories that comprised my soul. The moment the last story played before my eyes, a fire began to burn, its flames coursing through my veins, and pulsing in every pore. I no longer was willing to give up. I would fight against this darkness. I would fight for the only memory of my mother left on this God forsaken Earth.

I reached up, grabbing onto the sphere and, summoning strength that I didn't know existed, pulled it back into the depths of my chest from which it rose. This was the power within my stories. This was the power of somebody who found something to lose. It was the power to overcome the impossible. As the last trace of my soul disappeared back into my body, I sat up, gasping for air, and my eyes were filled with light.

The fear filled world disappeared,and I looked around at my new setting. Images began to take shape, while the melancholy music of Mozart soared through my ears. Expecting to see the cold silhouettes of a dinghy cityscape, I was shocked to gaze down and find myself wrapped up in an all too familiar stained grey blanket.

As I looked around and absorbed my surroundings, I continued to recognize the dull items that comprised my bedroom. The bookshelf containing the tattered copies of second rate fantasy novels, the broken lamp resting on my nightstand, and the ratty curtains doing a bang-up job of keeping the sunlight from my eyes.

I was no longer in a run down inner-city alley being chased by some unknown creature of nightmares. No, in fact, an even worse fear was about to come to light. The music being exuded from the hand-me down alarm clock on my nightstand at 6:30am could only mean one thing. Today was the first day of my sophomore year of high school.

Shutting off my alarm, I dragged myself from the warm covers that embraced my frail body and onto the cold, unforgiving hardwood floor. Every step on that cursed floor brought me nothing but dread as I got ready for the coming purgatory of the day. Before I began the treacherous walk from our apartment to the school, I knocked on my fathers door...Nothing.

Slowly, I opened the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of my only remaining family member. I suppose I shouldn't be all that surprised that his room was empty, after all, I haven't seen him in a month. Finally, I crossed the threshold, armed with a bagel in hand, out of my apartment and onto the forgotten sidewalk of Akron Ohio.

The cool air coming down from Lake Eerie tore through my cheap, clearance blazer and dug into my bones. I wish that I didn't live so far from the school. You'd think that with summer break coming to a close, the heat from the sun would be a welcome embrace, but as with all remotely enjoyable things, it was nothing more than a fantasy to me. The walk gave me plenty of opportunity to come up with worst case scenarios for the coming day.

I didn't end last year on a great note. Being the fortune blessed person that I am, I lost the few people that I could call friends a week before freshman year ended, and we didn't end in a place where I figured they'd be eager to see me again. Eventually, my trek came to an end, and the dreaded moment finally came.

It looked nothing like a high school. The infamous building stood in front of me as a predator looks down on its wounded victims, its walls high and intimidating, the only color being a small sign over the entrance reading "Wailing High, where dreams begin to fly." Perhaps it was the lack of primary colors, or maybe the prisonesque architecture, but it gave off a presence similar to what I'd imagine to be a USSR Gulag.

Right as I was about to step into the void, I was knocked onto the floor. Looking up, I saw a letterman jacket with an all too familiar smushed in face standing over me. Kyle. He hissed at me, "Watch where you're going, snitch" while stepping over my fallen body and into the hall.

Whelp, I suppose this is going about as well as I expected. Picking myself off the ground, and brushing the snow off my body, I took the leap, and stepped into the halls built upon a foundation of nightmares.

The dim lights shone down upon what the principal would dub "Our world's bright, new future". I'm not somebody I'd consider to be a genius, far from it in fact, but I was certainly smart enough to tell that if this was who'd be taking over the world someday, our future would be anything but bright. As soon as the doors shut behind me, the hall in front of me went silent, as if a black hole appeared, inhaling only sound. I felt the gazes of a hundred vipers stabbing into me, and when I thought nothing could get worse, big surprise, it did.

Approaching me, speed walking down the tile floor was the last person I wanted to see. Eric Johnson. His father was Akron's mayor, and as luck would have it, He was one of the few friends I used to have last year. Up until the incident, that is. His eyes burned into mine, and I knew that the time to run had passed. Right as I finished saying what I thought would be my final prayer, the first lucky thing to happen to me in the last year occurred. The bell rang.

Caught up in the mob of people desperate to get to class, Eric was held back by the swarm, giving me just enough time to escape. I ran up the stairs to my left, as fast I could, ducking inside of an unlocked closet that could've been considered my second home towards the end of last year, and sat down on a turned over bucket as a makeshift chair. In the flickering light of the dying lightbulb overhead, I pulled out the crumpled paper in my pocket and checked my schedule for the first time.

My first class was math, with Ms. Langley. Contrary to the sweet sounding name that she possessed, she was far from a kind woman, and to make matters worse, I'm about as good at math as a penguin is at flying. I heard the late bell signifying that I failed to make it to class on time, waited about 10 more minutes, and slowly unlocked the closet door that I've been relying on for my protection. Thankfully, nobody was waiting outside for me.

I trudged down the hallway to Ms. Langley's class, and opened the door to what I was sure would be my new least favorite place on Earth. I just wish I knew how true that thought would be. I kept my eyes glued to the floor as I walked in, and set myself down on the only remaining open seat in the class. Ms. Langley began to yell at me, something along the lines of "disrespecting her on the first day of school", but I stopped listening as soon as she opened her mouth, at least, until I heard an all too familiar voice whispering into my ear from beside me.

"Hey Grant, I missed you before class this morning, how about you meet me on the basketball courts after schoo-'' Eric's animalistic voice was cut off by yet another shriek from Ms. Langley demanding silence.

Eric looked up at our teacher, and with eyes that could deceive a fox, began to apologize. Ms. Langley looked satisfied, and stared me down. "At least somebody here has enough respect to acknowledge their mistakes and apologize," She growled.

Just my luck, my least favorite teacher, and my least favorite student in the same place. I guess that I'm not all that surprised. It seems that every time something good has the opportunity to happen, it chooses not to. Eventually, the slowest class known to man came to an end, and the sweet sound of the bell graced my ears.

My next class was English. I was pleased to find that I had the same teacher I did last year, Mr. Yellum. He's the polar opposite to Ms. Langley. Where as Ms. Langley cares about answers, Mr. Yellum cares about passion, and where Ms. Langley yells only when she's upset (which is more often than not), Mr. Yellum yells only when he's excited.

After his signature optimistic start to the school year speech, we were given a project. This project was to define ourselves using common literary archetypes, and the hope was that in doing so, we'd discover who we truly are. I got to work right away, and reviewed the traits of the many people that I've read about. Was I a fighter? An adventurer? No, truthfully, I didn't believe that I possessed a single courageous bone in my body. Clearly, I wasn't the only one having issues deciding my archetype, because a girl sitting next to me turned to face me and said "I'm so sorry to bother you, but I don't know many people here. I'm new and I have zero idea what I'm supposed to be doing."

I was just about to come clean to her that I had just about as much an idea of what to do as she did when the bell rang. While the rest of the class packed their bags, I walked up to Mr. Yellum's desk to ask him a question about the assignment.

"Mr. Yellum''.

"Yes, Grant, how can I help you today?" His kind eyes were a much welcome contrast to the icy glances that I've been victim to up until this moment.

"I have an issue with this assignment. You asked us to choose an archetype that best fits us and report on it, but I've gone through the list you passed out, and I have a hard time believing that I can relate to any of them. I'm not an outlaw, I follow the rules. I'm not a fighter, I run more often than I'd like to admit, and I'm far from a jester. I can't make somebody smile for the life of me, much less laugh. In a novel, I'd probably be nothing but a background character. I'd like a pass on this assignment".

Mr. Yellum's face drooped down a little, becoming saddened by my concerns. He pulled up a seat across from him and stared at me until I could bring my eyes up to meet his. "Grant, I understand that you have a hard time seeing yourself as anything but a background character, but you have the potential for greatness". His brow furrowed in thought before he once again broke the silence between us.

"I won't give you a pass on this assignment, however, I'll give you until the end of the grading period, and I'd like to make some adjustments in your case. Instead of finding an archetype that you relate to, find an archetype that you admire, and become it. If you want to be an outlaw, then break the rules that you find to be imprisoning you. If you'd like to become a fighter, then take a moment away from running and stand your ground for once, and if you'd like to become an adventurer, then seek the unknown. I know that you're capable of amazing things, and I believe that deep down inside, you know it as well".

I thanked Mr. Yellum for his time and left the classroom. Going back into my closet, I finished my bagel that I brought with me for breakfast and reflected on Mr. Yellum's words. "Find an archetype, and become it" I whispered to myself. How the heck am I supposed to do that?

At the very least, I learned something from that encounter. I learned that's the last time I ever ask to be excused from an assignment. The rest of the school day passed by in much the same manner as my first two classes. I was either followed by death stares, or ignored wherever I went, but that was to be expected. I was about ready to pack up my stuff and head home for the day when an icicle of dread stuck itself into my chest. I became lightheaded and Eric's words from Ms. Langley's class wrapped around my mind, bouncing around my skull until they slowly rested down in my head. "Hey Grant, I missed you before class this morning, how about you meet me on the basketball courts after school?"

I didn't know what he wanted, but I could guess that whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good. I sat down for a few minutes to regain my composure before ultimately deciding that it was now or never. I might as well see what this goon wanted. I slid my notebook from my desk into my bag, and headed to the basketball courts. It was strange, I didn't see anybody hanging around in the halls after school like usual, however, the confusion lasted only for a moment. Pushing open the doors leading to the basketball courts, I quickly discovered where the students went. I shoved through the mass of highschoolers to get to the center, and as to be expected, waiting for me was Eric Johnson.

I continued to walk towards him, stopping an arms width away, and spoke with a confidence that surprised even myself. "What do you want Eric? Why did you want to meet me here?"

Eric took a moment to respond, as if he too was shocked by my demanding tone. The shock was short-lived. He quickly regained his standard, arrogant composure. The man that took more pleasure than anybody else in tormenting me began pacing around the center of the gathered students with his arms stretched out, as if pretending to be an emperor announcing a gladiator fight. "Our good friend Grant would like to know why I asked him to meet me here." He paused for effect before he continued on, Eric was nothing if not a crowd pleaser. "I should enlighten him, don't you think?"

Eric turned to face me, and with the speed of a cheetah, struck me square in the mouth. I could feel the blood leaking out of my lip and into my mouth. It was split. My tongue was coated with the taste of iron. The blood thirsty crowd of students yelled in approval. While I was hunched over from the last blow, words continued to leave his mouth. "I asked you here to repay a favor"

He flicked out his leg, kicking my chest, and knocking me onto my back. The echoes of murderous screams around me began to fade out from my senses. "We used to be friends, Grant. We had some good times, but instead of continuing on, you chose to snitch on me."

Another kick flew at me, hitting me in the ribs, and forcing me to curl up in pain. My vision began to go black. As the world disappeared around me. As what I knew faded, a new world appeared. I suppose it wasn't exactly a new world. It was one that I recognized.

I was now standing up, and the crowd of people that surrounded me disappeared. It was just me and Eric standing here now. Bright red and blue lights shone behind us, as the sound of sirens blared. Eric grabbed my wrist and we started to run. Crossing the basketball courts, and hopping the fence bordering the school, we continued to run. We sprinted until my heart wanted to burst. Finally, Eric felt like we were far enough away and we sat down on a curb. "Dang it'' He said. "Who called the cops? There was nobody around. I checked."

Not knowing what to say, I stayed silent. That must've been the wrong response, because he turned to me with an accusation in my eyes and grabbed my left wrist, holding me in place. "It was you, wasn't it? I knew I shouldn't have let you in the group."

For a moment, he stayed silent before taking his free arm and reaching into his pocket. He flipped open the pocket knife while he spoke. "Everybody's going to know that you're a snitch. You know that right?" His eyes filled with hellfire. "I'll make sure of it." He finished.

He had a grip of steel while he began to carve letters into my wrist. He started with an S while I tried desperately to escape. Continuing on with the letter N, my struggle became more desperate as the pain increased. Right as he began cutting the I into my skin, I couldn't take it anymore. I concentrated every piece of energy into my right hand, swinging it squarely into his cheek. The punch loosened his grip just barely enough for me to break free. I was going to utilize this opportunity. Once again, I ran. It's strange how much energy you find within yourself when your life is on the line. While I sprinted away from him, he yelled after me. "GRANT DAVIS, I'M NOT FINISHED WITH YOU."

I never went back to school. I ditched the last week and stayed inside my apartment all summer. If it was an option, I would've been happy to ditch the rest of high school as well.

I started to come back to my senses. I was back on the ground, and the crowds were right where I remembered them to be. I felt a sharp pain in my arm, followed by the continued gleeful screams of the onlooking masses. Opening my eyes, I turned my head to see Eric with the same knife, diligently continuing the work that he started last year. He was almost finished. Eric saw me staring at his handiwork. "Don't try anything stupid Grant. There's nowhere to run this time."

He was right of course. The wall of blood thirsty students wouldn't allow me to leave. I could feel myself starting to fall back into unconsciousness when Mr. Yellum's revised assignment came to mind. "Find an archetype, and become it". The assignment that I once dreaded quickly became my rallying cry. I no longer wanted to be the victim.

I'll become the archetype that I've always needed. I'll become the hero. The many protagonists of my lonesome life of reading came to the forefront of my mind, as I tried to better envision the hero that I needed. My right hand once again started to ball into a fist as I spoke. "Eric, stop."

Eric looked at me with eyes almost full of pity as he responded. "It's nothing personal, Grant. I just can't have a twig like you messing with the natural order of things".

The natural order of things? Nobody deserves to be treated like this. I reached out with my right hand, hoping to make contact with his face like last time. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite so naive as to fall victim to the same move twice. He blocked my punch while still holding down my arm. I wasn't completely surprised, in fact, I was planning on that block. While he had his hands full with my arms, I moved my leg until my knee was almost level with my eyebrows, and with as much strength as I could muster, I brought my leg down onto the back of his head. The gleeful screaming of the crowd stopped and Eric's body hit the asphalt with a thud. I got up as quickly as I could.

Blood was dripping down from my wrist, coursing down my fingertips, and spilling onto the ground. I had no idea how I'd pull this off. Eric got up, and lifted his knife above his head. The knife caught the sunlight, appearing as though it were made of fire. Right before he charged me, a familiar hand stretched out and snatched his weapon away from him. It was Mr. Yellum.

The once rambunctious crowd quickly dispersed. Even Eric ran away, hoping that by some miracle, Mr. Yellum would forget about the whole incident if he left quickly. I highly doubted that this would be the case. Mr. Yellum glanced down at the knife he confiscated before yelling after the school's dethroned emperor. "I can't imagine that your father will be particularly proud to hear about your behavior Eric. Run all you like, it won't do you any good!" Mr. Yellum's face developed a warm, yet, sadness pained smile as he grabbed my left arm and inspected the crude letters carved within it. "S N I T C H". His smile morphed into a show of disgust as he opened his mouth to speak. "Looks like you've become quite the fighter, Grant. Let's get you cleaned up".

I had a long talk with Mr. Yellum after that. I had to beg him not to go to the police, or get the school involved, however, I sat in on a phone call between him and Eric's father in which he made it very clear to him that if his son ever stepped foot on this campus, or caused me any sort of trouble again, he would not hesitate to ruin the life of both him, and his sorry excuse for a child. I don't believe that I'll have too many issues with Eric anymore.

Once I wrapped things up with Mr. Yellum, I began to walk home. I walked home that day with an arm covered in bandages, and a body immersed in pain; reflecting on the events that had just unfolded. Today really was the worst day of my life, but for some reason, I couldn't help but keep a smile on my face. For the first time in my life, I was more than just a side character.

I continued to reflect on the gravity of what I had just done as I walked into the depressing interior of my vacant apartment. Was it really this easy to change who I am? Part of me was scared of what went down, whereas the vast majority of my being was ecstatic from the change of pace. I no longer had to run. I no longer had to hide. Almost as quickly as I had come in, I slid my thrift store laptop off the counter and into my backpack, slung the bag over my shoulder, and went back outside. I stayed inside all summer. I wasn't going to stay in any longer, after all, I no longer had anything to fear.

I walked down the street in the opposite direction of the school. With little else to do but think, the walk that should've only been an hour felt like days, until finally, the sidewalk ended. Looking down on me from where I stood were a series of grand, wooden giants with crowns of leaves. I had reached the woods. I stood still for a moment, reflecting on the life I used to live here while a wave of dug up emotions hit me.

Once upon a time, this is where I spent most of my childhood. I'd spend it running away from my parents through the trees, jumping over boulders, prodding them to chase me, and my mom and dad's gaze would follow me wherever I went. Later in life, I continued to come here, building up a fortress in the heart of the urban forest with my dad in order to escape from the inescapable fact of my loneliness. I stopped coming after the incident. It's remarkable how much of a prison fear can put you in. Looking back on it, It all feels like an eternity ago. I soon came back to my senses, my soul flying back into the present.

Taking in a deep breath, I crossed the threshold onto a series of trails that I figured I could still navigate with my eyes closed. Eventually, I came to a familiar rock and departed from the carefully maintained trail into the wooded labyrinth. The sun appeared to slowly be descending to the ground, and its burning yellow hue rested upon the reason I came here.

It was an old concrete building with a door that barely stayed on its hinges in a valley about a mile off the main trail. Pulling open the rusty door, a near deafening creak filled the world around me as I peered inside the ancient building. Miraculously, it was untouched, looking just as I remembered it, although, with quite a bit more dust and cobwebs, my old hideout was decorated with the many lavish designs of a poor student and his engineer father.

An old generator rested in one corner with gas canisters next to it, and an unbalanced table at the other end with an equally unbalanced collapsible metal chair. Sitting next to the rickety table, rested a small electric heater. I took out my laptop, set it on the table, and plugged it into the powerless wall before filling the generator with fuel. I hope this thing still worked. Saying a quick prayer in my heart, I flipped the switch and the rundown concrete shack buzzed to life. A flickering light turned on over head and the battery icon in the bottom left corner of my laptop began to flash.

This was the home that I'd been missing. I opened up a new document and stared at it for a minute, contemplating my next move. I've wanted to write a book for as long as I could remember, but truthfully, it's hard to write about a protagonist when you've felt yourself to be nothing more than a background character on the best of days.

Today, that all changed. Today, I was the protagonist. Pounding on the keys, I began to write my book. My fingers flew across the ancient keyboard, pouring out emotions from a vessel that has long contained them. I wrote, and wrote, and wrote. What was once seconds turned into minutes, the minutes soon turned into hours, and without fail, the words continued to leave the prison of my skull and fly onto the screen in front of me.