Pleasing to note: this Yomibitorazo does not own Joan of Arcadia nor the
Creator. Thank you.
Lost...
"Hello Joan!" A teenage female walked into the hospital room, smiling brightly.
"Who are you?" Joan asked warily. "How do you know my name?" The hallucinations were supposed to be over, meaning no more random people only she could see who knew her name.
"Oh, sorry. My name is Layla. As for knowing your name, it is on your medical chart, see?" She brandished the aforementioned item from the end of the bed.
"Okay, so why are you here?"
"I am a volunteer at the hospital; I go around and talk to the patients such as yourself."
"Isn't there other things for you to do? Like change sheets, give out meals?"
"Well, I tried that but the nurses say that I am a 'disaster waiting to happen'. I forget which meal is for whom and once gave a peanut butter sandwich to a male patient who is apparently violently allergic. As for changing bed sheets, you really don't want to know what happened. So the head nurse decided to just have me do what I do best, talk and listen."
"So go bother someone else, I don't want to talk," she averted her eyes to the window.
The volunteer stood silent watching Joan for several ponderous moments before saying, "You look sad, as though your world is coming apart at the seams and you have lost faith."
"Sorry, I'm not religious. I don't believe in God," Joan declared, becoming agitated with the direction of the conversation.
"Faith is not only about religion or God. It can be faith in people; your mother, father, siblings, friends, or it can be faith in an idea or belief. For instance, I have faith that the sun shall set in the west this evening and rise in the east on the morrow. Faith is like truth, different for every person," Layla explained patiently and solemnly.
Joan had turned her gaze back to the other girl, studying her closely. Her hair was of the darkest pitch of black; catching light and seeming to glitter like stars in the night sky. Her eyes were a deep blue, fringed by thick lashes, the outer sides tilted ever so slightly upward, creating an exotic look. Lips of a vivid rose color stood out against glowing alabaster skin. As a whole, Joan thought, she looks ethereal.
"I've never seen you before; where do you go to school?"
"I am schooled at home."
"You mean home schooled?"
"That is what I said, schooled at home."
"Whatever. Isn't that, like, lonely? No classmates or friends, only a teacher to keep you companies. Then again, you probably get to sleep as late as you like, have plenty of time to do homework... Maybe I should be home schooled," Joan mused.
"I have no teacher, only my guardian. I teach myself, awake by eight o'clock everyday, and come here most afternoons. I am want for nothing."
"Wait, teach yourself? A guardian? Are your parents dead?"
"I have never known my 'parents', only my guardian. I do not presume to know their whereabouts. As for the former, yes, I teach myself. Everything that is required for me to learn is explained in the books. If one book is too vague, I find another or search for the information on the Internet."
"But isn't it lonely?" Joan persisted.
Layla seemed to think about the question before answering slowly. "It pleases me to learn, whether from reading or observing others. I enjoy reading almost any book that finds its way into my hands. If I desire human companionship, I come here. Here I may talk to others or just listen; this pleases me very much, so, no, being schooled at home is not 'lonely', it is very liberating."
"What about your guardian? Where is he?"
"Joan? Are you rea-? Oh, sorry, I didn't know you had a visitor." Helen Girardi stood in the doorway, looking at the other girl in askance.
"Hello, my name is Layla. I am a volunteer of the hospital. We were just talking, I apologize if I have kept her."
"Oh no, there's no need to apologize. I just didn't know anyone was in here other than Joan," she looked at her daughter who now sat on the edge of the bed tying her shoelaces. "I'm Helen Girardi," she stuck out her hand.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Girardi." The younger female took the offered hand, shaking it firmly. "I shall leave you now," she said with a dip of her head, hair rushing forward over her shoulders. Turning to Joan she spoke once more, "I hope you find your faith, Joan."
The two Girardi women watched Layla leave, before facing each other again.
"Okay, do you want to tell me what that was about?" Helen asked her daughter.
Joan stood and began moving to the door. "It was nothing."
...And Found
Three months later found Joan on the steps to the school, grumbling about AP physics. Grace mounted the steps at her side, Adam trailing several steps behind.
A breach had formed between Adam and Joan months before after her confession. Adam didn't know what to say, but found that he believed Joan had been sick for longer than any of them had thought. He believed in many things, but did not think it possible to see God and talk to Him on the conscious plane.
Luke waited at the top of the steps, reaching for Grace's hand as they reached him. She squeezed his hand and left it in his hold, having decided months ago that being anti-anti could be just as much fun as being anti. Plus, she could keep Price on his toes.
"Hello Joan," a gentle voice came from the doors. The small group turned to see a female student, standing patiently, sapphire eyes trained on Joan.
"Hi, Layla, right?" At her nod, Joan spoke to her friends. "Layla's a volunteer at the hospital, we met there." The reference was obvious. Facing Layla again, she introduced her brother and friends to the newcomer. "I thought you were home schooled."
"My guardian feels that being surrounded by many people of my peerage would be an 'excellent learning experience'."
"Whoa," Grace intruded. "Why would you want to come to an institute that is just a factory where they try to mold into the next generation of drones for society?"
The steady blue gaze shifted to the blonde girl, considering the question. "Who are 'they'?"
"'They' are the oppressors of freedom, freedom of speech, freedom to express yourself, even freedom of thought," Grace explained, gearing up for a favored debate.
"My guardian decided that I should attend this institute. He is with your principal, evaluating whether or not this is the proper environment for me to learn," she said, efficiently cutting Grace off before she was talking at full steam.
"Guardian? Where's your parents?"
"She doesn't know," Joan answered for her.
"Oh Joan, there you are," Helen came towards her daughter. "Mr. Price wants you to show Layla around school. Take your time, you'll be excused from your class." Her eyes were alight with laughter, knowing how little Joan had been looking forward to AP physics during first period. Turning her attention to her other offspring and the other two students she said, "Shouldn't you all be heading to class?" As she spoke the first bell rang, emphasizing her point.
.:o.o:.
They stopped in a courtyard to sit for a spell. Joan had given a poor tour, but it seemed her shadow wasn't truly interested in it either.
The day was cool despite the constant light of the sun. The leaves not even changing color yet, holding out as long as possible before autumn settled in.
"How have you been, Joan?"
"Fine," she answered curtly.
"You do not look 'fine' to me," Layla observed. "You still look lost, no faith within you..."
"I don't need faith. Nor do I need you badgering me!"
"I think you do need faith, Joan. I see the emptiness in your eyes; I know the despair you hide from your family, your friends...Adam. What I do not understand, Joan, is why you feel the need to have his faith in you, in your word, your sanity, before you allow yourself to have faith in the Creator."
Joan stood angrily. "I don't need this! Who the hell do you think you are? And who the hell is the 'Creator'?"
"The Creator has many names: God, Yahweh, Muhammad, Krishna, Odin, Uranus and Gaea... These are but a few names; there are many, male, female, monotheistic, polytheistic, new, and many so ancient, time has forgotten them, but they all refer to the same being: the Creator."
"And you are?" Joan was clearly disbelieving.
"I am merely one of the Creator's creations. You do not believe me," this was stated as fact. An indulgent smile appeared on her face. "The first time you saw the Creator the form of an elderly man was assumed. He stood on your front lawn looking up to your room; you thought he was a pervert. Next, the form of a teenage male was assumed, this appeared to you here, at this school. There was the lunch lady, the maintenance man, the janitor, the dog walker, the piano tuner, the elderly lady at the bookstore, the young man in a hotdog suit," she listed. Joan sat in disbelief, staring as Layla continued. "Oh, the Creator had taken the form of your principal, too. Um, there was the old man with a walker, the little girl with glasses wearing an antenna headband, the girl at a park where you jumped rope, and the flight attendant on Career Day. And don't forget the young man with piercings wearing a kilt and makeup, the electrician, the news anchorman, the clerk at a liquor store, the cute set of twins, a-"
"Alright! I get the point," Joan interrupted. Eyeing her suspiciously she asked, "How do I know I'm not having a relapse? How do I know you're real?"
She smiled, pleased. "You have but to think back, Joan. I have met your mother, your younger brother, Grace, and Adam. They have all talked to me before you, you yourself introduced me to your friends. Unless you decided that you have been hallucinating everyone else as well, then you have your proof, Joan."
Joan was quiet for a long moment, thinking of the implications. "Okay, so who are you and why are you here? Why didn't He come?"
"My name is Layla, this I have already told you. I am here of my own volition, the Creator, as far as I know, does not currently know of my whereabouts. I was created for a special purpose, as is everyone else, but mine was defined from the point of my creation. I have known from the beginning of my existence that my gift is clarity.
"I listen well to others and give comfort in doing so. I talk to others and give comfort in doing so. However, my primary purpose is to help others see or think clearly. I help straighten one's thoughts. Many speak to me, but none more than the Creator does. The Creator loves all in the universe equally, but in saying this, I speak a mistruth, for there are some whom are loved more than others are. Very few such beings exist, Joan, and you are one of them."
"Why me? What's so special about me?"
"You have been touched, Joan," she said this as though that explained everything.
"Touched? Like molested?" Joan's voice began to rise.
The black-haired woman laughed softly. "No, Joan, not molested, just touched... Gifted, if you will. You have the gift of openness. This is what allows you to know the Creator and do the Creator's 'suggestions'. Now though, now you are closing. You are having, I believe it is called, a 'crisis of faith'. You are allowing an illness to shut you away, cut you off from the Creator... Perhaps you are afraid to have faith in the Creator when your friend, Adam, has no faith in your word."
Joan stiffened but didn't defend herself. "Take small steps, Joan, but do not push the Creator out of your life," she began to plea. "You both need each other so much."
"How could he need me?" Joan couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice.
"We talk, the Creator and I. I am privy to many thoughts and emotions, none of which I may tell you. I am able to tell you that the Creator has not been the same since you denounced the Creator's very existence. You are special to the Creator in an indefinable way. Even I do not fully understand it."
Joan soaked this in, stunned. "Wha-What do I do?"
"You do as you please, Joan."
"Can't you give me a clue or a starting point or something?"
Layla stood, smiling down at the teenager. She was older than the earth, knew many things, had seen more, but was now seer. "I recommend you turn around."
"Huh?" But she had vanished, simply disappeared. Joan blinked, shocked for a minute, then the wheels started to turn at an alarming rate.
"Hello Joan," a soft, familiar voice came from behind. She froze for the barest of seconds before facing her destiny, opening once more.
Completed: Wednesday, June 16, 2004
Lost...
"Hello Joan!" A teenage female walked into the hospital room, smiling brightly.
"Who are you?" Joan asked warily. "How do you know my name?" The hallucinations were supposed to be over, meaning no more random people only she could see who knew her name.
"Oh, sorry. My name is Layla. As for knowing your name, it is on your medical chart, see?" She brandished the aforementioned item from the end of the bed.
"Okay, so why are you here?"
"I am a volunteer at the hospital; I go around and talk to the patients such as yourself."
"Isn't there other things for you to do? Like change sheets, give out meals?"
"Well, I tried that but the nurses say that I am a 'disaster waiting to happen'. I forget which meal is for whom and once gave a peanut butter sandwich to a male patient who is apparently violently allergic. As for changing bed sheets, you really don't want to know what happened. So the head nurse decided to just have me do what I do best, talk and listen."
"So go bother someone else, I don't want to talk," she averted her eyes to the window.
The volunteer stood silent watching Joan for several ponderous moments before saying, "You look sad, as though your world is coming apart at the seams and you have lost faith."
"Sorry, I'm not religious. I don't believe in God," Joan declared, becoming agitated with the direction of the conversation.
"Faith is not only about religion or God. It can be faith in people; your mother, father, siblings, friends, or it can be faith in an idea or belief. For instance, I have faith that the sun shall set in the west this evening and rise in the east on the morrow. Faith is like truth, different for every person," Layla explained patiently and solemnly.
Joan had turned her gaze back to the other girl, studying her closely. Her hair was of the darkest pitch of black; catching light and seeming to glitter like stars in the night sky. Her eyes were a deep blue, fringed by thick lashes, the outer sides tilted ever so slightly upward, creating an exotic look. Lips of a vivid rose color stood out against glowing alabaster skin. As a whole, Joan thought, she looks ethereal.
"I've never seen you before; where do you go to school?"
"I am schooled at home."
"You mean home schooled?"
"That is what I said, schooled at home."
"Whatever. Isn't that, like, lonely? No classmates or friends, only a teacher to keep you companies. Then again, you probably get to sleep as late as you like, have plenty of time to do homework... Maybe I should be home schooled," Joan mused.
"I have no teacher, only my guardian. I teach myself, awake by eight o'clock everyday, and come here most afternoons. I am want for nothing."
"Wait, teach yourself? A guardian? Are your parents dead?"
"I have never known my 'parents', only my guardian. I do not presume to know their whereabouts. As for the former, yes, I teach myself. Everything that is required for me to learn is explained in the books. If one book is too vague, I find another or search for the information on the Internet."
"But isn't it lonely?" Joan persisted.
Layla seemed to think about the question before answering slowly. "It pleases me to learn, whether from reading or observing others. I enjoy reading almost any book that finds its way into my hands. If I desire human companionship, I come here. Here I may talk to others or just listen; this pleases me very much, so, no, being schooled at home is not 'lonely', it is very liberating."
"What about your guardian? Where is he?"
"Joan? Are you rea-? Oh, sorry, I didn't know you had a visitor." Helen Girardi stood in the doorway, looking at the other girl in askance.
"Hello, my name is Layla. I am a volunteer of the hospital. We were just talking, I apologize if I have kept her."
"Oh no, there's no need to apologize. I just didn't know anyone was in here other than Joan," she looked at her daughter who now sat on the edge of the bed tying her shoelaces. "I'm Helen Girardi," she stuck out her hand.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Girardi." The younger female took the offered hand, shaking it firmly. "I shall leave you now," she said with a dip of her head, hair rushing forward over her shoulders. Turning to Joan she spoke once more, "I hope you find your faith, Joan."
The two Girardi women watched Layla leave, before facing each other again.
"Okay, do you want to tell me what that was about?" Helen asked her daughter.
Joan stood and began moving to the door. "It was nothing."
...And Found
Three months later found Joan on the steps to the school, grumbling about AP physics. Grace mounted the steps at her side, Adam trailing several steps behind.
A breach had formed between Adam and Joan months before after her confession. Adam didn't know what to say, but found that he believed Joan had been sick for longer than any of them had thought. He believed in many things, but did not think it possible to see God and talk to Him on the conscious plane.
Luke waited at the top of the steps, reaching for Grace's hand as they reached him. She squeezed his hand and left it in his hold, having decided months ago that being anti-anti could be just as much fun as being anti. Plus, she could keep Price on his toes.
"Hello Joan," a gentle voice came from the doors. The small group turned to see a female student, standing patiently, sapphire eyes trained on Joan.
"Hi, Layla, right?" At her nod, Joan spoke to her friends. "Layla's a volunteer at the hospital, we met there." The reference was obvious. Facing Layla again, she introduced her brother and friends to the newcomer. "I thought you were home schooled."
"My guardian feels that being surrounded by many people of my peerage would be an 'excellent learning experience'."
"Whoa," Grace intruded. "Why would you want to come to an institute that is just a factory where they try to mold into the next generation of drones for society?"
The steady blue gaze shifted to the blonde girl, considering the question. "Who are 'they'?"
"'They' are the oppressors of freedom, freedom of speech, freedom to express yourself, even freedom of thought," Grace explained, gearing up for a favored debate.
"My guardian decided that I should attend this institute. He is with your principal, evaluating whether or not this is the proper environment for me to learn," she said, efficiently cutting Grace off before she was talking at full steam.
"Guardian? Where's your parents?"
"She doesn't know," Joan answered for her.
"Oh Joan, there you are," Helen came towards her daughter. "Mr. Price wants you to show Layla around school. Take your time, you'll be excused from your class." Her eyes were alight with laughter, knowing how little Joan had been looking forward to AP physics during first period. Turning her attention to her other offspring and the other two students she said, "Shouldn't you all be heading to class?" As she spoke the first bell rang, emphasizing her point.
.:o.o:.
They stopped in a courtyard to sit for a spell. Joan had given a poor tour, but it seemed her shadow wasn't truly interested in it either.
The day was cool despite the constant light of the sun. The leaves not even changing color yet, holding out as long as possible before autumn settled in.
"How have you been, Joan?"
"Fine," she answered curtly.
"You do not look 'fine' to me," Layla observed. "You still look lost, no faith within you..."
"I don't need faith. Nor do I need you badgering me!"
"I think you do need faith, Joan. I see the emptiness in your eyes; I know the despair you hide from your family, your friends...Adam. What I do not understand, Joan, is why you feel the need to have his faith in you, in your word, your sanity, before you allow yourself to have faith in the Creator."
Joan stood angrily. "I don't need this! Who the hell do you think you are? And who the hell is the 'Creator'?"
"The Creator has many names: God, Yahweh, Muhammad, Krishna, Odin, Uranus and Gaea... These are but a few names; there are many, male, female, monotheistic, polytheistic, new, and many so ancient, time has forgotten them, but they all refer to the same being: the Creator."
"And you are?" Joan was clearly disbelieving.
"I am merely one of the Creator's creations. You do not believe me," this was stated as fact. An indulgent smile appeared on her face. "The first time you saw the Creator the form of an elderly man was assumed. He stood on your front lawn looking up to your room; you thought he was a pervert. Next, the form of a teenage male was assumed, this appeared to you here, at this school. There was the lunch lady, the maintenance man, the janitor, the dog walker, the piano tuner, the elderly lady at the bookstore, the young man in a hotdog suit," she listed. Joan sat in disbelief, staring as Layla continued. "Oh, the Creator had taken the form of your principal, too. Um, there was the old man with a walker, the little girl with glasses wearing an antenna headband, the girl at a park where you jumped rope, and the flight attendant on Career Day. And don't forget the young man with piercings wearing a kilt and makeup, the electrician, the news anchorman, the clerk at a liquor store, the cute set of twins, a-"
"Alright! I get the point," Joan interrupted. Eyeing her suspiciously she asked, "How do I know I'm not having a relapse? How do I know you're real?"
She smiled, pleased. "You have but to think back, Joan. I have met your mother, your younger brother, Grace, and Adam. They have all talked to me before you, you yourself introduced me to your friends. Unless you decided that you have been hallucinating everyone else as well, then you have your proof, Joan."
Joan was quiet for a long moment, thinking of the implications. "Okay, so who are you and why are you here? Why didn't He come?"
"My name is Layla, this I have already told you. I am here of my own volition, the Creator, as far as I know, does not currently know of my whereabouts. I was created for a special purpose, as is everyone else, but mine was defined from the point of my creation. I have known from the beginning of my existence that my gift is clarity.
"I listen well to others and give comfort in doing so. I talk to others and give comfort in doing so. However, my primary purpose is to help others see or think clearly. I help straighten one's thoughts. Many speak to me, but none more than the Creator does. The Creator loves all in the universe equally, but in saying this, I speak a mistruth, for there are some whom are loved more than others are. Very few such beings exist, Joan, and you are one of them."
"Why me? What's so special about me?"
"You have been touched, Joan," she said this as though that explained everything.
"Touched? Like molested?" Joan's voice began to rise.
The black-haired woman laughed softly. "No, Joan, not molested, just touched... Gifted, if you will. You have the gift of openness. This is what allows you to know the Creator and do the Creator's 'suggestions'. Now though, now you are closing. You are having, I believe it is called, a 'crisis of faith'. You are allowing an illness to shut you away, cut you off from the Creator... Perhaps you are afraid to have faith in the Creator when your friend, Adam, has no faith in your word."
Joan stiffened but didn't defend herself. "Take small steps, Joan, but do not push the Creator out of your life," she began to plea. "You both need each other so much."
"How could he need me?" Joan couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice.
"We talk, the Creator and I. I am privy to many thoughts and emotions, none of which I may tell you. I am able to tell you that the Creator has not been the same since you denounced the Creator's very existence. You are special to the Creator in an indefinable way. Even I do not fully understand it."
Joan soaked this in, stunned. "Wha-What do I do?"
"You do as you please, Joan."
"Can't you give me a clue or a starting point or something?"
Layla stood, smiling down at the teenager. She was older than the earth, knew many things, had seen more, but was now seer. "I recommend you turn around."
"Huh?" But she had vanished, simply disappeared. Joan blinked, shocked for a minute, then the wheels started to turn at an alarming rate.
"Hello Joan," a soft, familiar voice came from behind. She froze for the barest of seconds before facing her destiny, opening once more.
Completed: Wednesday, June 16, 2004