All credit to known characters goes to Joss Whedon and the many talented
creators of 'Buffy The Vampire Slayer'. References to 'Something For Kate'
lyrics and Tennessee Williams' 'Streetcar Named Desire' also included. No
infringement intended.
In this story I will delve into the mind of a homicidal maniac. Please bare with me as I try to remain true to Caleb's character, while keeping my own sanity intact.
Piper Quinn
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- Sliding Into Apathy. Chapter One.
~*~*~*********~*~*~
People are quick to use words. Words that do a person injustice. I have heard many, but I think few can describe me accurately. One, in particular.
Misunderstood. That's what I like to call it, anyhow. I suppose that's what made me turn to God foremost. I needed people to hear me; I needed people to take my preaching into context. What better way then becoming a Preacher?
It was as if the waters had cleared. People listened and learned, instead of just walkin' right by. I knew then it was my calling.
I wanted to heal the wounds of the past. Not just mine, but other peoples. People who were just like me.
I didn't think God himself had a plan for me, or that I would change the world, or nothin' like that, but goddamn, when they gathered and took heed I felt like the man upstairs himself. I was their God and they hung on my every word. I reveled in their nodding heads and sustaining expressions. And I knew I could reach them.
I suppose things usually don't go as planned. Some may say I have strayed from the path; that I have abandoned virtue but I was never unfaithful. All I did was with the utmost faith and I found beauty, pain, denomination, heaven and hell. I found myself sliding into apathy, but I never did stray.
My journey was long. I was built by it, but also twisted. Half my story is known, the other half still in shadow. I will share my story, hell I've been waiting so many years to do it. But there are things you must remember before I let you in on my secrets.
Don't disregard the grey areas.
Nothin' is black and white.
Hallelujah.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------
When I first arrived at my first parish, a couple of miles out of Knoxville, I was just lookin' for answers. The two other priests were a good few decades older than me and I was young, eager, and ready to be enlightened. My decline from this submission, however, began at the first sermon.
Father James Michaels. It just blew my mind how someone could be so uninspiring. His speech was nothin' but a skyscraper of procrastination and a bible passage. Father Laurence Jameson faring no better, his willowy frame bent over as though the man was too backward to even address the churchgoing people.
This was not what I wanted. I wanted to learn and to teach. I wanted to show people the way. I wanted credence.
I watched the people come and go. I tried to see change within them, to see if they had absorbed even a glimmer of faith. I failed to see either. I knew then that action had to be taken on my behalf.
My mind wandered back to when I was just eight years old. My father had taken a gun to my mother and then to himself and I found myself to be all alone in this world.
My father claimed to rarely touch the bottle. However, it seemed to touch him often. A rage would be awakened in him and my mother and I would constantly have scars and bruises added to our growing collection.
They had known about the damage being done to my family. The neighbours, the relatives and even the church. They all knew, but just kept on pretending, lookin' the other way and such..
When both my parents were deceased, I was put in the hands of the church. I spent my days in a group home run by servants of God. There were many children there, all unloved and forsaken. I remember one Priest in particular, by the name of Father Marks. His words of sympathy had been repeated so many times they had lost all meaning. I remember the looks of supposed pity I met with were glassy eyed, too inadvertent to have any time for a boy who had been falling from grace his entire life.
It had been twenty years. I had expected a revolution within the church. I had expected them to, for once, give a damn.
I had expected too much.
But I did not let myself be disheartened. I would lift this church out of indifference.
I missed my mother. She had called me 'Sweetpea'.
~*~**********~*~
Once every month the priest in charge of the church I was stationed at would come to visit. I had yet to meet him.
Father Michaels and Father Jameson spoke highly of him, but this meant nothing to me. I had long closed my mind to their incessant ramblings and suggestions.
It was three long weeks since my arrival and I had waited patiently. My mind was overflowing with concepts and ideas to better the church and to increase the people's affiliation. Past mistakes could be learned from. Redemption was on the horizon.
I knew that with just one person on my side, anything was possible.
The day arrived and I lingered at the door of the church to greet him.
He arrived in a big car, shiny and black. And when he stepped out of his car I felt my chest tighten.
He walked towards me and seemed like an age before he reached to doorway.
He offered his hand to me and I shook it. I don't really know why; we needed no introduction.
The man before me was Father Marks.
He did not recognise me, of course. Twenty years had transformed us both, but It was him. Unmistakably.
I felt my concepts and ideas lock themselves away into a dark place on my mind, never to be eventuated.
I would have run then, far away. Repair my soul in some other way. But I had nowhere to go. My expectations had lured me to the pitfall.
Instead I stepped inside the church and closed the heavy doors. Before the doors shut, I caught a glimpse of Father Marks' parked car. It winked in the sun.
It was almost demon-like.
Author's note: If you are interested in reading more Caleb, I can highly recommend 'The Lord's Work' by Shadowlass. Compelling stuff.
In this story I will delve into the mind of a homicidal maniac. Please bare with me as I try to remain true to Caleb's character, while keeping my own sanity intact.
Piper Quinn
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- Sliding Into Apathy. Chapter One.
~*~*~*********~*~*~
People are quick to use words. Words that do a person injustice. I have heard many, but I think few can describe me accurately. One, in particular.
Misunderstood. That's what I like to call it, anyhow. I suppose that's what made me turn to God foremost. I needed people to hear me; I needed people to take my preaching into context. What better way then becoming a Preacher?
It was as if the waters had cleared. People listened and learned, instead of just walkin' right by. I knew then it was my calling.
I wanted to heal the wounds of the past. Not just mine, but other peoples. People who were just like me.
I didn't think God himself had a plan for me, or that I would change the world, or nothin' like that, but goddamn, when they gathered and took heed I felt like the man upstairs himself. I was their God and they hung on my every word. I reveled in their nodding heads and sustaining expressions. And I knew I could reach them.
I suppose things usually don't go as planned. Some may say I have strayed from the path; that I have abandoned virtue but I was never unfaithful. All I did was with the utmost faith and I found beauty, pain, denomination, heaven and hell. I found myself sliding into apathy, but I never did stray.
My journey was long. I was built by it, but also twisted. Half my story is known, the other half still in shadow. I will share my story, hell I've been waiting so many years to do it. But there are things you must remember before I let you in on my secrets.
Don't disregard the grey areas.
Nothin' is black and white.
Hallelujah.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------
When I first arrived at my first parish, a couple of miles out of Knoxville, I was just lookin' for answers. The two other priests were a good few decades older than me and I was young, eager, and ready to be enlightened. My decline from this submission, however, began at the first sermon.
Father James Michaels. It just blew my mind how someone could be so uninspiring. His speech was nothin' but a skyscraper of procrastination and a bible passage. Father Laurence Jameson faring no better, his willowy frame bent over as though the man was too backward to even address the churchgoing people.
This was not what I wanted. I wanted to learn and to teach. I wanted to show people the way. I wanted credence.
I watched the people come and go. I tried to see change within them, to see if they had absorbed even a glimmer of faith. I failed to see either. I knew then that action had to be taken on my behalf.
My mind wandered back to when I was just eight years old. My father had taken a gun to my mother and then to himself and I found myself to be all alone in this world.
My father claimed to rarely touch the bottle. However, it seemed to touch him often. A rage would be awakened in him and my mother and I would constantly have scars and bruises added to our growing collection.
They had known about the damage being done to my family. The neighbours, the relatives and even the church. They all knew, but just kept on pretending, lookin' the other way and such..
When both my parents were deceased, I was put in the hands of the church. I spent my days in a group home run by servants of God. There were many children there, all unloved and forsaken. I remember one Priest in particular, by the name of Father Marks. His words of sympathy had been repeated so many times they had lost all meaning. I remember the looks of supposed pity I met with were glassy eyed, too inadvertent to have any time for a boy who had been falling from grace his entire life.
It had been twenty years. I had expected a revolution within the church. I had expected them to, for once, give a damn.
I had expected too much.
But I did not let myself be disheartened. I would lift this church out of indifference.
I missed my mother. She had called me 'Sweetpea'.
~*~**********~*~
Once every month the priest in charge of the church I was stationed at would come to visit. I had yet to meet him.
Father Michaels and Father Jameson spoke highly of him, but this meant nothing to me. I had long closed my mind to their incessant ramblings and suggestions.
It was three long weeks since my arrival and I had waited patiently. My mind was overflowing with concepts and ideas to better the church and to increase the people's affiliation. Past mistakes could be learned from. Redemption was on the horizon.
I knew that with just one person on my side, anything was possible.
The day arrived and I lingered at the door of the church to greet him.
He arrived in a big car, shiny and black. And when he stepped out of his car I felt my chest tighten.
He walked towards me and seemed like an age before he reached to doorway.
He offered his hand to me and I shook it. I don't really know why; we needed no introduction.
The man before me was Father Marks.
He did not recognise me, of course. Twenty years had transformed us both, but It was him. Unmistakably.
I felt my concepts and ideas lock themselves away into a dark place on my mind, never to be eventuated.
I would have run then, far away. Repair my soul in some other way. But I had nowhere to go. My expectations had lured me to the pitfall.
Instead I stepped inside the church and closed the heavy doors. Before the doors shut, I caught a glimpse of Father Marks' parked car. It winked in the sun.
It was almost demon-like.
Author's note: If you are interested in reading more Caleb, I can highly recommend 'The Lord's Work' by Shadowlass. Compelling stuff.