A story I wrote.

Hey home-boys, and home-girls. This is a story I wrote for fiction writing last semester, it was one of two I wrote for that class, and while I think I got a better grade on the other one, I like this one a lot more. The title... I didnt have one till the day before it was due, and I was listening to Nas, so I straight jacked a line from his song cause its vague enough to maybe have something to do with my stort, so don't think to hard about that. Anywho, I really liked how this one turned out, and just felt the urge to post it up, if anyone wants to give it a read thats dope. Its 9 pages, so its long. (edit: of course the format got messed)

The Bridge is over

\t“Yes sir, I’ll finish that by noon as well,” Edgar said as he crouched over his desk. He had come in early that morning to finish a project. He was going to stay late that night, just like every night. He had already gotten a week’s worth of work piled on him to finish by lunch, which he’d have no time for again.
\tEdgar wasn’t the type to be pushed around too easily. He was just a hard worker who wanted the best for the gigantic company he worked for, who gave him no reward, no matter how hard he worked. At least that’s how he though of it, if he even had time to stop and think. He had been working overtime, double shifts, and taking extra loads for at least five years. Probably more but he hasn’t had many clear memories of time before his surgery for a massive heart attack. The company gave him a nice weekend off for that. Either way, this is where he was now and he overall, he couldn’t complain too much.
\tHe worked hard for the rest of the day. He got home, gave his wall the usual relaxation punch, and was greeted with the standard:
\t“What the hell are you doing over there it’s ten at night and some people need to sleep. I’ll call the cops this time.”
\tThat was the old lady next door. No one was too happy that she hadn’t died yet.
\t“Go die,” Edgar replied. Letting her know, again, what everyone in the complex thought. It wasn’t often Edgar got to talk back, or let his feelings out, or have an opinion for that matter. Work was rough. He knew that for a fact, but he always tried to take it in stride. His home was another matter though. There, he was the boss. He could break things to relieve his stress all he wanted. And so he did.
\tIt wasn’t an exciting night. Edgar sat down in his dirty blue recliner and turned on the TV. He tried to relax for a bit before he had to go to sleep for some early work tomorrow. He looked around his small and dirty, but still somehow cozy apartment for a moment. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t relax. That’s not what he did anymore. He jumped out of the chair and made a quick sandwich. He was wired to work all day, and have the occasional explosion of rage in the comfort of his home, but he couldn’t relax. It might have been the fact that he didn’t know how to anymore, but it also could have been the fact that he was worried if he stopped for a second he wouldn’t be able to start again. If he was awake he was moving. If he wasn’t moving he was sleeping, and it seemed that there was nothing better to do. He fell asleep without even being able to turn off the lamp next to his bed.
\tHe woke up and peeled the soggy sheets off of himself. Lately even sleep had been hard work.
Edgar decided on the TV as he poured himself a bowl of stale cereal. He topped it off with some milk and then sat down in his recliner. After clicking the remote a few seconds prior, the TV finally came on with a slight murmur. It was still just five in the morning, and infomercials were his only choice, but he somehow always found comfort in them. He had already seen the toothbrush that pastes and cleans itself a few times so he switched the channel up one.
\t“Ya Scott it was amazing! I was a ball of stress and after my pilgrimage to the holy lands I felt 18 again! I just really can’t believe how well this works!!!” The man on channel 19 was yelling.
“Whatever,” Edgar thought, or mumbled, or could of yelled for all he knew; his mind was already wandering.
\tHe did make it a rule of thumb to not really listen to these early morning commercials, but he wasn’t going to buy this. He did, however, need to ponder pertaining to what he heard. He wasn’t part of any religion, he might have been a long time ago, he didn’t remember, but Edgar sat there and thought. Eventually, the crazy thoughts that made him chuckle in the beginning of his brain racking session were becoming more and more serious.
\tDo I need a religion? Maybe it would help me sort out my mess of a life, maybe it would teach me how to relax, how to walk away from all this crap, maybe start over… Maybe I need a vacation, maybe that’s all I need. Or maybe I need to be gone for good. Just move away from here… start over, get in a new place.
The doorbell rang.
\tA small Puerto Rican man stood on the doorstep. He was probably no more than two or three inches over five feet tall. He was thin, but muscular. Not to the point where it intimidated Edward. For some reason he felt very comfortable at that moment.
\t“Hello sir,” the man calmly said. His voice immediately made Edward want to listen to whatever he was about to hear. It was smooth and confident, yet there was an underlying shakiness to the voice that made it appear this man was wise beyond his years.
\t“I am selling magazines.”
\tEdgar wasn’t sure if he should believe him. He could feel something special radiate from this man, he was in the mood to believe something different.
\t“Oh yes, yes, come in. Make yourself at home,” Edgar wasn’t exactly sure what was going on. There was a strange man in this apartment, but for some reason Edgar felt a little different about him, like the man should be there, or that he came to help somehow. Maybe this was the break he had been waiting for.
\tLooking back, Edward didn’t know what got into himself. He was never like this. He was short. He was concise. And he was calculated. How he could have gotten caught up in fairy tales like he did was beyond him. It must have been the mood he was in. He had never let himself think like that before, because, although he had always known everything wasn’t perfect, it was secure and in order. He finally let himself think freely, on a real scale, even if for a brief moment, but it had put him into a whole different mindset. And when that man came, who was different in some way from anyone he had ever seen, he just wanted to believe it was special.

It was.
\t
Edgar woke up on his back, with a headache mixed with a tune from a psychedelic Pink Floyd song. It was hot and muggy around him. Flies and mosquitoes thickened the air and provided the only noise. He was in a small clearing, but all around him was thick greenery that seemed to be sweating in the miserable conditions.
“Godamnit,” Edgar said loudly. Although probably too loudly, for he was in the Gaden Shartse Monastery for Tibetan Buddhist Monks.
\tPerhaps fortunately, he remembered everything that happened that morning with the strange man.
\tIt turned out that the Puerto Rican man really was a magazine salesperson. He also sold other things. Edgar had gotten himself caught up in this man’s magic and had taken an assortment of drugs very similar to what the man had taken before he came to Edgar’s apartment. That could have explained the unusual vibe coming from the Puerto Rican man. After all five illegal entities in Edgar’s body kicked in, his mind quickly wandered and his inhibitions where no longer existent. A change of life was still on his mind, and he did what he wanted to.
\tThis was not where he wanted to be, however. He began to search his pockets for money or anything useful before he realized that he had already been changed into the native attire, which consisted of a bare chest and something like a potato sack for pants. They had no pockets. He slipped on the pair of twine and wood sandals that were on the ground next to him, and proceeded to move.
\tFrom where he was, he could see the castle like building atop a hill. It was dark from weather and time, and had extra rooms and buildings jutting out from it every few feet. The hill was covered with trees and thick brush. Vines slithered up and down, and where earth was visible it was a deep brown color. Edgar navigated to a small clearing at the base of the hill where it appeared there would be stairs. Instead he saw a long dirt path slowly making its way to the top. His thoughts were not happy ones as he climbed.
\tHe approached the mammoth building. Edgar was on his way to knocking on the door with what appeared to be a doorknocker, even though it was much too big, when a before unnoticed monk slipped beside him.
\t“Greetings son,” The monk said. The way the monk’s tranquility and voice hit him could be described over years of story. It was smooth and calm, and more. He could hear all the knowingness the monk possessed from just those two words. Edgar had never been much about analogies or fancy poem work, but recollecting on that moment later he likened it to nothing less than a million beams of thick sunlight seamlessly gliding through a perfectly clear patch of water.
\tEdgar was not able to respond, but the monk seemed to expect it.
\t“Shall we walk the Monastery,” The monk said not as a question, but in a way that made Edgar feel as though that had been his thought the entire time. The monk took a deep breath of sun, and slipped the door open. Placing a confident hand on Edgar’s shoulder, he led him inside.
\t“Follow me to your quarters.”
\tThey walked down a long corridor that was as barren as one could get. There was silence, but Edgar felt like his body was full of energy. They entered a small room with a cot in one corner, and nothing else in the others. Edgar released his sandals and lay down.
\t“I think I’m just going to go to sleep for a little bit,” he said. He already felt this was where he belonged. This was how he should live.
\tEd awoke. He grabbed his satchel. He took his slow steps out of the room as the large wooden door creaked closed behind him. This must have been where he had lived all his life. He continued on to the Hall. There he greeted the fellow members from his section, grabbed the food for that day, and sat on the wooden bench.
He began to pray, just as he did for the next 365 days. On the 366th he packed up and went back home. It was what he needed to do.
Over the last year he had pondered all things in life on a deeper scale than ever before. He had become a supreme peaceful being. Everything was precious to him, and every person was one to be respected.
He sat on the plane, waiting to take off, and waiting to start his new life in civilization. Ed felt a new anticipation in his body; excited to harmonize his new teachings into his old world.

The doorbell rang at his new apartment. Since he had gotten back life had been very smooth. The first few weeks were quit comfortable, and full of prosperity. He rose out of his chair. His slippers gently tapped the floor on each step he took, and with every movement a relaxing scent of incense flowed throughout the house. When the door opened he felt almost unsurprised to see the Puerto Rican man again.
Right after arriving at the monastery on the first day, he had felt that this stranger should be the sole person to blame for going to that foreign land. Now he still felt it had all happened because of the Puerto Rican man, but he felt a thanks was in order.
Ed extended his arms for a hug. The man quickly jolted back.
In high, shaky words he responded, “Hey. What the hell is you doin? Lookin to get in trouble? Don’t touch me son. I’m just tryin to get some money.”
“Well please come in. I didn’t mean to misplace you from your comfort.”
“Long as you buy somethin man, whatever.”
The two disappeared inside Ed’s shady living quarters with a creak of the door. The man’s steps where in no way orderly, and he took twice as many as Ed, but he still ended up at the same couch.
Facing the man, Ed asked him how things have been.
The man, looking clueless, looked right at him and spit out a slight, “What you talking about man.”
Ed laughed slightly and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. Without hesitation the man popped up.
“I’ve had enough of you messin with me man,” he screeched as he fished in his pocket. His hand got snagged for a second on the lining of his coat, but a gun was still produced, tightly wrapped around his hand.
“Stop fuckin with me dude, I’m not about that.”
The gun was directed towards Ed’s face. Ed was silent. He wasn’t scared, he was just silent. The man made his way through the archway to Ed’s dinning room. Ed sat and thought for a moment, then rose. He slid over to the opening of the room where the man was.
The man was stuffing anything shiny into his pockets, and when Ed entered he turned his head like a rabid animal. Turning back, the man quickly ran his hand over a vase with intrigue in his eyes. Carelessly grasping the vase, the man fully turned and faced Ed with the vase in one hand and the gun in the other. The vase was pointed down and the gun was pointed right at Ed.
“Please, that vase is not sturdy,” Ed said slowly, with no fear in his body. He knew the man in front of him was the reason for his happiness. With a smile, he sent his hand over towards the man to retrieve the vase.
Without a second thought of action, the man pulled the trigger and let a bullet slip into Edgar’s forehead. The thump Edgar made on the ground was a very normal thump, the one any body would make.
The Puerto Rican man stopped, studied the vase in his arms, and left the apartment, through the door, with a slight creak.