Landis, Jonathan
JOURNAL ENTRY 12

I wake shivering in the dumpster. Winter air looping around me like ribbons of ice. Morning announces itself with thin shafts of pale light tunneling through the holes rust has chewed into the trash bin's iron walls. For the first time in my life, I wake up with myself, aware of who I am and all that I've done. The weight of it all... much too much. While I slept, I was enveloped in the most vivid dream of my entire life. My words betray me to call what I had a dream, as I suspect it to have been more like a vision. Exactly what it was I am not sure.

In my dream I saw the world, only not as I have ever known it. For a while I was convinced it was not the world at all, but rather some place entirely new. The more I looked upon it, the more I began to realize that this was indeed the world I have always inhabited, but changed, almost like a recreation. It was like the world had been made new. Entirely new.

All the people were gathering for a celebration. I could see fantastic buildings where people amassed in joyful anticipation. There were endless tables lined with a sumptuous feast. From building to building the jubilant people darted, gathering one another. No one was to be left out; no one was to miss this very special event.

There were great trees like redwoods towering above the buildings creating a layered collage of what seemed like shade for the city streets below. But what shined down on the treetops was not like sunlight at all. There was no heat, only ethereal warmth and an utter lack of any darkness whatsoever. Instead there was a wonderful yet gentle brilliance recoiling from every surface imaginable.

I felt as if I were drifting through the world yet not present. I was seeing these things transpire, but I was not a part of them. Though I longed to be with every fiber of my being, I remained a spectator for the duration of my vision.

There was a feeling there, a feeling that I cannot begin to describe with words. If I tried, it might sound like this: It was like coming home and realizing that home is more magnificent than I had remembered. It was like the tender excitement you feel when you first fall in love, how it affects your every thought, yet it was different, heavier, more solid, like it would never drift away, never become familiar.

There was something else there, too. Something I had not known until then. A feeling of worth and of great value, yes, it must have been like being loved. Truly being loved.

All these sensations were in the air like a breeze but not as subtle. The effect of this breeze was very noticeable on the people. They would sing and dance in the streets and recline in their homes with expressions of endless jubilation. They dwelled in this world, lived in its buildings, explored its tallest mountains and deepest caves with a sense of eternal wonder, as if the world went on forever and possibilities and joy were both without fail.

But on this day, something special was to transpire. The people hung bright tinsel in the outer courts of all the buildings and strung festive decorations made with flower blossoms and brilliant fabrics. Every man, woman and child gathered in the streets in anticipation.

And I watched as two men began to approach the city gates by climbing a great hill, one man leading the other. As they came closer, I found that the man who was leading was not like a man at all but something different and very beautiful. I continued to watch and saw that the man he was leading was someone I had seen before.

It was Paul Wesley.

As they began to reach to the top of the hill, the brilliant city became visible. When the people saw the two of them approaching, they all began to cheer, wonderful voices rising in the air like a song. Paul Wesley looked to the one who had been leading him with an expression that seemed to say "For me? Are they cheering for me?" The being smiled and laughed warmly as he extended his hand in front of him, inviting Paul to enter the city gates.

When Paul Wesley set foot in this amazing city, a celebration like none I have ever seen began to flood from every person as far as the eye could see. Even the beautifully colored birds soaring through the air joined in singing. There was cheerful shouting and singing and dancing. They lined up for miles to run to Paul and embrace him, kiss him, touch his face. Paul Wesley seemed to be completely speechless. He could only smile and cry tears of joy.

"He is home!" the people cheered. "He has run the race!" they exclaimed. "He was fought the good fight and he is home! Paul is finally home!" And as they spoke to him, Paul spoke back, but his voice had changed. He no longer spoke like a man of limited intelligence, but like a man who was fully capable of complicated thought. He had been made new as well.

Then there appeared more beings like the one who had led Paul into the city. They gathered around him, inviting him to follow them further in.

"He is waiting," they told him, bowing in reverence as they mentioned the word "He."

As Paul ventured in, he found himself in a long courtyard where the excited people followed behind, applauding and lifting their voices higher as they went. In the courtyard, there was a long walkway covered in soft, green grass leading up to a great building towering in the center of the city like a monolith. Massive lions lined the walkway, their golden manes dancing in the fragrant air.

Paul was standing in the center of this walkway when a man appeared in the distance before him. As this man approached, every person in the city kneeled in awe; even the lions joined and put their faces to the grass in reverence.

As this man came closer, the entire city fell very silent. Paul could not help but fall to his knees. Kneeling there before the man, Paul looked up into his endlessly loving eyes as he smiled down at him, extending a hand to lift him to his feet. The man looked at Paul for another moment and then wrapped his arms around him as the city exploded into endless cheers.

The last thing I saw was this: The man who had embraced Paul then turned and cupped his hands around his mouth, calling to someone, but to whom I could not hear. I watched as a small shape appeared in the distance, running toward Paul Wesley. The man that the city loved laughed joyfully as Paul turned and saw his ferret Oscar leaping through the soft grass, running to his dear friend.

Paul threw his arms out to catch his small friend as the celebration continued to surge through the city, and my vision began to slip away from me.

Then I awoke.

Lying here in the cold, surrounded by rotten food and medical waste, I am at a crossroads in my life. Before the sun began to rise, I managed to slip into the T.O.G. one last time and steal the journals Belial was collecting for his history book. I am collecting them here in this volume so that the world will know the truth before Belial can tamper with it. When I complete this final entry, I will begin my journey to find the nomadic men Paul had attempted to escape with that night. I believe that they are the last rebellion against Belial and his agenda. I am sure of nothing except that I have been very wrong for most of my life. In the coming passage of time, which will almost certainly bring about my demise, I will expend every effort to rectify my way of life by venturing with all force into the opposite direction. My mind tells me that with all I have done; there can be no forgiveness for me. My heart, somehow, says otherwise.

And yet I feel as though no task I can complete will expunge the stain of my previous life. If there is any hope to be found, I will find it or die in the pursuit.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull the soft, weathered pages from their hiding spot, the pages Paul Wesley had clung to so dearly in his final hours. Unrolling them like a tiny scroll, I begin to read them again.

I must end this journal now. All around me I can hear the marching feet of officers sent to retrieve me, a villain wanted for high treason. Before me lies a very narrow road that I fear is overflowing with all obstacles imagined or unimagined.

Outside the dumpster there is roaring now. The abrasive roar of the Ziz soldiers and the metallic click of rifles as they are loaded. I end my message with this:

All things can be made new. They can destroy my body, but they may not have my life, and there will be no compromise.

There will be no more compromise.