#Also direct another play and do a humanities course centred around an epic in the spring (the last couple of years we've done Iliad and

[siena-sevenwits]

:-)

[occupyscifi]

A boy and his destiny

When I was 15 I had the same recurring dream where I was a god. I remember crowds of worshippers in temples of concrete bowing down at my feet and calling my name over and over again. I walked through them and they parted like the Red Sea as they reached out to touch the hem of my clothes in finger trembling awe. And as I walked I saw a great destiny ahead of me, where I’d be leading armies of men to great future victories in countries I didn’t recognise. I saw myself sat on a golden throne, dispensing harsh justice over millions of my fellow human beings. I saw myself living forever- unkillable, unageing. A leader of men. A tyrant. A monster. A god. The people around me were nothing but cattle, tools for me to use for my awesome purpose. In fact their very adoration of me only made me want to use them more. They were so very biddable, so very humble- it was impossible not to hate them a little bit. They were a carpet of flesh to be used for whatever I saw fit, toy soldiers for a boy Emperor. And use them I did, throwing them into wars like they were the plastic soldiers of my early childhood. Wars that I fought just for my pleasure at their destruction and to stave off the boredom of immortality. I saw myself raze cities just to build them up again, and then tear them down a century or so later because I had grown tired of them. I watched myself and I felt appalled at these genocidal crimes, terrified that I could be capable of such cruelty. Yet when I awoke the thing that horrified me the most, that chilled me to the bone was one simple fact. I had enjoyed being that tyrant. I had enjoyed treating people like little more than pieces on a chessboard. Had enjoyed using and abusing my fellow human beings, just for fun. What kind of person did that make me? “messiah complex” diagnosed my father one morning when I confessed my dreams to him “perfectly normal at your age. Comes from reading too many fantasy books with epic heroes in them. All this chosen one, once and future king nonsense. You want to watch that, next thing you know you'll be wanting extra bacon" "as if" I replied, looking at the burnt squiggles in the pan. My father is no great cook, and besides the taste in my mouth was already bad. The dream lingered there, an unpleasant tingling that I usually associated with waking up to find my bedsheets messed. I didn’t like the idea that my mind seemed to equate lust and power together. That didn’t seem healthy at all “more of your bacon’s a punishment, if anything” "smartarse" said my father, ruffling my hair "dreams are just dreams, usually a dream like that is your brain's way of telling you not to get too big for your boots. That you’ve got delusions of grandeur and need to be brought down a peg or two" "but it was so vivid…" I replied, looking out the kitchen window. The day outside was bright, the summer sun already making the world look slightly wilted and dusty. The bright light showing up the faded paint on the fences and the peeling walls of next door’s house. Too bright, like someone had got the saturation and contrast wrong on a TV. Summer does that, the heat makes things unreal. Heat haze puts things out of focus, makes your body feel heavy and useless. Give me winter cold any day, the lethargy of summer always made me feel unreal and the thought of the dream wasn’t helping. “dreams always are” continued my dad, matter of factly “it’s not like watching a film, is it? You feel the emotions, and not just the emotions…” “yeah” I replied, thinking about some of the lives I’d dreamed I’d lead. It hadn’t just been killing people, some of those adoring worshippers had been very nubile and very eager to please. And not just the female ones either. I’ve always been pretty sure I know which way my bread was buttered but in the dream, well, in the dream I could have my bread any way I wanted it “yeah I suppose” I concluded, munching on the bacon. It didn’t taste quite right either but that had more to do with my father’s cooking than the dream. “get yourself ready and get to school” said dad, moving off to rinse the frying pan in the sink “you'll feel better once you get out” I nodded in agreement, but still my legs felt wooden as I left the table, and my school uniform felt like it had shrunk in the night. Afterimages of dream kept jumping out at me as I left the house, the voices and faces familiar but unnameable. That uncomfortable feeling of everyone staring at me, expecting something great of me. "spooky" I shivered, grabbing my bike and kicking off onto the street "what kind of person wants to rule the world?” I muttered as I passed the neighbours bungalows, their brightly painted facades making them look more like stage props than real houses. "who gets a kick out of everyone being scared of them?" But the fact remained, an uneasy lump in my stomach as I let familiarity guide me to school, that I had enjoyed the dream. I had liked telling people what to do, liked the way the roaring crowds had cried out my name. Of course the name they'd shouted wasn't exactly mine, but dreams don't always get everything right.

"school" I said to myself as I passed the parade of shops and then across the weedy wasteland that people sometimes called a park if they were being generous "that'll stop me feeling weird" if there was any place that would take away my feeling of being something special then it would be a double maths followed by science. School was many things, but it certainly was not a place filled with willing worshippers. The familiar concrete block of Stanton Secondary School reared up, grey and ugly and utterly familiar. But then again look at anything familiar long enough and you start to question it. Was the place always so battered looking, were the walls always so cracked and the paint so faded? I didn’t want to go down that road, doubting reality only leads to one thing - boring philosophy discussions and bad science fiction. “Yo, Anton!” called a familiar voice and I turned to see Eric Larson, current best friend and sometimes worst enemy. Good old Eric, always firmly on hand to call me a twat if I got any ideas above my station like talking to girls or having an opinion of my own. “Eric, dude” I said, high fiving him. Eric then got into a rambling conversation about premier league football that I’d never followed but knew how to nod along to. Part of friendship is pretending that you care about whatever your mates care about no matter how obviously stupid it was. It also meant that I could stare about the playground, and more specifically stare at girls without looking like I was staring at them. I was just idly eyeing up Lindy Liu, who excelled in wearing skirts that were far too short for her long legs, when someone else caught my attention. The girl was not attractive, and she certainly didn’t have the unique way of wearing the school uniform that Lindy possessed. But there were two things that automatically got my attention. The first was that she was looking at me with that same look of adoration that I’d had seen all my followers wearing in the dream – even those whom I’d had killed for fun. The second was that I had no idea who she was. And while there were sometimes new students I couldn’t recall any that looked this, well, new. “Eric?” I interrupted as my friend was in full flow about the beautiful game “……and he’s been playing centre forward for, like….” “Eric, shut up and pay attention” I snapped, my voice sounding strangely authoritative. Clearly Eric thought so too because he stopped talking immediately “the girl. Over there. Who is she?” I made sure my back was to her so she couldn’t see me point her out. “who?” asked Eric, his forehead creasing in confusion as he looked across the playground. “the new girl. Sharp faced. Looks like her mum bought her uniform in a charity shop” “I don’t see anyone there” said Eric “and there isn’t anyone new” “well who do you  call….”  I began, turning around to point out the obvious only to find that the girl had completely vanished. Only the familiar faces of the school, people that I’d known and disliked and felt jealously towards, remained. “you’re imagining things, mate” said Eric, not unkindly “but she was here…” I began and then thought better of it. I was feeling weird enough already, I didn’t want other people thinking I was weird too. If the girl was real then she’d turn up, and if she wasn’t then, well then I had bigger problems to worry about.

I’d received many anonymous notes during my time in secondary school. Most of them informed me how much of a bell end I was, or other insults intimately related to my various failings as a human being. I had even occasionally received one or two that were positive but being as they always anonymous it was impossible to tell who they might have come from. However the note I found tucked inside my locker after double science was altogether new- not only did it not have any insults on it, it also only had two pieces of information. The first was a set of directions and a time. The second was a symbol, hastily scrawled across the top of the page. If it hadn’t been for that symbol I would have casually crumpled and then disposed of the note as being some trolling attempt by my so called best friends. Instead I kept the note in my pocket where it nagged at me as I walked to my next class. I’m sure I knew it from somewhere, though what game or movie I couldn’t at that moment remember. I certainly wasn’t going to show it to anyone to get their opinion – for all I knew it actually might be from some girl who for whatever reason wanted to meet up and confess her undying love for me. It was only mid way through Maths that I realised where the symbol had come from, and that it wasn’t from some game or movie. Either my subconscious was plagiarising another well known logo or whoever had written the note had a direct line into my dreams. That symbol, I now remembered, had flown on the banners of my armies and above the palaces and cities that they had conquered for me. I wasn’t sure which was more likely, but I knew I had to know for sure. So instead of hanging around with Eric and swapping witticisms at lunch I hurried away to follow the directions on the crumpled piece of paper – ending up in a secluded area near the bins behind the canteen. Hardly the most romantic location but when you are a teenager you grab what you can get. Usually what you get, however, is humiliation and I was ready to get a big dose of it. Therefore it was something of a relief to see the person waiting for me wasn’t a guffawing group of my so called friends calling me a twat. It was a relief, however, that was not to last for long. "you came" said the girl, the same look on her eyes as I’d seen in her earlier. I’d never had a stalker, or even a girl that had a crush on me. I wasn’t exactly sure how to react, and the fact that she seemed to have peered into my dreams made things even weirder. “I got your note" I said, unable to think of anything else to say. I held up the note, pointing at the symbol "the symbol. I think i….” I swallowed, not sure what to admit “what's it mean?" "it means you're special" said the girl, stepping close to me. That look on her face, the thrill of power it sent running through me. I felt a queasiness at realising how easy it is to lose any moral sense when someone else opens themselves up to you that way. The lure of power over another human being is almost too much to resist. The knowledge that I could do anything I wanted filled me with both horror and desire “your destiny. Its written. What was once will be again” “my dreams” I said, feeling the words pulled from me by girl’s wide eyed stare “the things I saw, are they… will they…?” “they’re real” said the girl “every moment of it. You are the once and future king. The immortal. The special one” “but how do you know?” I gasped, intoxicated by the girl and her promises of immortality. What else could a thirteen year old boy want but unlimited power and infinite time? “we have known of your legend for many generations” said the girl, stroking my face gently “I have searched for you as my parents searched for you. My whole tribe has sought only to find you and bring you back. After so long I have succeeded” “back?” I asked, looking around me. Talk of chosen ones and immortality looked strange standing by the bins and with boys playing football on the field nearby “where? I mean, I’ve got lessons….” “lessons?” said the girl with a contemptuous snort “what can they teach you that you do not already know? As if any of these old frauds have the right to do anything but bow down at your feet" she moved in even closer so I could feel the heat of her on my skin, see the flecks of pale gold in her eyes and her breath soft on my face "I'm here to set you free. I'm here to help you follow your destiny. We have to go now, before they notice I’m talking to you” “well I don’t think anyone minds” I said, not wanting to move in case the spell was broken but also because I was afraid it would reveal the stiffy I was concealing in my trousers. Either it was the talk of power or her proximity but it was hard to think of a time I had been more aroused “I mean, I am allowed to talk to girls…” “we have to go” she said urgently, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the gates at the back of the school “if any of them notice you with me then they’ll alert the high priest” “high priest?” “you don’t think I’m the only one who knows what you are?” said the girl, her face flushing red “every prison has its jailers and they are always watching. They’ve grown complacent but if they see me then they’ll know I’ve come for you” she looked fearfully at the field where now the boys had stopped playing football “shit, they’ve realised” “yeah, that I’m talking to a girl” I said with a smile “at last. Maybe I’ll finally get some respect” “you’ll get nothing, my lord, if you just stand here” said the girl. Running forward to the fence that went around the school she skilfully ducked under the wire “come with me if you want to meet your destiny. If you’re only interest is double English then stay here” I took one look back at the field and the concrete mass of the school shimmering in the summer heat. On the one hand dad would kill me if I got caught truanting, but on the other how often did a cute girl want me to follow her? Course she was convinced I had some supreme destiny or other but who knew, maybe she was right. There was only one way to find out. I ducked out after her. Even if she was crazy I might at least get a hand job out of it, and that was worth a month of detentions.

I was all right until we reach the line of trees that separated the town from its nearest neighbour. The girl had bounded up to the line of pines that marked the border between my home and the A road leading to Sturridge. It was also a psychological border, once I cut through here there was no turning back. Whatever craziness the girl was into would take over and great destiny or not, there was no turning back.

"umm, I'm not sure about this" I said, glancing back at the school through the trees "maybe we could just hang out here. Get to know each other a bit…" "don't let them put the fear on you" said the girl, breathing heavily "that's how they trapped you here. You won't ever regain your destiny if you keep doing what they say. You've got such powers in you. It would be criminal to waste them here" she stepped back down to me, coming close again and touching my face as if in awe "think what gifts you still have to give the world" “gifts?” I said, remembering my own mediocre life thus far. There was no evidence of any greatness that I could think of in my school results and my inability to even get into the school football team “why the fuck do you keep going on about me as if I’m the second coming?” “because you are” said the girl simply “can’t you feel it within you?” she placed her hand on my chest “can’t you feel the powers you have? Can’t you remember them? How you can turn men’s minds to your will just by words alone?” I wanted to say no. I wanted to say that I was just a normal kid from West Sussex who played football badly and couldn’t talk to girls. But that was just it. the dreams hadn’t just been dreams, I could feel that. They had the taste of real memories to them- memories of the future perhaps. They had the ring of truth where most dreams were just bundles of emotions  badly cut and pasted together. “no, look I’m…” I began, but couldn’t continue. I remembered now things that I’d buried deep. The times I’d known things other kids had not, had said something that had the other children look at me in horror . How I’d sometimes seemed to know things were going to happen before they did. That sense of déjà vu that had made the other kids look at me awkwardly. What had happened when I lost my temper that time last year. How could I have forgotten that? Another boy had nearly died because of me and I’d forgotten. How did that work? “you’re remembering, aren’t you?” said the girl “who you really are” “no” I lied “anyway, what do you know about it? what the fuck do you know about my dreams?” “because they’re my dreams too” she said, moving close so that she was pressed against my body, her eyes looking up to me, adoring and subservient “Ever since I was little, I dreamed of seeing you there. On your golden throne. The city of Kirsk being levelled. The annihilation of the Sendai rebels. How I longed to see them burn in their millions” “they aren’t real. They were just…” I began, but I saw them in a flash that could only be reality. I saw myself at the head of an army blasting down armed soldiers like they were nothing. The flash of laser beams and energy shields in the setting sun. Soldiers shouting in a language that certainly wasn’t English and had probably yet to be invented. “I know you can be great, that this is not your life” she whispered, pressing against me and nodding at the village down the hill “leave them behind, build a kingdom out of the world that will echo down the centuries. Be that great man I know you to be…” “yes” I said, feeling now the sweet taste in my mouth. The taste of power, the realisation that I could do what I wanted. That the world around me had felt unreal precisely because it was just a stage prop between me and my ambition. All that I had to do was to tear it away, to use my powers to sweep the governments of the world away like they were nothing. I would gather myself an army of zealots, burn down anything that opposed me. In my mind’s eye I could see it as clear as my dreams. Cities aflame as my followers rioted, a triumphant procession through London. Washington. Beijing. All things were possible “yes. We can do this. It begins now” I pulled away from her, ready to go out there and seize my destiny. Ready to make myself king of the world. I was somewhat put out, however, as I reached the top to see my dad, leaning casually against a tree. “the high priest of lies!" hissed the girl, grabbing at my sleeve "he is your jailer, your enemy. He is…” "he's my dad" I said, looking at him as if for the first time. I saw the fear he was masking in his face, and the love too. I knew that he understood my destiny, I just didn’t know whether he agreed with it "you know, don’t you?” I said “about me” “that’s right son” he said sadly “but it’s not quite like she says….” "don't trust him" said the girl, making an awkward warding off gesture. As if my dad in his jeans and shirt were some kind of evil demon "he lies with every word. He’s been lying to you all along…" "fair's fair love” said my dad firmly "you didn't exactly tell him the truth either" "I told him he had a grand destiny, that he is a leader of men. That he is our once and future king, that he will deliver us from….” "and what you didn't say" he interrupted "is that those visions he has been having aren't of his future" "they could be. What will come again can surely….” "no" he put his hand on my shoulder as he addressed me "you know the truth son, deep down. Think about it" "the visions, the dreams. I…." he shook his head "I don't know" "your memory's not what it was" said my dad kindly "that's hardly a surprise. Age does funny things to your memories. It’s the earliest ones, they stay the clearest. Some days I forget what happened last week. Couldn’t remember where I’d put my keys five minutes ago. But ask me what I did that summer when I was nine years old and I could tell you in total clarity” he sighed “and I’m barely fifty.  What it must be like for your…" he trailed off "what do you mean?" I said, feeling the ground fall away "my visions. The future…" "they aren't visions. And they aren’t the future” he said "they're memories. They’re all the things you've done over the centuries - the millenia. All the people you've been. All the lives you've lead" "lives?" I echoed. I started to feel it then, the visions. The dreams. The memories. Not other lives. Not really. Still me. Always me. Forever. With each revelation I felt new ones surfacing, whole icebergs of memory that threatened the fragile ship of my sanity. The century when I had ruled over most of south America. The wilderness years after I’d lost the Chen war. The cannibal times. All of them slammed into me one by one. "it’s not something I'd wish on anyone" said my father sadly “immortality. No wonder you chose to come here” "this is a gift you have" hissed the girl, her face transfigured with hate for my father “a gift that can be used to make the world great again. To lift us up from barbarism…." "I think we've had enough of all that" said my father “too many tyrants make that promise only to deliver more barbarity” "you would say that" snarled the girl "you, who keeps him prisoner. Who lies to him everyday. Who keeps him in this make believe world. Who treats him like a child…" "yeah"  I said, knotting my forehead "why'd you do that? Why'd you keep me in school and all that crap if I’m really this super immortal guy?" "oh son” said dad "you always forget, don't you? It was you who designed all this. You who got us all to play these roles. Who made us pretend to be people who’ve been dead for a thousand years or more. Who designed the school and all the houses. Even the plants. There haven't been plants and trees like this on earth for, oh, hundreds of years. You aren't a prisoner of anyone" he gestured about him "this is all your doing. This is your home. You made all this. Its not a prison, it’s a shrine. To you. To your childhood, long gone as it is. We play along because we love you. Because we’re the last of your adoring congregation" "no…no that can't be true" I said “i''d remember" "you do" he replied "and then you forget" "but…but you're my dad" "yes, I know" he said kindly "and before I was your dad it was my uncle who was your dad for, oh, about thirty years. And then before then it was his grandfather. Ten generations we've served you in this place. Ten generations pretending to be a man so long lost to history we don’t even know his name. all we know is somehow he produced you, and he made enough of an impression that even know you remember everything about him" "but…but this is my home. I remember it all clearly. I remember…" "like I said, memory loss is funny" said my father, almost conversationally to me and the girl "it’s the most recent events that go first. The earliest memories that last. Your memories of this place have lasted longer than all the countries of the world and all the human beings that ever lived – except you, of course. You’ve outlasted everything" "no… no this can't be true" I said, looking at my arms and hands. They didn’t look any different to normal or any different to the other children in my class "look, I'm just a teenager. I couldn’t have designed any of this. I failed art class” I gulped as I looked at my father, his face swam but it was just the tears in my eyes and I wanted to tell him his name but suddenly I couldn’t remember it. He was dad, just dad “this is my home…” "don't listen Anton" said the girl, grabbing me and pulling up towards the trees “he can’t stop you... he knows that. His words are pointless. You have a destiny. We need you to rule us. The world has fallen apart without you” “is it like he said?” I asked the girl, feeling her pull me forward “did I really do those things? Fight all those wars? Kill all those people?” “the past doesn’t matter” she said “it’s the future that is important. There are people out there who need you, who are just waiting for the chance to have something worth dying for. This is what we need. Enough of stagnation, people grown fat with peace and plenty…” I stumbled forward, my mind blurred in memory. The things I had done. The people I had enslaved. What world even still existed out there? I had memories of blasted heathland and ruined towerblocks running right to the horizon. Of skinny people with scared eyes, all the zealotry burned out of them by centuries of war. Did I want to bring that down on them again? Could I ruin the world a second time? “no. No I don’t think I want…” I began “you have to!” said the girl eyeing my father, who had not moved to follow us “this is no time for sentiment. The world out there needs a strong leader. It needs passions and it needs you to lead them. Otherwise it’s all senile old men like him” “they don’t need me” I said, thinking of the adoring crowds with a sickening feeling in my stomach. How they had all called out to me, even as they died in my name. Till all that were left were a few hundred where there once had been millions. Even then they had been willing to die for me. It was only my weariness with all the destruction that had saved them. “they don’t know what they need” said the girl “they’re like cattle. Leave them be and they’ll breed aimlessly for aeons, pretending that happiness is families and a full belly. You are destiny, you are purpose. You are greatness” “and that’s why I’m not going” I said, reaching a decision – or the memory of a past one. There was a reason I had retired here and built this shrine to my childhood. It wasn’t just that my memory had been going. It was that I’d grown tired of the wars and the conquests, of the throwing armies against each other like children’s toys. A millennia of life had brought me many things but it hadn’t brought me the kind of happiness that being just an ordinary kid in an ordinary town ever could. And it certainly hadn’t brought happiness to the millions who had died because of me. "My Lord, wait!" began the girl as I turned and began to stump down the hill. I stopped with a view over the town. The town that had vanished into dust a thousand years earlier but that I had meticulously rebuilt. It could do with a lick of paint, but it wasn’t bad for someone who’d never had the knack for art. "I don't think so" I heard my father say as the girl tried to come close to me "what? You'd decide what was best for the immortal?” she screamed at him “You'd choose for a god?" "he's already chosen" my father said "he's chosen peace and retirement. Chosen to give the world a chance to live without warring gods and immortal kings. We should respect that choice" "and what if we don't want to?" growled the girl "you don't get to make that decision" said my father “you don't remember what it was like, none of us do. There are records. Mass graves and bomb craters where cities had stood. Irradiated wastelands covering half a continent. I'm not going to let that happen again" I looked up to see the knife in my father’s hand and for a horrible minute I thought it was for me. Then I remembered the enemies I’d bested in the past, the blades they’d buried in me to no avail. And I remembered that my father and his people had sworn to serve me for the rest of time. To serve me in whatever form I chose. So when he turned to the girl I looked away. “I’m sorry” I said, looking over the village while the man who was not my father murdered the girl who wanted to make me a monster again “I didn’t want to do this. But it’s a mercy” I didn’t say who it was a mercy for. Not for the girl bleeding out on the grass on the hill. Perhaps not even for me, an old senile god living in a fake town surrounded by fake people. But for the remnants of the human race that lived out there. They deserved a chance for peace, to be free of great destinies and leaders and gods. Then when my father was done and the girl safely buried I started back down the hill. If I hurried I could play a bit of footie and then it was double English. I liked English because I was sat near Lindy Liu and if I leaned back just right I could almost see down her top. And I knew that by the time I got there all memories of the girl and my genocidal centuries would be gone, and only innocent childhood remain.