A Mind Alone

OOC: Harvy. See post #3 for OOC story details. Enjoy!

IC:
I
Book Smarts

Lost and wandering in the voids of unheard silence that flow between the thoughts of a mind alone, the man paused a moment to consider this new found place of forgotten cares. He made a foolish push against quiet walls of his bliss, determined to understand this new solace well enough to ensure it... and bitter remembrance ripped his sanctuary away. Seized by the undeniable pull of mental conflict, Harvy was drawn once more into the cross fire of ideas.

The worldly temple of this burning consciousness sat on cool, shaded grass and rested its head on the yielding trunk on an ancient beech. A hand worked furiously at an itch just above the ear, an itch long since scratched, and occasionally butted violently against the tree. A thick, poorly bound tome lay forgotten on the ground beside the body (pulp fiction under examination) where it had been set down after inciting Harvy’s present struggle.

Books, all writing, weren’t good enough; they couldn’t do it right. A book couldn't truly hold thought, because a book could only say one thing at once; could only say it in words. Harvy thought in pictures, at least as often as he did in conversation, and he hardly ever though only one thing. Try though he might to hold fast to a single idea, the cacophony of his own mind was inescapable.

The body had stood, and was singing softly to the spring breeze. The words and melodies slipped passed the lips reflected nothing of the turmoil present in the mind that had birthed them. An arm snatched a small satchel lying at a pair of feet and began to rummage within; the mind didn’t bother to notice… and even if it had, there would have been no time to waste informing the body that the last of the food was half a day gone.

The deepest thought Harvy could identity, the one that seemed to dance beside his soul’s ear, loved the ideas presented before it. The high thought seemed to delight in the absurdity of the mind at large (thinking, as it was, about the unrecordable nature of though in a rather recordable way…) but then, who knew? By the time Harvy decided he had pinned the high thought down, it was always on to something new.

Famished and rather disgusted with the lack of progress, the body decided to wait for the mind no longer. Shoving the cheap novel unceremoniously into its tote, the corporeal Harvy moved purposefully off the wayside and back onto the road.
Cracking a broad grin, he struck up a new song and sang loudly and poorly to nobody in particular.

II
Rock And Roll, Hoochie Koo

Bleeding merrily from the few patches of soft skin the trail had not yet calloused, a pair of small, nimble feet rolled onto the village green.

Thumbs beat thickly against thighs, alternating between off tempo beat and a poor imitation of melody. Shoulders bounced and bopped, occasionally spinning swift arms in mighty strums. Hips swayed, a neck bobbed, and a weedy voice attempted to scatterize harmonize, and vocalize a tribute to some near forgotten bard. Harvy was deeply engaged (to his mind at least) in a very respectable Rock n’ Roll boogie.

He fell to his knees (more the stumble of a man unable to take another step then a flourish of performance) flailing away at the empty air in some manic conclusion, and completed the display with a majestic bow. Fully intending to leap up for the encore, Harvy was disappointed to find his head had adhered itself to the grass. He decided instead to topple sideways onto his back.

Suddenly, a number of concerned faces interceding on his wonderful view of the cream swirled ocean high above made him aware, for the first time, of a flesh and blood audience. The body was quite sorry to disappoint the obviously astonished crowd, but the mind was brutally insisting his attention.

After such a world-shattering time spent empty and alone the presence of fellow thought was ecstasy. Harvy rapidly considered a hearty fellow to his left; studying the man’s motions, mannerisms, the way he held his body; and when he finally understood, commanded his own form into a perfect mirror.

He reached out to a young boy in the back and borrowed his motivation, reached out to a sleepy lass behind his head and borrowed her voice, reached out to a jovial farmer lifting him off the ground and borrowed his disposition, reached out to the large woman examining his feet and borrowed her desires. Each small gift struck a mighty favoring blow in his battle to exist.

His gaze turned for a moment to a strong young man hand in hand with a beautiful young woman. The quickest glance at the boy’s emotion stunned him, amazed him, and terrified him beyond measure; almost shattering the work he had done so far. He retreated desperately and turned instead to the girl, finding a heart surely no less terrible, but made somehow acceptable by his own complete failure to understand.

As piece after piece after piece fell into place, as the burden of being waned away, the line between mind and body began to blur. Two distinct persons gravitated inward, melted, melded, and merged. Harvy delighted for a moment in his return to humanity before a typhoon tide of pain, hunger, and bone weariness blackened the world.

III
A Fool's Wisdom

Harvy. He wondered again what that simple word meant to him. His name had no true substance he could identify. He certainly never thought of himself in terms of that alien designation… and he was certain few others ever gave their own titles more thought. People addressed him with it, of course, but only to be concise, to be understandable. They thought of him in much grander terms then a five letter word could relate.

The mind pushed the worthless name away; felt it yield, depart, and fade; and peered through the strange hole that now marred identity. Thought began to flow into the formless outside, gushing with increasing force out of the dam that had tried to define. Soon, Nameless floated rapturously in a world beyond boundary and border. Time stood still.

Normally, the body would have enjoyed pacing at a time like this, perhaps even dancing, but exertion on his only partially recovered feet approached agony. Slumped in the corner of a drab and empty store room, he could only fidget with a greater-than-usual restless energy. He was vaguely aware that time and effort were being wasted, and that the deal it had made with the mind concerning these inactive periods was not being well kept, but all attempts to herald his inner self had gone answered, perhaps unheard, and Harvy had given the day up as a bad job.

Two small knocks and the heavy oaken door began to creek open. Harsh sunlight spilled across the body’s lithe form.

Shocking white blindness slammed time and reality back into proper place. The mind lamented his lack of self control; cursing heavily. He had committed himself to a period of study and practice each morning; a time where he could face loneliness once again, hoping eventually to conquer it. He so desperately wanted true existence… yet he had wasted every attempt thus far, falling back on the stupid tricks that had kept him sane on the road. Existential musing gave only the illusion of deep meditation, it was nothing more than a coward’s bravery; a fool’s wisdom. Tomorrow would be different.

Harvy stood up slowly and awkwardly, careful to pressure the bottom of his heels, where the damage was least extensive. Suddenly, his shoulders fell backward, his knees bent, his head tilted down, he held the stance of a man three times his girth, and a look of deepest concern spread across his face.
He mirrored exactly the rather large matron who had come to end his isolation.

“Very funny, Harv.” Murivielle chuckled.

IV
A Different Perspective

Murivielle Sa’Jonum strolled amiably through the village center, pausing every fourth step to return the chuckled greetings of her neighbors. This was not the quickest path to her destination, certainly not the way she would usually lead a man who couldn’t take a step without shuddering, but she knew it was the best road for her silently smiling charge. The first thing he always needed after a forced stretch alone was a large lunch; the second was all the company possible.

After a time, the boy (Harv appeared as old as some Grandfathers she knew, but for the moment, he was a boy none the less) moved out of her shadow and began to pace more confidently at her side. Muri grinned, and forced herself to swallow the bit of sweet pea gum she had been working down; her friend quickly sucked in his own mouthful. “So lad, how’s your day been so far?”

Harvy’s nervous little smile turned to her slowly, eyes downcast. The shielding mask he had been building up cracked by the sudden questioning. He stood silently a moment, kicking at the dust.

“Ho… How’s your day been?”
“I’m not going to say Harv; I asked you first!”
(Another pause.)
“Not saying- You First!”
“No chance buddy. I know you want to tell me.”
(A tight grimace.)
“Maybe… you want to… tell me?”
“I don’t see why I should”
(Stern consideration)
“No… no reason- don’t see why!”
“You know, your being rather rude.”
(Complete Mortification.)
“I’m rude… I’m rude… I’m- You’re rude!”
“For your information, I am a perfect lady.”
(Blatant Confusion.)
“I… maybe… perfect… I’m a lady!”
“Now your just being silly my friend. I can’t abide silliness, as you well know, so I concede. I, personally, had a wonderful morning.”
(Relieved Elation.)
“I had a wonderful morning!”
“’Course you did Harv.”

Muri sighed and allowed her charge to fall back into glad silence, allowed him to rebuild his mighty fortifications. Eventually, snatching some random topic from the air, she began a new kind of questioning, one her charge was quite certain to prefer. As always, she was swiftly stunned silent by animated, elegant, wonderfully intelligent manner in which Harvy The Outsider spoke of everything but Harvy The Outsider.

V
Shady Deals

Perhaps memory had been blended through fantasy, or maybe recollection had come to bear imagination’s tint. The illuminate scenes bubbling from the back of the mind were simply impossible; to alien in comparison to the shivering, throbbing, enormous reality of isolation to be true pictures of reality… yet he had lived them. In the blessed presence of these waking dreams his infinites were not so enormous, his tribulations not so terrible, his loneliness not so… lonely.

Paying minimal attention to the ridiculous musing within, the body swaggered through shadow and moonlight. The mind was becoming increasingly difficult; tolerated now only because, in spite of pathetic deficiencies in focus and conviction, he was the stronger partner… stronger by far in disgusting fact. In fact, if he had not been so desperately ‘lost in thought’, the body could never have forced the mind out of the village; he was a spineless weakling on top of everything else.

It wasn’t that isolation pained the body any less than it did his partner – the anguish of that first journey had pushed him to the brink of insanity, perhaps further – but for a short spell like this, with a purpose so clear, discomfort could be endured. Besides, a chance to be liberated, released from the damnable unity the mind imposed upon have every chance it could, was well worth the pain.

One particular reminiscence, a golden scene mere hours old, lent far more than comfort. It was a promise of some sort… a beginning.

The basic situation was soon made clear and, although Harvy could not understand why grown men would play such strange games, he agreed to assist them. To begin, Elder Urtah told the ‘Merchant’ how much sweet tree syrup the village had to give, and the ‘Merchant’ told Elder Urtah how much he could take. They both lied, Harvy was sure, and as the amounts they truly wanted were much ore in synch; he told them so.

The Merchant named a market price (a lie) and Urtah insisted that was half of what he had gotten last spring (false). The Merchant detailed his own fees (exaggeration) and Urtah spoke of a difficult harvest (hyperbole). They tried to talk of sales and bargains (foolish tricks) and contracts for the future (false promises) but seemed to lose their way every time Harvy interrupted. Eventually, a comical silence fell as the men realized they hadn’t anything more to say. Harvy took advantage of the pause, pointed out the simple solution both had believed was coming, and brought the ridiculous affair to a close.

Suddenly, the world was laughing. The crowd collapsed and it seemed the whole village had fallen on top of him. Buyer and seller grinned and shook his hand, thanking-

It had truly been and eye-opening experience. The mind remained blissfully blind, of course, but the words of those two idiot men had changed the body’s world. Words, he was now certain, were more than just an outflow of ideas and emotions; they were also tools. Used correctly, words and action created emotions and ideas in others, made them think and feel as the speaker desired.

The Body had reached his destination, about two miles south of the village proper. For a man seeking to puzzle out the mysteries of existence, such manipulation would become an essential tool. He rapped on the door of the merchant’s wagon, hoping the man was still awake. It was time for a little… practice.

whats this about? i was skimming and i dont get it.. sry if i sound rude. i just want to know lol sry

OOC: A number of recent developments forced a change in this fic... probably for the best. I had originally intended "Harvy" to be introductory; just fuuny little conceit of a character which would familiarize me with the amphitheatre environment. Writing here was a distraction and a chance to mess around with my char before I was accepted into the Dome.

When that didn't pan out, and I was left with little to do beyond this fic (Harv was never designed to be BA capable) I decided to transform what had begun as a quaint experiment in style and characterization into a working storyline... something I could transition into a crossroads and thus complete my required "2 uses" before moving on to a new char.

The hack destroyed that attempt (a good thing too, I was floundering) and my desire to enter the recently announced BA tournament, as the newbiest of newbs, prevented me from trying such a thing again. The only option left, that I could see, was attempting to make Harv BA capable, through some strange, sloppy, accelerated development, and have a second version approved before the tourney entry deadline.

Which brings us back to the above peice of writing. It is a strange, unaccessible work; rather plotless and very clipped. Still, I like the style of the work, and It will serve as the Bio for my refurbished "Harvy". I did endevour, in later chapters, to make the whole things more entertaining, but took no effort to make it understandable. I do hope it will bring you some ammusement, or atleast hold your interest. Feedback would be great.