Tuesday, March 6, 2012


So I've been postponing this post, since I'm not really sure if I should write it. After all, wouldn't that be encouraging this type of behavior? But whatever: it happened, I should write about it.

So last week, I stepped outside my door to check my mailbox and immediately got a face full of chloroform. I woke up tied to a chair in a dark room.

After I started yelling obscenities as loud as I could, someone finally came in the room. It was a man in a brown robe. He looked like a monk. I swear to god.

I asked him what was going on, I yelled at him, I spit at him, but he stayed silent the entire time. He just held a cup of water up so I could drink (that's where I got the spit). Then he wiped my mouth and left.

About a half hour later, this happened again, only the monk came with bread and water this time. He was still silent though.

Finally, two fucking hours after I woke up, someone else came into the room. He wasn't wearing a robe. He was, in fact, wearing a black t-shirt. He looked like he was in his thirties.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked.

"Fucking dandy," I said. "Want to tell me why I'm here?"

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience," he said, "but we did not wish to have our location known to others. The Hushed Monks are very secretive. And silent, as you can see."

"You're not like them."

"No," he said. He looked at me, as if he was contemplating about talking further or just killing me. "I have information for you. Information I wish you to put on your blog."

"You could've phoned," I said. "That's what's done in polite society."

"You would not have believed me," he said. "I notice that none of your posts have yet to mention the Quiet."

I gave a short bark of laughter. "Yeah, there's a reason for that: I've never seen it, nobody I know has seen it. Personally, I think it's fake. Something somebody made up just so it would seem like working for one of Them is a good choice."

"It does exist," the man said. "Or rather, it does not. After all, how can nonexistence exist? It is a contradiction."

"Spare me the zen koans," I said. "And get on with the show. Who are you?"

"I am one of the Sine Corda," he said. "I am one of the rare individuals who was touched by the Quiet."

"And now you use pretentious Latin," I said. "Yeah, I know what sine corda means. 'Without hearts.' Fucking hilarious."

"It is true," the man leaned down. "I wish you no harm. I only wish for you to inform people about us. About the Quiet."

"Why? If it's true, why not remain secret?"

The man stood up and looked at me again. "All secrets are revealed eventually. You should know that more than most."

I glared at him, trying my damnedest to set him on fire with my mind. It didn't work.

"I'll have the monks return you to your home," the man said and the monk entered the room again. "They'll have to chloroform you first, but don't worry. They've had lots of practice." I tried struggling, but it was no use: the monk's hand clasped over my mouth and everything went dark again.

I woke up in my bed, my blanket all tucked in for me. After checking to make sure they hadn't injected me with anything (tracer, trinket, hell, even ink), I checked the calendar on my computer: two days. I had been gone for two days. Fun.

So that was last week.