the son of none

He was never something to look at, never something to be noticed. Even after twenty years in the workforce, he was still a nobody. He was so much a nothing to anybody that the last three months on the job were filled with various inquiries about whether or not he even still held a position. Puzzling it had been to be the recipient of questions pertaining to existence. It was almost as if people could not physically see him.

How he longed now to even have a question asked of him. The subject didn't matter. Not being fit in the eyes of a passerby to even glance at his now frail body was unbearable. How could this have happened?

Mother had never once announced to him that there was a place in her heart for her very flesh and blood. The true meaning of a bastard, he was indeed the son of none. When a young boy is constantly reminded that the only reason he breathes is because of a terrible mistake, he surely can't be expected to live up to the standard of those who were lovingly conceived. No, there wasn't any place in any heart for the son of none.

Friends were always fickle. Housing was never permanent. Food was not a promise. Rejection, scoffing, loneliness: these were the things that could be counted upon. Why even hope for that which had never been? At seven years of age he was lured into the back door of a corner diner. Only food was on his mind at the moment. Never could he have imagined that an older man was capable of such wickedness. Leaving with table scraps could not possibly overshadow the shame in his eyes and the fear in his heart. The mind is capable of incredible things. Reducing the atrocity of rape to a foggy dream hardly seems possible, but not for the son of none. Memories could be locked in the back closet and soon forgotten no matter how great their initial impact.

The teenage years were a blur. School was a foreign concept as the street provided its own education. The numbing bliss that so sinfully coursed into his veins at least brought about some sort of aspiration. From fix to fix life was hell, but for those brief moments of forgetfulness, there still remained some type of purpose. Nevermind that this was not a purpose that involved anyone else. Sure, the road towards that euphoria was littered with violence, sex, and thievery, but the climax consisted of only the son of none.

A young body can only sustain such activity for so long. The vague outline of the man and the gentle tone in his voice was all that lingered now. Three months in a can-do institution produced a can-do son of none. The motivation was there although it seemed to have been pieced together from various alien whereabouts. Whatever the inspiration, there was surely a new goal set before him. Job, money, social responsibility: these three had been systematically tacked into his mind. "Do it for the world," they said. For all he knew, this was what needed to be done.

Subsequently, twenty years passed and "doing it for the world" seemed to be losing its hurrah. Getting fired should have shocked him, but the old way of life had a way of seeping up from the depths and jogging memories from their lofty heights so that the son of none could return to his old mindset without skipping a beat. Two months out of commission and the horror of the real world smiled again.

He was now a ghost, not to be seen or heard. Loneliness would have been a treasure, but when there is no recollection of what has been lost and not a care to seek after it, life essentially remains frozen in the abyss. The time had come. It had been enough.

The nobody from nowhere was happened upon by a somebody from who cares. There was one Name spoken to the son of none; not a fancy formula or monthly fee. This name carried much weight and yet bore no burden. A whisper to the soul was heard by one human ear that night. The message was of utter simplicity. No man could offer such a gift. However, if this be so, then how could this healing be tailored to the exact needs of the son of none?

The complexity existed in the nature of the messenger, not the proclamation. Life was at hand. Moreover, blessing beyond life was at hand. This would require sacrifice. For someone who owns nothing, the knowledge of what truly must be sacrificed is completely obvious: the self. Hope would be the exchange for such an offering, but the self is not one to go easily. Every lie, every slip of the tongue, and every lust of the heart must be given up. The son of none would turn the very Son of God into the object of scorn and ridicule. Even more surprising was that this event had already taken place.

The true battle was now to reach out to Someone who wanted to impart love. Such a foreign concept is bound to insight trepidation. This would truly be the end of his life. No longer could he live it as he was. He would indeed be completely dead to himself. Weepingly he knew that this was the only place to find life. The decision was his. No one would make it for him. To accept a true identity meant becoming someone altogether different and yet beautifully the same. What he had always wanted was now of what he was most terrified.

With eyes half-open, the son of none was racing against time. His heartbeat slowed while the words on his lips became murmurs in his heart. Indistinguishable to anyone else, a soul left earth with the same silence that it had entered. Only One knew it's destiny. Only One could have changed that. The secret catacombs of his being were invisible to all living souls but were intimately known only by the Son of One. Quite fitting it was that the first one to truly love the son of none would be the guardian of his final decision. This fatherless man had been claimed; he was something to be noticed. Not a second thought was given to him by anyone else and still a perfect life had once been crushed so that he might at least know that he was worth everything to Someone. The only thing that now remained in this realm was the empty shell of a man who was never known; a fitting departure it was for a spirit that had never really fit in it's own skin.