The Return of the Quadrasi

Well, this is it, and by “it” I mean to say, “this is the end of all things plasmatic”. That’s right, the soup is going down the drain. The Quadrasi are going home. It’s over.

Now this just sounds like a going-away party. What’s up, I suppose you’re wondering? Well, like I said, this is it.

I’ve been procrastinating. The dog has been sitting. The stove is shut off. No one is home—or at least that it the idea, but in reality I’m just hiding under the bed because I’m afraid. I’ve been realizing some very striking things about myself. Firstly, I have what it takes. Secondly, I don’t really believe that.

What? How can I both believe it and not believe it? It’s really not that difficult. I know it’s true. I’ve seen people with as little as I have climb to much higher than their dreams even allowed them to imagine. There’s no reason why I can’t go far. But it doesn’t begin under the bed. I’ve been hiding there because somewhere deep down inside I look around me and I say, “Dude, you’re just a little shit. You don’t have it. You won’t ever have it. You’re not a man, you’re not a writer. Are you even a person? I don’t think so.” That’s a lot of crap, straight up, and if I think about it sure I know it is. But that isn’t what my subconscious is telling me. My subconscious wants me to believe the lie I’ve let fester inside for probably years, ever since I was a kid, the lie that I’m not good enough, that I’m not really worth it.

What am I saying?

I’m saying the Quadrasi are going home. They’ve been away for far too long while their home world burns beneath the same plague that drove them from it. They’ve been living a lie. But they CAN go home, and it’s time.

When you spend all your days working to live and living to work, it doesn’t leave you with much. When you believe, as well, that you shouldn’t even try to be better, you’re taking away whatever it is that you have left. But I’m here to say it has to end. Plague or no plague, the Quadrasi have to go home. There comes a time when we all have to fight, when we have to stand up and look the devil in the eyes and say, “Screw you, asshole.” I was made for more than this, and there is nothing that lights the panic within him more than that simple fact. I’m sitting on the arsenal that will turn his little kingdom into a crater, and he knows it. So it’s just much easier if I believe I’m an imbecile.

But NO MORE!