Day #2

Assignment: Write a story in which the viewpoint character lives out the complex associations derived from a single religious symbol.

Symbol: YinYang which is a buddish symbol that represents polar opposites, i.e., good/bad, day/night, rich/poor.

Story:
Christopher gazed out the window of his penthouse apartment as he leisurely relaxed on his rich leather sofa. His mind began to wander back over his life. He remembered the hurt and shame of being teased by the other children at school when he was seven. His family was dirt poor and bearly getting by. He and his sister often went to bed hunger and alone. His mother had to work two jobs just so they could scratch by. Usually as soon as she went to school their father would send them to bed so he could sneak out and go drink with his buddies. Chris couldn't remember a time when his mother had not work, or a time when his father held a job for longer than a week. He felt the bile rise up in his throat as he remembered the shame of being the son of the town drunk. Everyone back then had assumed that he would end up the same way. However, Christopher had been determined that he would not be like his father. Nor would he be like his mother who had to work lousy low paying jobs because she had not even finished high school.

A smile spread across his face as he remember the determination that had over taken him that day at age seven. That determination had carried him through all of his school days. His determination helped him ignore the teasing of other children. It had helped him work on building up his muscles so that when the other boys began to tease him and try to bully him, he had been able to fight back. The his determination to get a job and work to make money. His determination the day his father tried to take his money away from him to buy booze. Boy, he sure surprised the old man that day.

Next his memories carried him through his college days and later to his early days working for the law firm. He frown a little when he remembered some of the early crappy cases he had been handed because he was low man on the totem pole but those days were long over. He had made it to the top of the heap. No one handed him cases any more. Now days he selected the cases he wanted.

As he sat there enjoying the fruits of his labors, so to speak, he began to feel the old tightness in his chest. In spite of all his determination, all his efforts, all the accolades on his office wall, it always came back. That old sense of dread, of anxiety. He knew what it was now, but even after several years of working with a well respected and recognized psychiatrist, he still could not stop the feelings or get rid of them. That old sense that someone would find out that he was really deep down inside just a dirt poor kid from the wrong side of the tracks. The son of the town drunk.

Nothing ever helped him feel good enough, smart enough, wealthy enough to get away from the voice of his old man that said, "you're a worthless piece of crap, just like me." Even though his psychiatrist was trying to get him to listen to a new voice it just wasn't there. As someone had once told him, "Son, you'll never rise above your raisin'."