The Six

This series features writing from an inmate at the El Paso County Criminal Justice Center and will be published in installments. This piece stems from weekly programming facilitated by the Colorado College Prison Project. The inclusion of this piece in Cipher aims to provide a platform for incarcerated writers and promote contact between our communities. Just to note—the El Paso County Sheriff’s Office requires approval of written material prior to publication and the censoring of authors' full names.

Dear Cipher editor,

First of all, I wanted to thank you for taking the time and effort to read through my story. I’m very excited to see that my piece has been accepted to be published in your magazine “Cipher,” and I’m eager to polish up my story so that it’s enjoyable for your readers. 

I would like to accentuate some of the difficulties of my writing method. I am an inmate at the Criminal Justice Center. Because of this, I wrote my piece the only way possible: on pen and paper. There is no backspace. I cannot go back to an earlier page and add or remove certain sentences that would make the story easier to read. When ink strikes paper, there is a feeling of finality and permanence. With that being said, when I was informed that “Cipher” was interested in my writing, I started cleaning up some of the details, I made a rough draft and then later on rewrote entire pages just so it would be easier for you, or an editor, to read. Along with that, I don’t have a word processor to tell me if a comma belongs in certain places and I don’t have Google to explain to me the differences between a puppet and a marionette (turns out they’re the same thing, I thought one was a toy and one was its master). So when I go through all of your edits and recommendations, a lot of it will be something I’m aware of and I’m glad someone else caught it so that it’s not just me being paranoid about my writing. 

My story “The Six” is a perspective on a Buddhist teaching. I myself am a Buddhist and wanted to find a way to portray this teaching in a creative light that could be understood by non-practitioners. In Buddhism, there are six unwholesome mental thought processes of the mind, which if not kept in check, will often lead to feelings of suffering and unhappiness. These six mental formations are Ignorance, Pride, Greed, Doubt, Hatred, and Views. It’s kind of similar to the more familiar “seven deadly sins.” Regardless, my story takes these six thought processes and turns them into characters. Shin, the main character, is actually a play on the Japanese word “shin” which translates to “mind.” Tai is a reference to the Vietnamese word “Thay,” which translates to “teacher.” As Shin struggles to confront these difficult-to-handle situations that we as people often run into in daily life, he must use his mind and persuasion to convince the six to let go of their harmful habits. 

I want to reiterate how much it means to me that you’re reading my story and are kind enough to offer me critiques and suggestions for making it even better. Your efforts do not go unnoticed and I want to thank you for all of your wonderful insights.

Best regards,

S. Verda

*Letter has been condensed and edited for clarity. 

The world was spinning, twisting, churning. It was a merry-go-round stripping the skin of reality like orange peels. An aurora of color ricocheted left and right faster than rainbows hurled across a pinball machine.

This was nowhere and this was everywhere. Life before, life after. It all existed at once in this funnel of everlasting toilet flushes. He couldn’t remember why he was there, or where “there” even was, for that matter. Nevertheless, “there” he was: a drifting mass of consciousness, barreling his way down the whirlpool of eternity. How long it lasted, he didn’t know, nor was it important, because what he did know was that it was becoming too much. Sound was a skydiver’s ecstasy. The tornado force winds and a 200 BPM pulse meshed together in a duct of musical adrenaline. Gravity tossed the contents of his stomach like a fresh salad, and rollercoaster swirls left him in a desperate battle between swallows and dry heaves.

He felt like he was going to vomit, but by a divine grace, never reached that point. A slowing mercy bestowed its relief on the raging cyclone, and chaos changed to peace. From Armageddon to Eden. Abstract shapes and figures transitioned to a serene depiction of vibrant still-life.

He arrived.

His coffee-colored loafers crunched the frozen ground beneath him. A gentle, knowing smile touched the corner of his lips. 

It was morning in a winter paradise. Sunrise splashed its golden hour on the surface of a milky white meadow, casting flecks of red and yellow across the snow. Trees slathered in ice like blizzard cake frosting ringed the tiny field of grass. They were guardians shielding this patchwork of undisturbed snow from the woodland’s busybodies.

In the very center of the opening rested an ancient grandfather clock, the grandfather of varieties. Tall, oak, and smooth, the thirsty dog’s brass tongue lapped back and forth—tasting the seconds of time. Each tick that passed on its dusty old dial penetrated the fog of silence with a commanding echo.

Sitting in front of that clock, lulled to sleep by the monotonous nursery rhyme, was a boy probably no older than twelve. Tufts of auburn hair stuck this way and that from his head. His knees were pulled up to his chest by his sweater-covered arms and his tiny frame swayed in unison with the tender plucks of clockwork.

The man walked forward, breaking the silence. “Hello,” he said. His voice was soft, but compared to the quiet of the forest, it was like guitar strings snapping. The boy awoke with a start, and the man cleared his throat before continuing, “Where is this place? And ...  are you okay?”

The young boy cocked his head to the side and stole a glance at the approaching stranger, then returned his attention to the clock. He debated answering the question between sniffles. After wiping his nose on his sleeve, he spoke.

“Home,” he whispered at first. “This is home.”

The man gazed about the meadow in admiration. Sunlight and clear skies bathed the landscape in a glow of bluish luminescence. Stubborn dandelions dotted the earth like thorny snow weeds. The leaves of oaks and birches had been shed long ago and their bark sported thick coats of frost. Everything looked chrome. Trees, plants, rocks, and thickets were all posed as mirror ice sculptures. It was a metal tundra frozen solid in time like a cold snap camera flash. 

While the whole scene had an otherworldly brilliance about it, nothing felt wrong. Where were nature’s children? There were no birds to serenade the morning, no skittering squirrels storing their food; there wasn’t even the distant call of a babbling brook. Only the sound of ticking seconds gave an essence of life to the eerie snowglobe.

Tai’s breath let out a chilly plume of steam. He rubbed his hands together for warmth. “Not very inviting is it?”

“Shut up,” the boy growled, pulling his knees in closer. He caressed them in a comforting massage, as if nursing a wound.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I just meant ... well, it seems lonely here. Are you by yourself?” No reply this time, but a nod was given in response. The grandfather spoke on with its metal chimes, a lone spectator between two strangers.

“What’s your name?” the man asked, peeking over the boy’s shoulder. “Is your knee alright?”

“Shin.”

The man looked a little closer. Indeed, the boy was holding onto his shins. The cargo pants he wore crinkled around the arms that held them tight.

“Oh, I see. Is your shin alright? Not bleeding is it?”

The boy scoffed. “No, dummy. My name is Shin. And my knees are fine.”

The man blinked thrice. He tried to be polite, but he couldn’t help but let out a few snickers. “Oh! Your name is Shin, I see now. I guess that was a little silly of me.”

“Yeah, a real funny joke,” Shin said sarcastically.

“Well, Shin, my name is Tai. It’s nice to meet you.” The man was now hovering at Shin’s side. He held out his right hand in greeting. The boy wasn’t too eager to move from his position, though. Instead, he rotated his head slightly and scanned the man up and down. Loafers, slacks, polo shirt. A real prim and proper sort of guy. Kind of looked like a teacher.

“You’re not wearing a tie. Seems like a missed opportunity,” teased Shin.

“Now you’re being silly. It’s spelled T-A-I. Tai. But I’m glad to see you’ve stopped crying.”

Shin glared at the man, puffy red eyes doing their best to look intimidating. Tai still held his hand out and his friendly smile was unmoved by the boy’s hostility. Finally, Shin surrendered. His features softened as he reached forward to shake hands with this new person. 

As their palms clasped, Tai lifted Shin to his feet and dusted some lingering flakes of snow from the boy’s sweater. Tai had a certain aura about him that Shin couldn’t quite understand. In his presence, he felt a type of courage that constantly left a smile on his face. What was it, this feeling of comfort and belonging? A father figure, a brother, a good friend, someone he could confide in. From what he remembered, he was never friends with a teacher, but maybe this could be a first. He listened to the man, patiently trying to mimic his tranquil personality.

“So, Shin, we’re home. That much you’ve told me ...” All of a sudden, in his company, he felt a type of excitement that constantly left a smile on his face. What was it? This feeling of comfort, of belonging. As if just being in his presence, he sensed things were going to be okay.

Tranquility.

“So, Shin, we’re home. That much you’ve told me. But what are we doing here? Just sitting? Sleeping in front of this clock?”

Shin shook his head. “No, not really. I was thinking.”

“With your eyes closed?”

“Something wrong with that?”

Tai laughed again. “Of course not. Nothing wrong at all. What were you thinking about?”

Shin’s shoulders slumped. Remembering was never enjoyable for him. His eyes wandered vacantly along the snow-coated landscape, and he briefly touched the subject of his mind. He picked at it like a monkey trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube. No point in trying to keep it secret. He might as well share his troubles. 

“I’m ... lost,” he began.

“At home?”

“Yeah, lost at home. Everyone expects me to have the answers. Like I’m all knowing or something. But I’m just a kid, you know?”

“Answers? What do they want you to have the answers to?”

“Practically everything ...” Shin murmured.

Tai wanted to encourage him, but he couldn’t hide the blatant look of confusion on his face. He shook his head. 

“Uh, now I think I’m a little lost.”

“Really? Maybe you do get it then.” Shin exhaled a slow sigh of frustration. He breathed deeply and tried to think about his next words. Clearly, he wasn’t making sense. He had to try to explain this from an outside perspective, but how does one explain the way David felt when he looked at Goliath?

“You ever have a sudden realization that something is wrong? There’s an impossible task before you and you have no idea how to complete it. Kind of like when you have a ten-page essay due in the morning and you’re only on page two, or you just got paid today and you notice you can’t afford both rent and a week’s worth of groceries. It’s just like that. They think I’m the leader and I can solve everything at once, but I can’t. How am I supposed to know what to do when they’re mad? Sad? Lonely? They can’t figure it out for themselves and I’m supposed to see what they don’t? It’s not fair. I’m ... I’m just a kid.”

Tai could feel the resignation in the boy’s words, and it was painful to hear. That young heart was a sadistic tormentor racking its owner’s mind with emotion. Anger pulled at his fingernails, fear tore his hair from its roots, sorrow flooded his lungs with despair. Shin didn’t want to give up, but it was such a daunting task, and he was very obviously exhausted. Willpower was siphoned out of him like a mosquito draining blood from its victim.

Still, Tai waited. “Who are they?” he asked.

“The others? My friends. Dezzy, Null, everybody. We live together, or at least we used to. They all like to do their own thing from time to time, and generally that’s okay. As long as they keep me out of it, I’m fine. But they’ve gotten so pushy lately. They butt heads with each other constantly and they want me to choose whose opinion is more important. How am I supposed to do that? Pick one friend and hurt the others? It’s a lose-lose situation and it gets worse the more they argue. Everyone wants to talk and no one wants to listen. They’re like ... like ...” Shin stopped for a moment. He didn’t know what he was trying to say. How could he describe all of the arguing?

“Birds.” Tai responded.

“Birds?”

“Yup. A bunch of birds chirping at the same time trying to be the loudest.”

Shin giggled at the metaphor and agreed with a nod. “Yeah, a bunch of birds. I just wish I knew how to make them stop. I can’t do anything with their bickering and it’s tearing us apart. Now I’m the only one home. They all left me here.”

Disappointment was added to the list of emotions as well. Did everything need to be so depressing? This was starting to look like a tangled ball of problems. Poor Shin, Tai thought while being touched with a stroke of empathy. He had to help, he wanted to. “That sounds awful. No one enjoys being stuck between friends and I’m sure it must be a lot of pressure on you to have to try and be the leader.”

“Yeah, it’s not fun. That’s for sure.”

“Right, but this isn’t so bad, is it? I mean, it’s kind of nice here. Peaceful. And the way that clock ticks so softly is comforting, don’t you think?”

Shin looked back to the grandfather. It still watched them, its thin whiskers twitched with a stern judgment.

“Comforting? Comforting? What’s comforting about it? The way it mocks me? Laughs at me? I bet it’s just bouncing with joy to see me fail.”

Not exactly the reaction Tai was hoping for. “Whoa, I didn’t mean—”

“Happy they’re gone, aren’t you? Stupid hunk of wood. My friends are missing and you just chat up the forest like nothing’s wrong.” Moisture was gathering in the wells of his eyes. He stomped up to the faded timepiece and kicked at the front of its glass casing. “It’s your fault they started arguing. Your own fault they yelled at me. Are you satisfied? My family is gone!”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tai interrupted. He tugged the boy away from the clock and held onto his shoulders. He tried to calm him with an assortment of soothing whispers. They were warm, loving, and understanding. Shin’s tide of emotions receded at this mere touch of compassion, and the waves subsided to a casual ebb-and-flow. 

“Look,” Tai spoke softly. “I don’t really know what’s going on with you and your friends, but it’s going to be okay. They’re only a little lost. Just like you, right?” Shin nodded while trying to slow his shallow breaths. “Good, a little lost, but not gone. Nothing you can’t help them with. All you have to do is show them the way home. And hey, we’re already here.”

Tai stretched out his arms wide, displaying the vastness of the meadow. His words were encouraging, but Shin was still scared.

“They won’t listen to me,” he whimpered.

“Really? Do you know that for sure?”

“They didn’t before.”

“That was before. Did you try again?”

“I ... ”

“See? There you go. Try again, it might be different this time. They’re all separated now, right? This might be exactly the opportunity you need.”

Shin gulped heavily. “I don’t know ... ” He was so tired of trying, tired of failure and rejection. He loved his friends, but seeing them so self-destructive made him long for a time when they were all happy. Could they go back to that? Did he have a chance to change their minds? The thought of it might even be worth the risk of failure. 

“We can do it,” Tai said. “I know we can.”

“We?” Shin examined Tai again. He was smiling, but there was a layer of strong resolve behind it. “Don’t get me wrong, mister. Talking to you has made me feel better for sure, I mean, who are you anyway? Why do you want to help me? To be honest, I don’t even know how you got here.”

“You and me both ... ”

“What?”

“Oh, it’s no big deal right,” Tai coughed. “And please, I gave you my name so you can use it. No need to be formal.” He briefly stretched out his arms as if he was antsy from all of the talking. He scratched his scalp lazily. “I’m here. I may not understand what’s really going on, but I think I can help. You know, be your support, Together, we should be able to convince your friends to put their differences aside.”

“Help me, huh?”

“Yeah!” Tai said enthusiastically. “Like a guardian angel.”
“Right ... ”

What was this to him, some type of game? Not to Shin. To him, this was serious. These were his friends, not some silly puzzle. Still, Shin couldn’t help but feel compelled to relax by Tai’s gentle demeanor. Trusting him or not was a difficult debate. It was a gamble, but if Tai could help Shin rest at ease, maybe he could do the same for others.

Indecision ping-ponged in the boy’s mind until it took shape in the form of flustered name calling. “You’re really weird, Tai. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Weird?” the man asked in surprise.

“Yeah, a total oddball, especially with that goofy smile. You just show up out of the blue, act like you know what you’re doing, and offer to help people randomly. That’s not normal. I’ve never met a bigger weirdo in my life.”

They stared at each other in total silence. No retaliation from Tai, no “just kidding” from Shin. It was a poker face showdown. The sun shone up above and the meadow still shimmered. In its exquisite reflection, a melting patch of snow slid off a nearby branch and fell to the ground below with a merry plop. The grandfather clock gave out a dozen mechanical clinks.

Suddenly, Tai fired back with a blazing passion. “Oh yeah? Well you look like you’d be really good at slam poetry. Anyone ever tell you that?”

Poetry? Was that supposed to be a compliment? Shin was so caught off guard, he erupted in a fit of laughter, breaking his concentration. He arched his whole body back and cackled at the sky with a high echo. It persisted only for a few moments, but it seemed he was struck with a genuine sense of joy. He only talked after he got the chance to take a breath.

“Is that the best you could come up with? I figured you had something good with the way you looked at me. You’re such a dork!” he guffawed.

This was the guy he was worried about? Shin almost felt bad for considering him a threat. 

“Hey, come on now. Don’t tease me. I couldn’t come up with anything mean, I panicked.”

“No, it’s okay Tai, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I guess I just wanted to see what you would say.”

“Well? How’d I do? Did I leave a good impression?”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

The giggles spread to Tai and for the first time in a while, the meadow was filled with the presence of happy company. Two strangers shared a laugh and the sound of the ticking clock was lost in the clamor of harmony.

Shin had to trust him. He didn’t know why, but this man had a peculiar way of filling him with confidence. He called himself a guardian angel. Maybe not so dramatic, but he definitely seemed to be a good friend. At the moment, Shin was in need of someone like that.

“What do you say?” Tai was wiping a tear of laughter from his eye while he reached out his open hand. “Let’s give it a shot, you and me. Beats sticking around here waiting for something to happen.” 

There was a brief flicker of mistrust, but it dissipated as soon as it appeared. Shin stood tall and completed the handshake. “Okay,” he responded. “Okay, let’s give it a shot.”

There was an uncomfortable fear in knowing what the possible outcome could be. Victory or defeat, happiness or sadness. How long would it last? How long until the next collapse back into a dark night of snowfall? These rare glimpses of joy were treasures in an ocean of life. Who knew when the next one would show up? They were tempting to hold onto, but the only way to find more was to let the current one go. Shin was stubborn. He didn’t want to leave, but his friends were calling.

Please work this time, he thought. Please, please, work this time. 

There was a door. 

“Huh, that wasn’t there before, was it?” Tai asked. The door was behind them. His lone footprints that had been stamped in the snow earlier fell behind it, chopped in two by the wooden monolith’s sudden appearance. It was painted pale ivory with brass handles off to the side. There were no designs on its surface. No smooth or jagged textures. Plain as can be, it was a basic, simple door. 

Without another word, Shin took the lead. He wrapped his young palm around the knob of brass and twisted. The lock gave way with a click and Shin gingerly pushed it open.

Tai didn’t need to walk through the door himself to cross to the other side. It was symbolic, he supposed, but really it defeated the purpose of having a door in the first place. The meadow of trees and snow dropped to infinity like melting globs of paint. Splotches of the grandfather clock twisted away in reluctant portions. It didn’t want to go. It didn’t want to be left behind. The gong of its bell at the top of the hour resonated passionately into the encroaching void, but as the forest tumbled down, the tone swerved to lower octaves.

Deeper, deeper, the bell chimed, hoping to stay with them forever, but its cries were futile. With each vibrating call, the noise became more distant.

Fading.

Fading.

Until it was completely gone. Darkness.

They stood in a room.

A den. Pillows were strewn across a commercial carpet and a soft glow pulsed out of an old tube television. Off in the corner was an unused fireplace, cold and caked with ashes and soot, it whistled the squeaky tune of an unclosed vent.

Mediocre Issue | November 2019