presents:
The Perspectives Series – The Definitive Perspective Edition
The Perspectives Series – The Definitive Perspective Edition
-Prologue-
by Jason Bertovich
©2013 by Jason Bertovich and Matthew Atanian
Boy Scouts ½ created by Matthew Atanian
Perspectives created by Jason Bertovich
by Jason Bertovich
©2013 by Jason Bertovich and Matthew Atanian
Boy Scouts ½ created by Matthew Atanian
Perspectives created by Jason Bertovich
Patterns are interesting things. A pattern represents something that is recognizable and familiar. A person can take comfort in the knowledge that B follows A and that C follows B and so on and so on. Once a pattern is established, it is like having a very specific psychic in your employ because you know what is going to happen next.
Oftentimes, patterns are mundane. A series of events repeated over and over of no serious consequence to anyone or on anything. These patterns are given names like “Routines” or “Habits”. Sometimes, however, a pattern is an indicator of something unfortunate that will occur in the future. A pattern such as that can bring about feelings of unease and tension. These patterns are given ominous names such as “Omens”, “Portents”, “Prophecies”, and the like.
Interestingly enough, such patterns, even though they present a foreboding future to the observer, can still bring about a feeling of comfort or familiarity, albeit diluted from being mixed with tension and possibly also adrenaline. Because while the observer knows that something unfortunate is going to occur, the observer can take some solace in knowing that they can prepare themselves for that unfortunate circumstance and even begin planning for the aftermath.
Finally, some patterns can be a paradox to the observer. A recognizable set of circumstances repeated over and over, and yet they give no indication of future events. If the observer doesn’t realize that the pattern is merely a smaller portion of a much larger pattern that has yet to complete its cycle, the observer can find themselves feeling utterly confused, disoriented, and rife with tension.
Jason Bertovich, sometimes called Jay by his friends and associates, was certainly feeling confused, disoriented, and very, very tense. He was currently observing a pattern of events that were giving him no insight into what would happen to him in the near, intermediate, or distant future, and it was beginning to frustrate and aggravate him greatly.
He was climbing a stairway. In fact, he’d been climbing this stairway for what seemed like several hours. That alone was enough to perturb his sensibilities. Unless he happened to be in the world’s tallest building, he felt he should have reached the top of wherever this stairway led.
The stairway seemed innocent enough, if uninteresting. It was definitely more suited to that of a residential dwelling, as opposed to a commercial building. The steps were covered in what could only be described as “god awful well-worn brown shag carpeting.” The walls were painted white and encroached on both sides of the stairway, making for a narrow passage, barely wide enough for two people to pass each other - not that he’d seen anyone else.
The pattern the steps followed was simple. Four steps up and then a small three foot by three foot landing. To the left of the landing were four more steps upward, and then another landing. To the left of that landing were four more steps, and so on it went, a spiral made up of ninety degree angles, climbing seemingly higher and higher into infinity.
Jason was beginning to have new misgivings about this venture. What if these steps never ended? What if they simply just went on and on forever? Four steps, landing, turn left, four steps, landing, turn left, repeating with no hope of reaching the top or escaping the narrow passageway? Should he start heading back down? He’d lost track of how long he’d been climbing these steps. He couldn’t even recall when he started or where he entered this hellish stairway in the first place. What on Earth was this place?
He stopped his steady climb and leaned against the wall. Mind racing, sweat forming in steady beads on his forehead. He desperately wanted to think out his options, but the pounding in his head was making it difficult, much like someone kicking you in the face would make it difficult to calculate Pi to one thousand places in your head. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, stopping to run his sweaty hands through his shaggy mop of reddish-brown hair. He took another step up. He realized, if nothing else, that he was not going to get anywhere just standing there.
As he turned another bend, the familiar pattern he’d been going through suddenly shifted gears, like a manual transmission shifting from first to fifth. He found himself stopping his climb once again to gather his thoughts.
Jason looked up the next four steps and noticed that the wall facing him was sloping inward about ten feet up. And before the slope, the wall had shifted to obvious fake wood paneling. Jason realized that if the ceiling was sloping inward, that meant he must be nearing the top, or at least a very aggravating dead-end. Still, even if it was a dead-end, at least it meant he didn’t have to climb up any further. That marked a significant change.
Suddenly, a feeling of dread crept up the back of his brainstem. He didn’t know what he would find when he reached the top, and for some reason he felt frightened about that. This whole place was confusing, but at least he’d gotten used to the routine of endlessly climbing steps. Now, he’d lost his one thread of familiarity with this place that he had.
Jason took a deep breath and began climbing again. Four steps and then a landing. He turned left and climbed four more steps to the next landing, the sloping ceiling now within reach. Reaching the landing, he turned left, and then he saw it. The final four steps.
He also saw someone sitting at the top of those steps. Jason was taken aback momentarily. This, he wasn’t expecting. Jason didn’t know the person at the top of the steps. At least he didn’t recognize them, or rather him. Jason was pretty sure it was a man. He was wearing a pair of old, worn Levi’s dungarees and a loose-fitting, hooded sweatshirt that declared allegiance to the Pittsburgh Steelers, the football team Jason still supported, despite his relocation to New England. The figure had the large black hood pulled up and over his head, obscuring most of his face in fabric and shadow. Jason could make out a short, very unkempt beard protruding from the figure’s chin, thus confirming Jason’s assumptions that he was looking at another man. Well, probably confirming.
The figure made no move to stand up from his sitting position, nor did he break the silence. Jason craned his neck slightly to look past the figure. He could make out a small landing, maybe double or triple the width of the individual landings on the stairway. There were three doors: one directly behind the figure, and one to the left and one to the right of him. On each of doors was a decorative brass knocker.
On the door to the left was a grinning skull, with a pair of crossed scythes behind it. The door on the right bore an unusual contorted face that was actually three faces, each of which shared an eye with the face to its left or right. One mouth appeared to be laughing, another was grimacing in anger, while the center bore a stoic, neutral expression. Finally, the center door showcased a scholarly, wizened face, a pair of reading spectacles on its nose, creases of age and weariness worked into the slightly tarnished brass face.
Jason was immediately struck with a wave of nostalgia as his thoughts brought back images of Labyrinth, a film he hadn’t seen or thought about in years. He wasn’t sure if whether he would laugh or scream these bizarre constructs started talking.
Jason shook his head. This wasn’t the time for waxing nostalgic about David Bowie. He’d reached his destination, or so he assumed he had, and now was the time for answers. Actually, it was time for questions and then answers.
The figure sat there, still and silent, never raising his head to give Jason some clue to his identity. Jason coughed slightly, hoping to get a reaction. None was given. Jason shrugged his shoulders and decided that maybe the direct approach was the probably the best one, possibly.
“Where am I?” Jason asked the figure.
The figure still didn’t stir, but he did answer. In a slow, measured voice, the figure answered, “A stairway.”
“I can see that. What I meant is where is this stairway located? What place could contain such an improbably long stairway?” Jason asked the figure.
The figure again answered in the same slow, measured tone, never betraying any emotions, “The holding pattern.”
“The what?” Jason asked, confused by this cryptic answer.
The figure gave no further information. From the center door, Jason could hear a faint murmuring. Someone was on the opposite side of that door, and Jason was beginning to wonder if they might be more helpful - or at least more talkative.
“Not yet,” the figure said.
Jason again was startled by this, and took a half step back. “What do you mean?”
“That door is not ready to be opened,” the figure answered.
“What about the other two?” Jason inquired.
“Those doors are not for you,” the figure replied.
“Just that door, eh?” Jason said, pointing to the door behind the hooded man, “but not yet, right?” Jason wearily rubbed his eyes and the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Well then, looks like I’m kinda at a standstill here. There’s only three doors; two I’m not allowed in at all, and the third I’m not allowed in right now. So, what am I supposed to do here? Just stand here and stare at you until I’m allowed to actually open the one door I’m allowed to open?”
The figure didn’t answer. He continued to sit at the top of the steps. Jason felt the temptation to just bolt past the strange man and open whatever damned door he pleased. Jason was pretty sure he could at least force his way past him. Once Jason was by him, he reasoned, the man would have to stand up to stop Jason from opening the door. By the time the man had got to his feet from his seated position, Jason should be in.
Jason was ready to make his move when his eyes instinctively blinked. In that fraction of a second when his eyelids fluttered, he suddenly realized that instead of there being four steps to climb, there were now ten. The figure was now standing with his arms crossed, much a like a bodyguard. He spoke. “Don’t.”
Jason felt his knees go out. He felt confused and weakened. He looked up, still unable to make out this man’s face, and he asked wearily, “Who are you? What are you?”
“Who are you? Do you even know?” the figure asked in turn.
Jason bristled at hearing that. “Bullshit, I know who I am! I’m Jas…”
“You do not know who you are,” the figure calmly interrupted, a note of amusement betrayed by his tone. “When you open the door, you’ll find out.”
Jason felt the urge to shout obscenities at this enigmatic bouncer and was about to begin doing such when there was a loud series of sounds. They resembled that of a digital phone’s ringing. Jason looked around him to find the source. It grew louder and more obnoxious, soon to the point of actual painfulness.
“What is that?” Jason asked, clasping his ears and shouting over the unbearable din.
“It’s for you,” the figure answered.
Oftentimes, patterns are mundane. A series of events repeated over and over of no serious consequence to anyone or on anything. These patterns are given names like “Routines” or “Habits”. Sometimes, however, a pattern is an indicator of something unfortunate that will occur in the future. A pattern such as that can bring about feelings of unease and tension. These patterns are given ominous names such as “Omens”, “Portents”, “Prophecies”, and the like.
Interestingly enough, such patterns, even though they present a foreboding future to the observer, can still bring about a feeling of comfort or familiarity, albeit diluted from being mixed with tension and possibly also adrenaline. Because while the observer knows that something unfortunate is going to occur, the observer can take some solace in knowing that they can prepare themselves for that unfortunate circumstance and even begin planning for the aftermath.
Finally, some patterns can be a paradox to the observer. A recognizable set of circumstances repeated over and over, and yet they give no indication of future events. If the observer doesn’t realize that the pattern is merely a smaller portion of a much larger pattern that has yet to complete its cycle, the observer can find themselves feeling utterly confused, disoriented, and rife with tension.
Jason Bertovich, sometimes called Jay by his friends and associates, was certainly feeling confused, disoriented, and very, very tense. He was currently observing a pattern of events that were giving him no insight into what would happen to him in the near, intermediate, or distant future, and it was beginning to frustrate and aggravate him greatly.
He was climbing a stairway. In fact, he’d been climbing this stairway for what seemed like several hours. That alone was enough to perturb his sensibilities. Unless he happened to be in the world’s tallest building, he felt he should have reached the top of wherever this stairway led.
The stairway seemed innocent enough, if uninteresting. It was definitely more suited to that of a residential dwelling, as opposed to a commercial building. The steps were covered in what could only be described as “god awful well-worn brown shag carpeting.” The walls were painted white and encroached on both sides of the stairway, making for a narrow passage, barely wide enough for two people to pass each other - not that he’d seen anyone else.
The pattern the steps followed was simple. Four steps up and then a small three foot by three foot landing. To the left of the landing were four more steps upward, and then another landing. To the left of that landing were four more steps, and so on it went, a spiral made up of ninety degree angles, climbing seemingly higher and higher into infinity.
Jason was beginning to have new misgivings about this venture. What if these steps never ended? What if they simply just went on and on forever? Four steps, landing, turn left, four steps, landing, turn left, repeating with no hope of reaching the top or escaping the narrow passageway? Should he start heading back down? He’d lost track of how long he’d been climbing these steps. He couldn’t even recall when he started or where he entered this hellish stairway in the first place. What on Earth was this place?
He stopped his steady climb and leaned against the wall. Mind racing, sweat forming in steady beads on his forehead. He desperately wanted to think out his options, but the pounding in his head was making it difficult, much like someone kicking you in the face would make it difficult to calculate Pi to one thousand places in your head. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, stopping to run his sweaty hands through his shaggy mop of reddish-brown hair. He took another step up. He realized, if nothing else, that he was not going to get anywhere just standing there.
As he turned another bend, the familiar pattern he’d been going through suddenly shifted gears, like a manual transmission shifting from first to fifth. He found himself stopping his climb once again to gather his thoughts.
Jason looked up the next four steps and noticed that the wall facing him was sloping inward about ten feet up. And before the slope, the wall had shifted to obvious fake wood paneling. Jason realized that if the ceiling was sloping inward, that meant he must be nearing the top, or at least a very aggravating dead-end. Still, even if it was a dead-end, at least it meant he didn’t have to climb up any further. That marked a significant change.
Suddenly, a feeling of dread crept up the back of his brainstem. He didn’t know what he would find when he reached the top, and for some reason he felt frightened about that. This whole place was confusing, but at least he’d gotten used to the routine of endlessly climbing steps. Now, he’d lost his one thread of familiarity with this place that he had.
Jason took a deep breath and began climbing again. Four steps and then a landing. He turned left and climbed four more steps to the next landing, the sloping ceiling now within reach. Reaching the landing, he turned left, and then he saw it. The final four steps.
He also saw someone sitting at the top of those steps. Jason was taken aback momentarily. This, he wasn’t expecting. Jason didn’t know the person at the top of the steps. At least he didn’t recognize them, or rather him. Jason was pretty sure it was a man. He was wearing a pair of old, worn Levi’s dungarees and a loose-fitting, hooded sweatshirt that declared allegiance to the Pittsburgh Steelers, the football team Jason still supported, despite his relocation to New England. The figure had the large black hood pulled up and over his head, obscuring most of his face in fabric and shadow. Jason could make out a short, very unkempt beard protruding from the figure’s chin, thus confirming Jason’s assumptions that he was looking at another man. Well, probably confirming.
The figure made no move to stand up from his sitting position, nor did he break the silence. Jason craned his neck slightly to look past the figure. He could make out a small landing, maybe double or triple the width of the individual landings on the stairway. There were three doors: one directly behind the figure, and one to the left and one to the right of him. On each of doors was a decorative brass knocker.
On the door to the left was a grinning skull, with a pair of crossed scythes behind it. The door on the right bore an unusual contorted face that was actually three faces, each of which shared an eye with the face to its left or right. One mouth appeared to be laughing, another was grimacing in anger, while the center bore a stoic, neutral expression. Finally, the center door showcased a scholarly, wizened face, a pair of reading spectacles on its nose, creases of age and weariness worked into the slightly tarnished brass face.
Jason was immediately struck with a wave of nostalgia as his thoughts brought back images of Labyrinth, a film he hadn’t seen or thought about in years. He wasn’t sure if whether he would laugh or scream these bizarre constructs started talking.
Jason shook his head. This wasn’t the time for waxing nostalgic about David Bowie. He’d reached his destination, or so he assumed he had, and now was the time for answers. Actually, it was time for questions and then answers.
The figure sat there, still and silent, never raising his head to give Jason some clue to his identity. Jason coughed slightly, hoping to get a reaction. None was given. Jason shrugged his shoulders and decided that maybe the direct approach was the probably the best one, possibly.
“Where am I?” Jason asked the figure.
The figure still didn’t stir, but he did answer. In a slow, measured voice, the figure answered, “A stairway.”
“I can see that. What I meant is where is this stairway located? What place could contain such an improbably long stairway?” Jason asked the figure.
The figure again answered in the same slow, measured tone, never betraying any emotions, “The holding pattern.”
“The what?” Jason asked, confused by this cryptic answer.
The figure gave no further information. From the center door, Jason could hear a faint murmuring. Someone was on the opposite side of that door, and Jason was beginning to wonder if they might be more helpful - or at least more talkative.
“Not yet,” the figure said.
Jason again was startled by this, and took a half step back. “What do you mean?”
“That door is not ready to be opened,” the figure answered.
“What about the other two?” Jason inquired.
“Those doors are not for you,” the figure replied.
“Just that door, eh?” Jason said, pointing to the door behind the hooded man, “but not yet, right?” Jason wearily rubbed his eyes and the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Well then, looks like I’m kinda at a standstill here. There’s only three doors; two I’m not allowed in at all, and the third I’m not allowed in right now. So, what am I supposed to do here? Just stand here and stare at you until I’m allowed to actually open the one door I’m allowed to open?”
The figure didn’t answer. He continued to sit at the top of the steps. Jason felt the temptation to just bolt past the strange man and open whatever damned door he pleased. Jason was pretty sure he could at least force his way past him. Once Jason was by him, he reasoned, the man would have to stand up to stop Jason from opening the door. By the time the man had got to his feet from his seated position, Jason should be in.
Jason was ready to make his move when his eyes instinctively blinked. In that fraction of a second when his eyelids fluttered, he suddenly realized that instead of there being four steps to climb, there were now ten. The figure was now standing with his arms crossed, much a like a bodyguard. He spoke. “Don’t.”
Jason felt his knees go out. He felt confused and weakened. He looked up, still unable to make out this man’s face, and he asked wearily, “Who are you? What are you?”
“Who are you? Do you even know?” the figure asked in turn.
Jason bristled at hearing that. “Bullshit, I know who I am! I’m Jas…”
“You do not know who you are,” the figure calmly interrupted, a note of amusement betrayed by his tone. “When you open the door, you’ll find out.”
Jason felt the urge to shout obscenities at this enigmatic bouncer and was about to begin doing such when there was a loud series of sounds. They resembled that of a digital phone’s ringing. Jason looked around him to find the source. It grew louder and more obnoxious, soon to the point of actual painfulness.
“What is that?” Jason asked, clasping his ears and shouting over the unbearable din.
“It’s for you,” the figure answered.
Notes From Matt:
"What is this?" you may ask. "Where the smeg is Perspectives XI?"
Well, Jason has some interesting plans... You'll just have to read on to find out!
"Okay, okay, we will!" you hopefully then say. "In the meantime, who cares what you have to say, Matt? Where are Jason's notes?"
Well, this prologue was sent to me by Jason attached to the following story, but for presentation to you, the reading public, I decided to split it onto its own page. So Jason's notes (along with more notes from myself) will be found after the next story. But for now, enjoy this prologue. Hopefully it is a nice appetizer as I get the next story ready for the website.
"Fine, fine. So, next is Perspectives XI?"
Nope! We'll get to Perspectives XI eventually... But first... Perspectives I!
"Hold on, hold the phone here! Didn't we already do that?"
Quiet, you! Read on! Share and enjoy!
Well, Jason has some interesting plans... You'll just have to read on to find out!
"Okay, okay, we will!" you hopefully then say. "In the meantime, who cares what you have to say, Matt? Where are Jason's notes?"
Well, this prologue was sent to me by Jason attached to the following story, but for presentation to you, the reading public, I decided to split it onto its own page. So Jason's notes (along with more notes from myself) will be found after the next story. But for now, enjoy this prologue. Hopefully it is a nice appetizer as I get the next story ready for the website.
"Fine, fine. So, next is Perspectives XI?"
Nope! We'll get to Perspectives XI eventually... But first... Perspectives I!
"Hold on, hold the phone here! Didn't we already do that?"
Quiet, you! Read on! Share and enjoy!