I haven't watched "The Bucket List". I saw the ads on t.v. but, unfortunately, never got around to watching the film while it was in cinemas. However, it got me thinking about making my own list of goals, crazy things and wild adventures i'd like to embark on, before i "kick the bucket".
So here it is, My own "Bucket List":
1. Publish my first novel
2. Learn to play the piano
3. Learn to read and write and speak: German, Serbian and Russian; fluently
4. Create and register my designs for an "Apotsis Family Coat of Arms", and subsequent "Apotsis Family Crests", to have them officially recognised.
5. Travel the world on an the Queen Mary Ocean Liner
6. Bungee Jump
7. Sky Dive
8. Build my own ship and sail her on a maiden voyage
9. Make out with 26 people- one for each letter of the alphabet- =P
10. Get a tatoo/ piercing
For now this remains to be the said "Bucket List". Perhaps in the near future there may be additions, and i'm sure there will be many...or perhaps it will remain the same, (Gee i hope not!!). Nevertheless, here are the ten things, thus far, i wish to accomplish, before i kick the bucket!
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
Literary Criticism
I was in my: Uses and Abuses of English Literary Theory class the other day. I must admit, these english literature subjects, which tend to focus on the analysis of texts and the critiquing of them, is becoming rather tedious and frustrating.
The topic of discussion for the tutorial was: Authorship and Authority. In short, this week we discussed how the author of a novel controls the meaning that is produced, and extrapolated, from the text, by the reader and critic. Furthermore, we discussed whether or not the author, the reader, or the critic should "control" meaning, and how a text would be interpreted. I was quite content with sitting back and watching the debate ensue, whilst also forming my own arguments and saving them for the "opportune moment".
When the question was put to us: "Should the author "control" meaning?" one girl in the class put her hand up and responded thus:
"I don't think the author should, because not everyone would agree with the author's interpretation of events/ issues of concern, in the text. They try to, through interviews and such, but i don't think they should have that "control". Many have started to put introductions in the beginning of the book itself to try and guide our thoughts, but i don't read them, because i know what they're trying to do."
I, having heard quite enought to last me a life- time, raised my hand and stole the floor, immediately plunging into an offensive against the erroneous and misguided claims my fellow scholar had put forward just moments ago.
"In "Ratatouille", the children's film, Anton Ego, the antagonistic food critic gives a final review of the restuarant "Gusteau's". In this criticism Anton says: "...We critics thrive on negative criticism, because it's fun to write and to read..." This tells me one thing: Humanity, as a collective, is firmly set on the deconstruction, and destruction of something new, something sweet, something artistic, something beautiful. I haven't published a book, as yet, but i am trying. The problem is, the author writes with the intention of entertaining. A writer is another entertainer, in an art form, much different to all others. People, every day, define new fashions, new styles, new values, new morals. As if control was not already aquired and held by the masses, but on top of all this, we have critics and other people, some of whom even exist in this class; who are set on reading and interpreting texts in their own way. What these people fail to see is that the introduction at the beginning of a text, whilst may be instructional, and asking for the reader to consider certain factors when reading the text, it DOES NOT have to be taken into account. What this introduction does, what this "statement of intent/ purpose" is doing, is acting as assurance to the author. If the author knows that something in their text may be interpreted as something they had no intention for, then the introduction would ask the reader to take into account certain factors/ circumstances when reading that part/ section/ extract. It has nothing to do with "controlling" what people think or feel or interpret the text as, however, it is asking you to see things from the perspective of the author when reading the text. Instead, what we have are people who are so fond of freedom that they'd sooner take a text, something someone has put their heart into; and critique it, deconstruct it, all for the sake of finding meaning...and as if this were not enough, on top of all this, there exist people in the world set on interpreting certain things as something they're not, and then bringing down the credibility of the author through negative criticism. THIS is the world we live in today! THIS is the sacred art of literary criticism."
Thus ended my seige. The class remained quiet for what seemed a long time. I think the point had hit home, and i also think some thought me a complete idiot for having gone on such a aggressive defence. A friend sitting beside me had looked at me with a smirk when i had started. Gradually the smirk left his face, and by the end of my monologue, the look was indescribable. My other friend, sitting next to him, on the other hand, watched the effect of my words take over the class. She, being of the same mind, was unpurturbed and even smiled at me afterwards. Deborah, our tutor; who understood my stance on english literature criticism from last year second semester, was trying hard to break the silence, and i cannot help but feel as though i may have crossed a line, which even she, despite understanding my argument, would not have crossed. At least, not in the manner which i did.
The point, very loosely, i was trying to make was: Modern day criticism techniques are not just set on the deconstruction and analysis of a text for the sake of enhancing meaning. Modern day criticism techniques are also set on "passing judgement" on a text, and stating the "value" of that text. Undoubtedly, there may be some very poorly written books. However, i return to Anton Ego's words: "In many ways the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little, yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and theirselves to our judgement. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that in the grand scheme of things the average peice of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so..."
The challenges many authors face is simple. Writing for the masses means that there are certain conventions, certain events, certain themes that can be included, that should be included, to ensure the success of a novel. Many authors, in fact all authors, devote their time and effort to writing, and subsequently, perfecting their work, till it is put to the press. Having their intentions dictated, their work altered by strange hands, often several times, and after putting in their time and effort to providing a source of entertainment, the author is the subjected to criticism. Not only from the readers, but from the critics as well. Their work, the art- work, their master- piece, is deconstructed, and examined in the most ruthless and unjust way, by BOTH people and critics alike. Rather than enjoy "Art for Art's sake" the people and the critics would prefer to analyse and create dellusions in the minds, by creating false meanings and interpretations of themes/ events and commentaries in the text.
The problem, i believe, is that: even in criticism, critics will look at different things as well. What one will percieve as important, another may disregard as insignificant. What critics fail to see is the importance of the text as a whole. What they fail to realise, because they are so set on criticising, is that the unity of the text is just as important as the individual factors/ elements of a novel and a story, which make up the whole, unifying idea of "novel". However, modern day criticism methods judge a book by how well it perfoms in various areas/ elements, which make up the whole. Furthermore, it is from the individual elements, and how the text and the author have performed in each, from whence the final judgement is made. No critic, nowdays, has judged, or will judge the "value" of a text by combining all the elements of the text, along with the effort of the author, to make a final judgement. The days of enjoying Art for the sake of Art are long gone. In their place have come the days of utter distaste, and a common goal for the destruction of all art that is meaningful.
The topic of discussion for the tutorial was: Authorship and Authority. In short, this week we discussed how the author of a novel controls the meaning that is produced, and extrapolated, from the text, by the reader and critic. Furthermore, we discussed whether or not the author, the reader, or the critic should "control" meaning, and how a text would be interpreted. I was quite content with sitting back and watching the debate ensue, whilst also forming my own arguments and saving them for the "opportune moment".
When the question was put to us: "Should the author "control" meaning?" one girl in the class put her hand up and responded thus:
"I don't think the author should, because not everyone would agree with the author's interpretation of events/ issues of concern, in the text. They try to, through interviews and such, but i don't think they should have that "control". Many have started to put introductions in the beginning of the book itself to try and guide our thoughts, but i don't read them, because i know what they're trying to do."
I, having heard quite enought to last me a life- time, raised my hand and stole the floor, immediately plunging into an offensive against the erroneous and misguided claims my fellow scholar had put forward just moments ago.
"In "Ratatouille", the children's film, Anton Ego, the antagonistic food critic gives a final review of the restuarant "Gusteau's". In this criticism Anton says: "...We critics thrive on negative criticism, because it's fun to write and to read..." This tells me one thing: Humanity, as a collective, is firmly set on the deconstruction, and destruction of something new, something sweet, something artistic, something beautiful. I haven't published a book, as yet, but i am trying. The problem is, the author writes with the intention of entertaining. A writer is another entertainer, in an art form, much different to all others. People, every day, define new fashions, new styles, new values, new morals. As if control was not already aquired and held by the masses, but on top of all this, we have critics and other people, some of whom even exist in this class; who are set on reading and interpreting texts in their own way. What these people fail to see is that the introduction at the beginning of a text, whilst may be instructional, and asking for the reader to consider certain factors when reading the text, it DOES NOT have to be taken into account. What this introduction does, what this "statement of intent/ purpose" is doing, is acting as assurance to the author. If the author knows that something in their text may be interpreted as something they had no intention for, then the introduction would ask the reader to take into account certain factors/ circumstances when reading that part/ section/ extract. It has nothing to do with "controlling" what people think or feel or interpret the text as, however, it is asking you to see things from the perspective of the author when reading the text. Instead, what we have are people who are so fond of freedom that they'd sooner take a text, something someone has put their heart into; and critique it, deconstruct it, all for the sake of finding meaning...and as if this were not enough, on top of all this, there exist people in the world set on interpreting certain things as something they're not, and then bringing down the credibility of the author through negative criticism. THIS is the world we live in today! THIS is the sacred art of literary criticism."
Thus ended my seige. The class remained quiet for what seemed a long time. I think the point had hit home, and i also think some thought me a complete idiot for having gone on such a aggressive defence. A friend sitting beside me had looked at me with a smirk when i had started. Gradually the smirk left his face, and by the end of my monologue, the look was indescribable. My other friend, sitting next to him, on the other hand, watched the effect of my words take over the class. She, being of the same mind, was unpurturbed and even smiled at me afterwards. Deborah, our tutor; who understood my stance on english literature criticism from last year second semester, was trying hard to break the silence, and i cannot help but feel as though i may have crossed a line, which even she, despite understanding my argument, would not have crossed. At least, not in the manner which i did.
The point, very loosely, i was trying to make was: Modern day criticism techniques are not just set on the deconstruction and analysis of a text for the sake of enhancing meaning. Modern day criticism techniques are also set on "passing judgement" on a text, and stating the "value" of that text. Undoubtedly, there may be some very poorly written books. However, i return to Anton Ego's words: "In many ways the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little, yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and theirselves to our judgement. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that in the grand scheme of things the average peice of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so..."
The challenges many authors face is simple. Writing for the masses means that there are certain conventions, certain events, certain themes that can be included, that should be included, to ensure the success of a novel. Many authors, in fact all authors, devote their time and effort to writing, and subsequently, perfecting their work, till it is put to the press. Having their intentions dictated, their work altered by strange hands, often several times, and after putting in their time and effort to providing a source of entertainment, the author is the subjected to criticism. Not only from the readers, but from the critics as well. Their work, the art- work, their master- piece, is deconstructed, and examined in the most ruthless and unjust way, by BOTH people and critics alike. Rather than enjoy "Art for Art's sake" the people and the critics would prefer to analyse and create dellusions in the minds, by creating false meanings and interpretations of themes/ events and commentaries in the text.
The problem, i believe, is that: even in criticism, critics will look at different things as well. What one will percieve as important, another may disregard as insignificant. What critics fail to see is the importance of the text as a whole. What they fail to realise, because they are so set on criticising, is that the unity of the text is just as important as the individual factors/ elements of a novel and a story, which make up the whole, unifying idea of "novel". However, modern day criticism methods judge a book by how well it perfoms in various areas/ elements, which make up the whole. Furthermore, it is from the individual elements, and how the text and the author have performed in each, from whence the final judgement is made. No critic, nowdays, has judged, or will judge the "value" of a text by combining all the elements of the text, along with the effort of the author, to make a final judgement. The days of enjoying Art for the sake of Art are long gone. In their place have come the days of utter distaste, and a common goal for the destruction of all art that is meaningful.
Monday, March 16, 2009
A Curse For Life Pt.6: Crowns (Continued)
The Patriarch and the Tsarevitch Nikolas stayed out till it was time for dinner. They had walked throughout the entire gardens in the Palace grounds, and were still deep in conversation when they returned again. They both retreated to their rooms in the Palace to prepare for dinner. The Patriarch took longer to get ready, but Nikolas wasn't waiting long, outside his state- rooms. When the pair eventually did make it to the banquet hall they found the rest of the family waiting for them. They both stood just inside the threshold; Nikolas bowed to the Tsar- to- be, and the Patriarch inclined his head slightly.
"We are graced by the presence of our beloved Nikolas and our beloved Patriarch, at last!" taunted Alexander. Tikhon looked at his cousin, an unimpressed look upon his face; this took a lot of practice, because the will to laugh was still very strong.
"The next time you come to confession remind me to keep track of time, i may, conveniantly, be needed elsewhere half- way through." Stated Tikhon. He looked into his cousins' eyes, this made it easier for him not to laugh. At least, not straight away. Alexander's face was unreadable. He was waiting for a tell- tale sign that his cousin was joking with him. He didn't see it. Alexander looked down at his plate. He'd lost his apetite all of a sudden. Just as he was about to make a move to get out of his seat, at the head of the table, he heard a muffled sound. When Alexander looked up again he saw the Patriarch red from laughter with tears in his eyes. Alexander looked to Nikolas, who was sitting next to the Patriarch. Nikolas was also in tears of laughter. Alexander got slightly annoyed at being played.
"You i can't do anything about," he pointed to the Patriarch, who was still laughing.
"YOU, on the other hand," he turned on Nikolas, who immediately stopped laughing and hung his head.
"Have not acted in the most respectful way today. Just because His Holiness is able to make a joke of things, it does not mean you may as well. I am still your father, and more importantly, your Tsar, you will respect me! Do you understand?" It was more a statement, but Nikolas seemed inclined to correct his father.
"Tsar- to- be, you're not the Tsar yet, you'll only be Tsar when you're coronated, and that hasn't happend yet-"
"What did you say!" Interjected Alexander fiercely.
"He told you the truth, you are his father, and as his father he will respect you. Until you are coronated, Alexander, do not presume to give yourself the title of "Tsar", that blessing you don't have yet. As to the way Nikolas acted today, if you'd have had the patience to wait till after dinner, Nikolas was fully prepared to apologise to you for the disrespect he caused you. He will apologise for his actions, but you remember, Alexander, the next time you go casting the first stone, make sure you are as innocent as the one being stoned."
Alexander got out of his seat, enraged.
"You presume to much, Steph-"
"DON'T YOU DARE!" The Patriarch was in his seat still, but he spoke with warning. Slowly, Tikhon turned to stare Alexander down. Alexander turned red slightly. He'd forgotten himself.
"My sincerest apologies, i didn't mean disrespect to you Holiness...i....i forgot myself-"
"So you did," Tikhon cut in without caring.
"It seems you have it in your mind that being your cousin means you are exempt from certain practices and customs, for example, refering to me by my canonical title. Let me remind you, Alexander, in case you've forgotten. I am the Patriarch of the Russian Orthodox Church. Whilst i am your cousin, you will NOT forget what preceeds my familial duties. I am NOT an Imperial member any more, I am NOT your cousin, I am your Patriarch. You will do well to remember that!" Calmly, the Patriarch stood up and left the table, without turning back to face the Tsar- to- be. Just as he reached the threshold he turned back.
"Nikolas," he called firmly, his voice reverberating off the walls, that it magnified the intensity of his tone.
"Yes Holiness?" responded Nikolas at once, standing up.
"I will hear you apologise to your father for the way you behaved today, and you will come to my study after dinner so that i may complete your confession." Nikoas nodded then turned to face his father. Alexander looked at his son. He saw that the apology hadn't been rehearsed. Nikolas was hesitating before every sentence, to organise his thoughts. The apology simple, yet humble and concise. Alexander accepted the apology, and smiled slightly towards his son. When Alexander looked towards the entrance to the bansquet hall, the Patriarch had already dissappeared. He heaved a sigh, and sat down again.
"We are graced by the presence of our beloved Nikolas and our beloved Patriarch, at last!" taunted Alexander. Tikhon looked at his cousin, an unimpressed look upon his face; this took a lot of practice, because the will to laugh was still very strong.
"The next time you come to confession remind me to keep track of time, i may, conveniantly, be needed elsewhere half- way through." Stated Tikhon. He looked into his cousins' eyes, this made it easier for him not to laugh. At least, not straight away. Alexander's face was unreadable. He was waiting for a tell- tale sign that his cousin was joking with him. He didn't see it. Alexander looked down at his plate. He'd lost his apetite all of a sudden. Just as he was about to make a move to get out of his seat, at the head of the table, he heard a muffled sound. When Alexander looked up again he saw the Patriarch red from laughter with tears in his eyes. Alexander looked to Nikolas, who was sitting next to the Patriarch. Nikolas was also in tears of laughter. Alexander got slightly annoyed at being played.
"You i can't do anything about," he pointed to the Patriarch, who was still laughing.
"YOU, on the other hand," he turned on Nikolas, who immediately stopped laughing and hung his head.
"Have not acted in the most respectful way today. Just because His Holiness is able to make a joke of things, it does not mean you may as well. I am still your father, and more importantly, your Tsar, you will respect me! Do you understand?" It was more a statement, but Nikolas seemed inclined to correct his father.
"Tsar- to- be, you're not the Tsar yet, you'll only be Tsar when you're coronated, and that hasn't happend yet-"
"What did you say!" Interjected Alexander fiercely.
"He told you the truth, you are his father, and as his father he will respect you. Until you are coronated, Alexander, do not presume to give yourself the title of "Tsar", that blessing you don't have yet. As to the way Nikolas acted today, if you'd have had the patience to wait till after dinner, Nikolas was fully prepared to apologise to you for the disrespect he caused you. He will apologise for his actions, but you remember, Alexander, the next time you go casting the first stone, make sure you are as innocent as the one being stoned."
Alexander got out of his seat, enraged.
"You presume to much, Steph-"
"DON'T YOU DARE!" The Patriarch was in his seat still, but he spoke with warning. Slowly, Tikhon turned to stare Alexander down. Alexander turned red slightly. He'd forgotten himself.
"My sincerest apologies, i didn't mean disrespect to you Holiness...i....i forgot myself-"
"So you did," Tikhon cut in without caring.
"It seems you have it in your mind that being your cousin means you are exempt from certain practices and customs, for example, refering to me by my canonical title. Let me remind you, Alexander, in case you've forgotten. I am the Patriarch of the Russian Orthodox Church. Whilst i am your cousin, you will NOT forget what preceeds my familial duties. I am NOT an Imperial member any more, I am NOT your cousin, I am your Patriarch. You will do well to remember that!" Calmly, the Patriarch stood up and left the table, without turning back to face the Tsar- to- be. Just as he reached the threshold he turned back.
"Nikolas," he called firmly, his voice reverberating off the walls, that it magnified the intensity of his tone.
"Yes Holiness?" responded Nikolas at once, standing up.
"I will hear you apologise to your father for the way you behaved today, and you will come to my study after dinner so that i may complete your confession." Nikoas nodded then turned to face his father. Alexander looked at his son. He saw that the apology hadn't been rehearsed. Nikolas was hesitating before every sentence, to organise his thoughts. The apology simple, yet humble and concise. Alexander accepted the apology, and smiled slightly towards his son. When Alexander looked towards the entrance to the bansquet hall, the Patriarch had already dissappeared. He heaved a sigh, and sat down again.
Friday, March 13, 2009
A Curse For Life Pt.6: Crowns (Continued)
The Patriarch made his way into the gardens of the Palace. Immediately the tranquility took effect. He missed the peace of the gardens he once strolled through and played in. He Paused and took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he did so. The air was crisp and fresh. He sighed softly to himself as he exhaled. Upon remembering when he used to play with Alexander, a small smile touched the lips of the Patriarch. Childhood seemed so far away now. It seemed a life- time ago. It scared Tikhon slightly. How far had he come, how long was there left to go?
As the Patriarch was about to step further into the gardens the Tsarevitch Nikolas stepped out from behind a hedge, a sword in hand. He stared the Patriarch down. Tikhon was taken aback by Nikolas' sudden appearance. He smirked when he took in the sword in his nephew's hand, pointed towards him.
"You bare arms against a priest nephew!" said Tikhon in a mocking voice.
"Against a Patriarch, nonetheless...tut tut, what shame!" Tikhon shook his head before hanging it, seemingly, in shame.
"What has the world come to!" he continued, prying his nephew. Nikolas continued to stare his uncle down, unmoved by the small- talk.
Tikhon noticed he was getting nowhere. He hardened slightly. He took a step forward. Nikolas steadied his footing, as though he were preparing to plunge the sword into the Patriarch. Tikhon noticed the miniscule movement of defence, yet at the same time, a movement warning of attack.
Tikhon stopped dead in his tracks. He turned his back on Nikolas and summoned the nearest guard. The guard appeared instantly.
"Give me your sword," said Tikhon simply. The guard looked awkwardly over the Patriarch's shoulder, towards Nikolas, who was still in a semi- defensive/ attack stance. He seemed to hesitate a second to long.
"Your sword!" demanded Tikhon, no longer a Patriarch, seemingly, but another member of the Imperial family. The guard handed the sword over at once, hilt towards the hand of the Patriarch.
"Don't worry, what won't kill him will make him stronger." Stated Tikhon before turning his back on the guard. The guard took this as his dismissal, and could leave quick enough.
Tikhon stepped towards his nephew. Nikolas had seemed unmoved by the real sword in his uncle's hand, but the fact that his uncle was now advancing on him with it, scared the Tsarevitch. He stepped back.
"STAND!" yelled Tikhon. He stared at Nikolas without emotion in his eyes. The colour, the love, Nikolas noticed, was gone. He didn't dare move. Although, he made the biggest gesture of surrender he thought he could make; immediately Nikolas lowered the sword he held.
"Raise your sword Sir!" demanded Tikhon. Nikolas was at a loss for words. He shook his head vigorously.
"RAISE your sword!" demanded Tikhon again, more fiercely this time. Nikolas raised the sword again.
Tikhon took the beginning stance.
"En Garde!" he said, and immediately advanced on Nikolas. Nikolas was shocked and scared. Before he could move or utter a syllable Tikhon had reached him. Tikhon raised the real sword in his hand and, with a swipe, sent the sword in Nikolas' hand flying to the other side of the gardens. Tikhon put the tip of the sword to Nikolas' chest.
"Yield!" he said softly, now his eyes softened. Nikolas found his voice, and, mouse- like said:
"I yield."
Tikhon immediately dropped the sword and slapped Nikolas. Nikolas got back up, tears streaming down his face.
"I don't care if it's a play sword or a real sword, DON'T YOU DARE RAISE A SWORD TO ANY CLERGYMAN AGAIN!" Tikhon's voice echoed throughout the entire gardens. Nikolas stood before his uncle, his head bowed in shame. He knew he'd crossed the line. He'd never been hit by his uncle before.
Tikhon paused for a long time after this out- burst. He'd lost his temper and actually hit his nephew. Tikhon felt terrible. He wanted to run off, he was furious with himself. How could he let himself make such a blunder.
Nikolas, through silent sobs found his voice again, and, silently, beseeched his uncle:
"I c-c-can't take it any m-more," Nikolas looked towards the blurred figure that was his uncle. Although, he was unable to fully see him because the tears in his eyes were impeeding his vision. Slowly, with his arms out- stretched, Nikolas made his way to his uncle, who took him in his own arms. If anyone was to see this they would have seen the Patriarch and the Tsarevtich Nikolas embracing. What they would not have seen were the tears both of them had in their eyes. The Tsarevitch for the anger and the loss he was feeling inside, for his father; and the Patriarch, for the loss of his temper, which had caused him to hit his nephew, who, in his innocence, still forgave him and sought the comfort of his embrace.
"I can't stand this any more than you can," Whispered Tikhon in his nephew's ear, as he held him in his embrace, praying for forgiveness.
"We are of a world that puts duty first and self second. We are of a world which demands the taking of an oath to serve, for as long, or as short, as our life may be. No one asks us if it is what we want. Being born into this life- style, you are taught to accept it, because there are others in the world who would die to have what we have. It's true my dearest nephew. People would die, or kill, to have what we have. However, never forget Nikolas, even the coronation of a King or Emperor is the liturgy of Ordination, and that makes this life- style something of a Holy Order, too."
After this small monologue, Tikhon put his nephew down. Nikolas still holding onto his uncle's hand, walked beside his uncle as they made their way through the gardens, talking and laughing and confiding in one and another.
c. John Apotsis 2008- 2009
As the Patriarch was about to step further into the gardens the Tsarevitch Nikolas stepped out from behind a hedge, a sword in hand. He stared the Patriarch down. Tikhon was taken aback by Nikolas' sudden appearance. He smirked when he took in the sword in his nephew's hand, pointed towards him.
"You bare arms against a priest nephew!" said Tikhon in a mocking voice.
"Against a Patriarch, nonetheless...tut tut, what shame!" Tikhon shook his head before hanging it, seemingly, in shame.
"What has the world come to!" he continued, prying his nephew. Nikolas continued to stare his uncle down, unmoved by the small- talk.
Tikhon noticed he was getting nowhere. He hardened slightly. He took a step forward. Nikolas steadied his footing, as though he were preparing to plunge the sword into the Patriarch. Tikhon noticed the miniscule movement of defence, yet at the same time, a movement warning of attack.
Tikhon stopped dead in his tracks. He turned his back on Nikolas and summoned the nearest guard. The guard appeared instantly.
"Give me your sword," said Tikhon simply. The guard looked awkwardly over the Patriarch's shoulder, towards Nikolas, who was still in a semi- defensive/ attack stance. He seemed to hesitate a second to long.
"Your sword!" demanded Tikhon, no longer a Patriarch, seemingly, but another member of the Imperial family. The guard handed the sword over at once, hilt towards the hand of the Patriarch.
"Don't worry, what won't kill him will make him stronger." Stated Tikhon before turning his back on the guard. The guard took this as his dismissal, and could leave quick enough.
Tikhon stepped towards his nephew. Nikolas had seemed unmoved by the real sword in his uncle's hand, but the fact that his uncle was now advancing on him with it, scared the Tsarevitch. He stepped back.
"STAND!" yelled Tikhon. He stared at Nikolas without emotion in his eyes. The colour, the love, Nikolas noticed, was gone. He didn't dare move. Although, he made the biggest gesture of surrender he thought he could make; immediately Nikolas lowered the sword he held.
"Raise your sword Sir!" demanded Tikhon. Nikolas was at a loss for words. He shook his head vigorously.
"RAISE your sword!" demanded Tikhon again, more fiercely this time. Nikolas raised the sword again.
Tikhon took the beginning stance.
"En Garde!" he said, and immediately advanced on Nikolas. Nikolas was shocked and scared. Before he could move or utter a syllable Tikhon had reached him. Tikhon raised the real sword in his hand and, with a swipe, sent the sword in Nikolas' hand flying to the other side of the gardens. Tikhon put the tip of the sword to Nikolas' chest.
"Yield!" he said softly, now his eyes softened. Nikolas found his voice, and, mouse- like said:
"I yield."
Tikhon immediately dropped the sword and slapped Nikolas. Nikolas got back up, tears streaming down his face.
"I don't care if it's a play sword or a real sword, DON'T YOU DARE RAISE A SWORD TO ANY CLERGYMAN AGAIN!" Tikhon's voice echoed throughout the entire gardens. Nikolas stood before his uncle, his head bowed in shame. He knew he'd crossed the line. He'd never been hit by his uncle before.
Tikhon paused for a long time after this out- burst. He'd lost his temper and actually hit his nephew. Tikhon felt terrible. He wanted to run off, he was furious with himself. How could he let himself make such a blunder.
Nikolas, through silent sobs found his voice again, and, silently, beseeched his uncle:
"I c-c-can't take it any m-more," Nikolas looked towards the blurred figure that was his uncle. Although, he was unable to fully see him because the tears in his eyes were impeeding his vision. Slowly, with his arms out- stretched, Nikolas made his way to his uncle, who took him in his own arms. If anyone was to see this they would have seen the Patriarch and the Tsarevtich Nikolas embracing. What they would not have seen were the tears both of them had in their eyes. The Tsarevitch for the anger and the loss he was feeling inside, for his father; and the Patriarch, for the loss of his temper, which had caused him to hit his nephew, who, in his innocence, still forgave him and sought the comfort of his embrace.
"I can't stand this any more than you can," Whispered Tikhon in his nephew's ear, as he held him in his embrace, praying for forgiveness.
"We are of a world that puts duty first and self second. We are of a world which demands the taking of an oath to serve, for as long, or as short, as our life may be. No one asks us if it is what we want. Being born into this life- style, you are taught to accept it, because there are others in the world who would die to have what we have. It's true my dearest nephew. People would die, or kill, to have what we have. However, never forget Nikolas, even the coronation of a King or Emperor is the liturgy of Ordination, and that makes this life- style something of a Holy Order, too."
After this small monologue, Tikhon put his nephew down. Nikolas still holding onto his uncle's hand, walked beside his uncle as they made their way through the gardens, talking and laughing and confiding in one and another.
c. John Apotsis 2008- 2009
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