Jeffrey of my Winter

“Push now, for attaching the cork to the spirit will only lead it further to its descent!  We must stop the treachers the beast will surely lay upon us.  Push, young Jeffrey, push like your life depends on it!”
         Emotional ailments such as the one poor Jeffrey faced are only seen science fiction television and never regularly troubled the citizens of Enzar County.  Still, smoke often lingers from the wreckage of the brick-layered structure, and still, Jeffrey remembers the horrors of that night.  The eyes the little boy wore became witnesses to another realm of intergalactic proportions, and the tragic fall of a brave comrade so true and dear.  Sorrow, confusion, discomfort, madness, and yet, Jeffrey bore a giddy smirk, for his true power could only be surpassed by his futuristic outlook and knowledge of spiritual fulfillment.  The only thing left to do troubled the fearful 10-year old, as he called for guidance from a handle of bourbon. 
         “Drink all your troubles and problems away, journey as far as the month of may, read all your math books then fly to Green Bay, the one seeking perfection would never astray.”
         This tender 10-year old began a journey of such epic measurements to a finish line no human had ever witnessed.  Only there could life truly begin, but only there could one suffer the consequences so dire and inhumane that life hangs in the balance if the goal is not reached.  Jeffrey feared the worst, and geared his will power towards defeating an evil creature which had capabilities of slaughtering masses without notice.  His mind kept focused on the task at hand as his arms and legs shivered with agitated nerves.  The nervous child placed a rose at the edge of his windowsill, and journeyed towards the kitchen.
         He set his sights upon the liquor cabinet carefully guarded by the bringers/destroyers of life.  Hidden in the distance behind the living room couch, Jeffrey examined his parent’s positions, and their intended destinations.  His mother, positioned directly in the glowing spotlight of an apparatus which held the answers to Mrs. Desmond’s emotional problems, as well as her weight problems, and his father, sitting down at the table focused on the daily newspaper, attempting to better his comprehension of the world’s troubles, defended the fortress and temporarily halted Jeffrey’s mission.  He bailed out and headed back to his room, becoming more and more anxious with every step he took.
         Returning to his room, Jeffrey considered that the mindset of an intoxicant will not hold answers, but will yield confusion. With regards to this notion, he decided to jot down ideas as to not forget them when the right time approaches.  He grabbed a pen, a piece of notebook paper, closed his eyes and began a deep, thorough examination of the hypothalamus, jotting down every thought.
                   “Stay calm, stay focused, and most importantly stay alive.
                   Do not stray from the task at hand, regardless of the siren.
                   Only do what needs to be done, and nothing else.”
He folded the note once horizontally, once vertically, and slipped it into his right back pocket.  Lying down on his soft, yet firm mattress, the hypothalamus bombarded his mind with a golden sunshine and a feeling of a spiritual nirvana as the child fell asleep.
         


His little head arose from the protection of his faithful down covers.  Not only didn’t he fear this might be the last time he’d awake from a peaceful night in the bed that accompanied his mind, body, and even soul, but he casually strolled out of his room as if nothing troubled his fearful state of mind.