text: If you were to ask me who I am, I would be inclined to lead you astray. Not necessarily for the sake of maleficence, but rather for the joy of mischievousness. You see, I must deceive in order to achieve my objective. It is my inclination and my delight. I mean no harm, and you will take no offense, so long as you are capable of laughing at yourself. But, woe to the one who takes offense. For if you cannot get along with me, you will most certainly learn how to get along without me, unwittingly banishing hope in the process. To forsake the very nature of me is to forsake merriment. Many a men have done that very thing, and almost all have lived to regret it. There is, however, one such tragedy which ended quite happily, and the tale ‘tis my favorite of them to recount. It all started on a country road in the foothills of the Tennessee mountains. Provos often took great pleasure in gliding around the sleek twists and turns of the roads carved into the solid sheets of bedrock abutting his property. He spent hours on sunny days winding through the terrain, letting the thrill of the ride purge his soul and center his spirit. During one such ride, Provos found himself stranded on a back road as the result of engine failure. After several futile attempts to start the engine, he surrendered in a flustered and swift motion which combined swatting his kickstand and dismounting his bike. Provos spent a few minutes trying to diagnose the problem, but he admittedly knew little about the inner workings of machines, preferring instead to simply enjoy their utility, so within minutes he resigned himself to the circumstance. Not wanting to leave his bike out in the open where others might be tempted to steal it, but seeing no wisdom in trying to tote it along on his unforeseeable trek toward help, he wheeled it to a clearing which had a cluster of trees in the middle of it and used several downed branches to camouflage his bike until he could return to it. Provos then began the journey toward the direction he thought was most likely the easiest access to the assistance he needed. It was at least a couple of hour’s walk, but there was a decent chance that he would pass someone along the way who would offer help and make the journey shorter. As it happened, I was traveling that same road, and was slated to the fated encounter the very same hour, so when we crossed paths, the event had already been on my radar for quite a few months, though the charade was of course, unknown to him altogether. “Hello, friend! Can I be of service? Is it that you perhaps need a lift?” I asked with an air of eagerness. “Hey man, yeah. My bike gave out on me a few miles back. Can you give me a lift into town?” His reply was cool and even. “Hop in!” I responded, rather coolly myself (in direct imitation, as is my nature.) I was sure to enjoy this fellow. He had pride oozing out of every orifice of his body. It was only a matter of time before I began to dismantle him and claim what remained. Oh what fun awaited me! We drove in silence for a few minutes. What a relief it was to not have to make much small talk. Such trifles can be taxing. However, my anticipation mounted as I awaited, somewhat impatiently, for him to speak. While small talk is useless, it is transitory, and necessary. He finally broke the silence and asked me what kind of engine my vehicle contained. I was amused by his question since I knew that he would fain to engage in such trivialities without any real inclination toward the topic. He was pleased by my uneducated response, which made him confident that he knew more than I about machines. The cockwomble was completely oblivious to my own vast expertise of machinations, and so, we continued happily, each with his own budding agenda. After several such strokes to his overly-inflated ego, my groundwork was laid. I immediately set to work, calculatedly retaliating against his latest statements. I spoke with vastly more knowledge in the area that he claimed to be so astutely studied in, and so to save face, he quickly retreated and back peddled. He did not handle it well. His offense of me was thick and obvious, but being in his vulnerable position of receiving help at my hands, he, of course, predictably repressed himself. It was such a rookie mistake; so contrived, and yet somehow still ingenuous. He was enigmatic, for his predictability was tapered by an intrusive je ne sais quoi. There was something about him that lingered; something that cut through the obvious facade and managed to project a quality almost resembling sincerity. To be quite frank, it surprised me, and unnerved me, and I’m not in the habit of either. So when I received this impression from him, I caught myself contemplating the nature of my prank. For, my follies are only ever and always enjoyable because they are directed toward those who would do likewise, had the power been granted to them, and all such creatures are without compassion. They are indeed quite incapable of the emotion. It is the lack of such a quality that makes it sensible for me to attain enjoyment from it all. Though Provos proved to be a conundrum, yet still, his pride was strong, his ego was heavy, and his weariness was great, therefore, I proceeded without hesitation. “Tell me Provos, what shall you do when you return to your bike and find it gone? The clearing is far enough off the road, and the branches did quite help conceal it, but nonetheless, it was evident the moment we saw you that you would abandon your otherwise beloved machine on account of the hardship of towing it.” It took him a moment to register that I knew his name. It took him a bit longer to process the rest of my words, but in mere seconds, his face paled a few shades and he turned and looked at me with an incredulity and a suspicious and guarded air. “What the hell are you talking about, man? How in the hell do you know my name? You been following me?” I replied as coolly as before. “Oh yes, quite. I’ve been following you for months now. I’ve seen the roads you take, and when you take them, and why. I’ve seen the arguments you’ve had with the people in your life and your selfishness for always seeing your own point of view and rarely, if ever, stepping into another’s. It’s quite entertaining. I’ve seen the decline of your soul, which has contributed to the decline of your life, and all the hopelessness that has ensued on account of it. However, I know enough about you to also disclose that you believe that you have no soul, and so then it should be of no consequence to you that I am about to offer to purchase it from you. What say you to this?” The joy of the words in these moments were always the catharsis that propelled me forward in the mire of humanity. To infringe upon the constructs of the ignorant mind who insists otherwise is the construct of my own device and the height of my own hubris. To challenge these mortals and beat them at their own game gave me great pleasure. It imparted the same euphoria to me that they extracted from their own victims in their miserable existence. Befitting, wouldn‘t you agree? These worker bees spend their whole lives collecting superiority as though it were pollen, all to serve their queen, or their prince, as it were, to their own demise. Ah, the ignorance of fools is delicious! My pleasure was somewhat thwarted in this moment, however, as Provos did something contrary to the nature of narcissism. Indeed, he did something that only someone touched by true love would be capable of doing. He broke the power of the illusion by humbling himself to truth. “Hey listen, man. I don’t know who you are or how you know all these things, but, it’s obvious that you’ve got my number. What exactly is it that you plan to do?” Provos was calmer than a man should be in his position. I had to think quickly. “Oh, such a simple exchange. You love things and you use people. I admire that trait and wish to purchase the soul that you don’t believe you have anyway. In exchange, I can offer you a fleet of motorcycles. None of them will ever get a scratch on them. Regardless of how much you ride them, they will remain immaculate. I know how much inner turmoil you suffer on account of those minor flaws in your paint detail. I know how you can’t sleep at night without obsessing for hours over them. I know how much time you spend meticulously poring over every inch of your bike in fine detail, in natural light, in your garage’s light, and with your work lamp, as well. Provos, tsk tsk, it’s a consuming illness. It steals your ride time, it steals the time you spend with others and it steals your focus to care about their problems. You have no room in your life for anything else. This will solve all of your problems. You need only to sign on the line my fellow, and all will be yours.” It was so simple. Collecting souls. Finding the weak link and then exploiting it. If you can convince them that the answer to their problems exists outside of themselves and their own selfish psychosis, then they’ll sign away the rights to their soul, because the selfish are short-sighted. They never invest in the idea of eternity. It’s the perfect crime. However, Provos hesitated. It was uncommon. Indeed, in my line of work, it was almost unheard of. I had to fill the silence. “I see you’re a man of wisdom. I shall sweeten the deal. I’ll throw in the deed to your house and property as well as an unending reserve of gasoline. Think of the benefit to that, my fellow!” Hook, line, and sinker!!! ...or so I had imagined. But still, Provos hesitated. He did not speak. I gave him time for his silence now, as I thought surely that he would come to see the beauty of my deal and decide for it. But, there is a limit to my own vision. I am bound by time, like the rest of you lot. Only once has this caused a hindrance for me, and it was upon this occasion. For what I had not anticipated was that Provos had recently met his true love, Kryptos. I had not known of it for he had concealed the matter even from himself, having been terrified of the prospect and having done all he could to sabotage the match, she’d all but disappeared from his life. But, ‘twas true love. And true love casts prints on a soul that change it. The seed plants itself inconspicuously and seemingly inauspiciously, and yet, a single ray of light and a single droplet of water will cause it to sprout and grow until it completely encompasses that which surrounds it. I had come too late. The seed had sprouted, even in that very moment. Provos spoke the words that vanquished me. “I’m not sure whether or not I have a soul. But, if I do, then it would be foolish to sell it to you. And if I don’t, then I don’t see why you’d be so eager to purchase it. So, no, I will not take your deal. Now what happens?” But as I stated, those words vanquished me, and so the construct of illusion quickly deteriorated and Provos found himself back on his bike, enjoying the roads he loved to drive so much, none the wiser to our encounter, but with the new thought of reconciliation in his mind, reconciliation with Kryptos, despite the humility it would require of him. He remembered nothing of the encounter with me, only the idea that his love for Kryptos must be real, for being willing to humble oneself is the pinnacle of love. And so, despite my best efforts, true love triumphed over me, my one sworn enemy. If you were to ask me who I am, I would be inclined to lead you astray, for I am fallibility.