<USS Avalon> Avalon- I Am That Wall

I Am That Wall

by Ensign Anthony Manson



I?m not one for words. I don?t talk to people much, and even less when there is 
a personal issue at hand. It?s not pride, it?s only because I feel like there 
is no need to involve other people in my internal problems. I don?t need help 
when it?s my problem. After all, isn?t the way to solve problems involving you 
and only you; be answered by you? That?s what I think. Besides it?s not as if I 
can?t handle my own issues. 

I was off duty, and it was nine thirty right now. The PADDs given to me I had 
manage to help the captain with; I had completed some. It wasn?t so much of 
hard work as it was confirming all the reports of power transfers, updated 
repairs, latest reports that needed to be placed into the computer for future 
reference. Not to mention the data taken from the runabout as the commander and 
myself were on our way to the Avalon. But they were long, and I was half way 
done by the time the night shift Ops officer took over. I filled her in what I 
was doing, and I left. No use lingering around, and if she needed help, she 
could simple call over the comm. 

As of this moment I was meditating. Well, not meditating, but checking up on my 
mental shields. It was a routine I did every three days to insure I didn?t find 
any "dents" in my impervious walls. I sat comfortably on the bed, legs crossed, 
arms relaxed. My eyes were closed, it always seemed better for me when I closed 
my eyes. Something about concentration and perception when you?re checking up 
on your mental stuff. It wasn?t really meditating, but it was something so 
close to it, I can?t really tell the difference. 

Trust and institute to teach you something close to meditating, make it seem 
like it is meditating, but end up not being meditating in essence. What a 
confusion; but it?s alright, considering that the matter at hand is that you be 
able to do it, not try to explain it to others.

Ironic, that what can?t be explained to me, can?t really work for me. So ever 
since I?ve been at this, I?ve always tried to get a better meaning out of the 
process. It was, after all, for my mental health. I always had trouble keeping 
my abilities from picking up thoughts from others; and also from blocking them. 
So in a way, I guess explaining this "meditation" would only add stress to 
agenda at hand.

And why wouldn?t I talk to anyone about this? Especially with another telepath. 
Simple, I wasn?t at all sure there was a telepath on this ship. So I wouldn?t 
be getting any help. And I don?t think a person without telepathic gifts would 
understand. Sure, they give you advice that may work. But until they themselves 
truly see how much work goes into it; the advice is appreciated, taken, but not 
used much at all. There are points to the advice- given by a person that 
doesn?t have telepathic abilities- that can be applied just as another telepath 
would advice you in. Such as, concentrate, keep a cool head, and relax. 

Beside, I don?t think I can explain the process of how I do this. it is hard. 
Too hard for me, but I can place it as a form of symbolism. It is the best way, 
and for me- the only way.

Imagine if you will a large wall you see yourself standing in front of. There 
is no sky, there are no trees. You are one person, and one person alone. The 
ground is like dark sand, dark enough that you would immediately feel 
intimidated by it. It would either make you run because of it?s un-welcoming 
presence or it would swallow you whole into a dark abyss. The skies are dark 
gray, so full and not a break in it?s entirety that you would think it was not 
just going to rain- it would pour. And as you see that wall, you wonder how 
you, one person, is going to go through that wall and see what?s behind there. 

But I am that wall. I am the wall that keeps out this lone person. I am the 
holder of this fortress. The holder of this mind. My mind. And to let even one 
person it would be one too many. And as I look out into the landscape before 
me, instead of one person standing there, there are maybe forty, fifty people. 
Some that are wide awake, thoughts flying through their mind as they complete 
whatever routine they had set upon themselves to fulfill. Some are relaxed, not 
worrying about anything at hand, but wondering what the next turn of relaxation 
might be. Would it be a tropical island with sunny skies, and clear blue 
waters? Or would it be snow, to add into that romantic or adventurous feel with 
the view of mountains that stretched forth into the skies? And some were 
asleep. Dreams that had a lot of hope, a lot of desire. And a lot of darkness. 
Dreams that are filled with sorrow. Dreams that could induce fear. Nightmares 
that could spill into the real world and stay that way letting you
 know that this nightmare would be harder to shake off.

And I felt all this. I could hear their thoughts, their emotions. Their hopes, 
their dreams, their anxiety, their tranquility. They pounded at my walls as if 
they were large catapults with messages that are begged to be heard. 

And as I was keeping withing those guidelines of relaxing in a physical state 
and concentrating on a "mental plane", I busied myself in finding any dents. If 
a crack in armor meant a weakness in it; it would mean the same thing in walls. 
My walls, as I perceive it, is a black wall that is seamless and runs around my 
entire mind to keep myself away from these strangers that stand in front of it. 
It stretches high. High enough to make even the most devout wall climber to 
give up simply by looking up. And as it would seem, these walls had dents in 
it. Dents that had been accumulating for the past few days. Dents that could 
turn into a serious problem if I didn?t "repair" them immediately. 

There is no way to describe "repairing." It?s just a concentration on that 
damage portion until the person feels that the "repair" is suitable. So I can?t 
tell you how that goes. But the image of the walls look the same now. All those 
little dents are gone. And new ones spring up. The best thing to do is to make 
the dents as small as possible by apply enough concentration and "strength" to 
the wall. The more strength the better, obviously; but the more also costed me 
in energy. I still had duties to fulfill. And tiring myself out constantly 
fixing my walls would be too much. Not only would it drain me, it would consume 
me. So why try it? There is no such thing as a perfect impervious wall, so why 
try at all? I may have said my walls were impervious, I never said it was 
perfect.

And there you had it. Most of the serious dents placed onto my walls were 
fixed. And new ones came around. No surprise there. But they are small, barely 
noticeable unless I tried really hard to detect it. I don?t need to try. I have 
repaired all the serious "dents," effectively made blocking less strenuous on 
myself, only to begin that process again in three days. See, there isn?t really 
anything to be concerned over. Think of it like eating, only not as often.

It?s hasn?t gone quiet. It never does go quiet. Those catapults are still 
there, pounding. But they are mere whisperings now. So soft that they are 
barely noticeable. In fact, some have stayed quieter, as if their attention was 
called elsewhere. All the better. 

I opened my eyes. It wasn?t nine thirty, or even ten. It was twelve. I had 
spent longer than I expected to and if the worst thing was three hours of lost 
sleep, I could live with it. I?ve had worst before. The Academy will let you 
know that first hand. And honestly, my long check up is also a good thing, my 
next one won?t be as long.

Hopefully. 



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