Virgil

The Beginning

All things start somewhere. Do I start when I was born? When I was created? Maybe begin when I start to realise my life wasn’t the norm? How do I start describing the events that led me to this space of perpetually functional disturbia? There are so many ways this could go wrong. I’ll start with the obvious.

There isn't a way I could be here without my parents. They did the deed that led to the creation of me. So even if I started at my birth, I would still have to include them. The foundation for the very core of me starts with them. So, it's as good of a beginning as any. Obviously, all I know of them before me is what I can piece together from what I've been told, so if you're expecting more detailed backstory, I don't have it. More importantly, it was the parents I knew who created me, so everything else isn’t directly related to my view of them.

This part won't be rather interesting, but that's due to no fault of my own. If you find it a bit drab, please trudge on through. I promise the boredom of my parents' beginnings will be swift, if not painless.

Mother

My mother was your typical overachiever. Straight A student. Never got into any trouble. Went to church every Sunday, was on every church board. Basically, any parents’ dream child. She always did what she was told, what was expected of her, and this travelled all the way through into adulthood.

As far as aesthetic beauty, she had long dark brown hair and blue eyes as clear as ice crystals. She was taller than the average female, about five foot nine, and had a voice that could charm anyone to her will yet was capable of becoming intensely venomous. There isn't much about her before-college years that would make her stand out amongst the rest other than her brilliance. In all things human. No shock that she went on to be one of the most successful psychologists/therapists of her age.

She probably over-loved herself into success with an infectious love, albeit fake, for life that most normal people are drawn to while still desperately seeking escape from. She was always punctual, and never missed a day of class. There was even one incident where she was so sick with the flu and refused to leave class. Security had to haul her out and risk infection. She fought them the whole way, shouting how nothing could keep her from the betterment of her life through knowledge.

As they were carrying her, she prayed God would force these demons to release her: both the flu and the security guards. Low and behold, she was good as new in two days with no lingering symptoms like normal people. This further cemented her belief that God was a miracle worker while simultaneously forgetting about all the antibiotics and vitamins she had been pumping into herself. Makes you question if she was smart enough to go to the doctor, what was she doing in class in the first place?

My mother also had the ability to break down the reasoning behind someone else's logic and reveal things about themselves they didn't know. She thought everything was a praying event. Eating. Waking up. Exams. Love. Relationships. Buying a new car. Passing a test. And should she actually fail at something in life, she would offer up a prayer that she would learn the lesson God set before her via this failure. Oh, and of course, breathing. When all else failed, which rarely happened, she could always pray thanks for life.

If it wasn't some campaign to help aid children with mental instability, it was Christian bowling and Christian movies. You know the type: clichéd plots where God solves everything in the end. With very little depth, plots are always about losing your way and focusing on things other than God. Movies with shit loads of contemporary worship music designed for youth and sung by young adults instead of teens, including very sub-par acting because digging deep into the depths of drama must be Satan's work or something. She did gospel campfires where you told parables (same as fables but different name because they're the Christian variety) and held prayer sit-ins. One of her favourites. An opportunity to stay up all night praying for all of mankind or whatever.

It was one of these sit-ins that lead to the next chapter in her life. But that I'll talk about later. She was against all things hate, like racism, discrimination, and the like; on the surface at least. And well, I'm done. There are no more ways I can say that when it came to being an upstanding citizen of planet earth, she was shooting for a perfect eleven. The woman could do no wrong–or so it seemed.

Father

I'm a bit tempted to just take what said about Mom and replace Mom with father. But that would be a bit disingenuous—if rather accurate. Let's just zoom through this. Straight A student. Model child. Sunday worshiper. Fascinated with the human brain and all things human in general. He ultimately came to the same success. Not as aggressive as my mom, but you couldn't tell that when they were apart. Since their ideas matched, it never really mattered who wore the pants at home.

He suffered from the same curse of beauty that she did. Skin the shade of the most deliciously sinful chocolate cake and brown eyes with a splash of hazel. A voice so deep and smooth it could make ice cream melt while simultaneously making humans quake by its power. And tall. Very tall. He had to be to create that perfect balance they always strived for. It would explain why my mother fell for him. He came in at about six foot five. Exactly seven inches taller than her, and the number seven was one of God's numbers. Basically, they were a match made in heaven. This math and their ridiculous passion for all things Christian made them believe that even more.

He also was trying to save—Oh, enough. Let's just say that they were almost identical in all ways. It's so bad that they both went to senior prom alone. As I was told, God was their date. The old me probably wouldn't see the humour in that; the me now can roll my eyes as I type it.

Recap: deathly genius, hopelessly devoted to Christ, and celibate. My father went through life upholding a certain amount of decency that even Jesus himself would be envious of. He didn't choose a Christian college because in his mind secular college was where God was needed most. He ran just as many events as my mom for both the psych majors and Christian stuff. If he and my mom were enemies, he would've been her toughest competition.

My dad was the type of man that took up cooking classes because he didn't believe in perpetuating gender roles. As such, I'm not a bad cook myself. Both he and my mom were culinary experts. Your body is the Lord's temple, he would say, and, The mind is the greatest weapon. With both in peak condition, nothing is impossible. Through Christ, of course.

He, like my mother, was against all things hate, like racism discrimination and the like. On the surface, again, but that will reveal itself in time. And I'm done. There are no more ways I can say that when it came to being an upstanding citizen of planet earth, he was shooting for a perfect eleven. The man could do no wrong—or so it seemed.

The Meeting

Though they had crossed paths on numerous occasions, nothing that would usually transpire between two adults in this game of attraction happened. It was mostly mutual respect. Besides even if they were the type to be weak enough to fall for such carnal animalistic instincts, they were way too busy saving the world. Combine that with their vow to make it to marriage without losing their purity. It would take an act of well, God, to bring them together.

As luck would have it, apparently, He did want them to be together, if you believe their version of things. As such, it is the only version I have, so I'm forced to relay it to you. My dad happened to be free one weekend and being so devoted to his cause in life, where else would he be spending a weekend if not studying and then having an all-night prayer pow-wow with fellow believers? So, to the hall my mom had secured for one of her prayer sit-ins he went.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened. No side glances. No smiles passed. No courting of the normal kind. All that happened was my dad studying quietly amongst the students before joining everyone. Prayer lasted from midnight until sunrise.

It was during the morning devotions that things got interesting. My mom was giving a very impassioned speech on how to rescue people from their homosexual addiction, and it turned into a question and answer discussion that got very, very interesting. I can't say heated because my mom didn't allow real arguments. She ran a tight ship. One of those people who said her word wasn't law, even though it was, and somehow managed to make others believe she was always right. This resulted in people going along for the ride of her thought train like mindless slaves completely oblivious to this truth.

My dad started helping with some answers and soon they were double-teaming the room, weeding out all opposition to their views. They managed to convince the students of their wrongness and convert them to their agenda with minimal effort. Some students begged for forgiveness of their evil thoughts. They both said that in that moment they knew that God was speaking to them and forming a union was his chosen path for their future.

It wasn't long before the courtship started. Their dates involved meetings and study groups, regular church outings, watching made-for Christian movies and evangelising. The type of stuff that is safe and wouldn't lead them down the sinful path of discovering if they were sexually compatible.

After a whole year of this, my dad finally popped the question. My mom said yes, and the rest is history. The wedding had a sermon instead of the typical do you take this man/woman, you may kiss the bride, till death do us part stuff. Apparently in their minds, even though they had no non-Christian friends, there was a possibility someone in the building might be straying, and as such there was an opportunity to stop someone from continuing off the path of God. Blah blah blah. This is too boring to continue with, so I won't.

Consummation

Their honeymoon was a tricky affair. They couldn't decide on a conference for child psychology or a Christian conference. Ultimately, they took a month out of their lives to go to both. Sex, well, they did that religiously every day. With nothing to go on, they assumed it was meant to feel the way that it felt. I'm assuming it was really bad sex, but this is based on my dislike for them. I do know they prayed for guidance before the first time.

Marriage solidified and consummated, they left the conferences and returned to the real world ready to take it by storm. If the world knew what was coming, it would've run before they mind-fucked the nation. As it was, no one was immune to their charms. Alone they were fierce. Together, downright unstoppable. It was after this that they started to become the parents I know today.

Success

Success came quickly. My parents made records in their field. Wrote a multitude of books on all sorts of issues. And most of their children's books, both Christian and academic, were critically acclaimed. They knew their stuff. The only thing they took a back seat in was the church. That was God's domain and as such the people in charge would give them positions if their help was needed. No shock that it almost always was.

As a couple and separately, they were on all radio and TV promoting their books. With the combination of their expertise, in both Christianity and psychology, they found themselves swimming in more money than they could ever spend. They built youth centres. Donated computers to schools. Fixed up parks in impoverished areas. The extent to which their arms reached even graced the president's doorstep a few times.

Once they went global, there was no stopping them. They were respected by all. When they weren't pedalling their views on unsuspecting humans, they were very good practising therapists. From time to time they donated their services as social workers and counsellors at local centres for children. The list of praise they received was endless. It's almost sickening to think of how much support and acclaim they received through their lives.

The two had a serious passion for children and never stopped trying to figure out why some were so damaged. Especially those who were obviously born that way. Why would God do such a thing? Was it even Him? How could they get to the root of the problem? And was it because of this that there were so many damaged adults. How do the ones born this way slip through the cracks and end up being murderers and such?

What made it so interesting, their success, is that their ideas and methods worked. Outstandingly well. There were very few points that other doctors in their field disagreed on. Few points other Christian scholars couldn't concur. They had somehow managed to make it into that ever so hard place to get into. That place where even your enemies will quote you. They were that good.

I sometimes wonder if they were different people then. Different from the parents who named me. When they were hunting down success, was their drive more pleasant than what I received? More genuine? I don't know. And I can never be sure. I can only assume that if people knew how they planned to learn more to advance their knowledge maybe they wouldn't have taken their early years so seriously. I do know that they always harboured this innate need to be in control; to rule the world without actually giving off ‘rule the world’ vibes. They had that sneaky, backdoor, puppet-string pulling kind of power control. And man, was their web strong. If you tried to escape their power, consider your life miserable until you accepted defeat.

As their fame rose, they became one name. An acronym really. J.A.R. Jonathan Ariel Robinson. Alone it was Mr. J.A.R or Mrs. J.A.R. It really hit the fan when celebrities started using their methods on their children. There was no way to escape them then. The power was there. The infiltration so deep no drill could ever reach it.

Now that they had made it this far, there is only one place for them to go. A place that they had been dying to go for so long. The real reason behind all this quest for power and the next step in their ultimate goal of understanding the human condition. As such, a plan so devious, so evil, so ridiculously brilliant in its menace was hatched.

Defiance

My parents went full throttle into their plan. They worked both morning and night for almost a year trying to bring to fruition what they wanted. It was the worst year of their life. They had never failed at anything. Still, even with all of their brilliance, the genius they had, nothing was working. They prayed to God daily and still nothing. And when the doctors told them that their chances were floating somewhere around twenty percent, they really began to despair. What if they failed?

No. There was no 'what if.' This is what they were put on this earth to do. This was their destiny. They were going to trust in their Lord that it just wasn't time. As it always seemed to happen in their life, about three months later, they received the answer to their prayers. Since then, I've come to the realisation that their life was full of perfectly timed coincidences. There's just no way they could be on the brink of despair only for them to get what they want. What are the odds of everything that you pray for coming true? All the time? It's uncanny.

So, they were both sitting, waiting to hear what they already knew. They had no doubt that this would succeed even though the odds were still stacked against them. They were willing to tempt technology and put full faith in their ability to beat the odds, and boy, were they difficult to beat.

My mother was in and out of the hospital for months. Lots of blood loss, near death experiences, pain. So much pain I can't begin to describe just how painful it was. Yet onward and forward they went. They documented every bit of it, including their prayers during the rough times and their over-optimism during even harder times. This day by day vlog of their journey went viral. They had millions of followers.

The doctors tried to tell my parents it was killing them, and they should terminate. But they refused to do anything against their beliefs even if it would save a life, namely my mother's. The weeks started to roll into each other as things got worse and worse until finally, the day came. It was a clear day as my mom, firmly believing she would live even though everyone told her she would not, was rushed to the hospital. My mom, a fighter, my dad, a believer, and together they were going to will survival into existence. Crazy. But if anyone could do it, it would be them.

There was a lot of screaming, and a lot more blood. A few times my mom passed out, and she cried the entire nine hours and eleven minutes of it. And then it happened. She blacked out, and the hospital room got frantic. My mom went into a coma and was losing a lot of blood. This was most definitely the end.

After the doctors managed to stabilise her condition, my dad put the camera on the tripod and took her hand believing firmly that she would live. Didn't even shed a tear.

It was four days before my mother woke up. She was in so much pain that she screamed before opening her eyes. Tubes were running out from everywhere. The doctors informed her that her heart stopped twice. But the third time they managed to stabilise her. She looked at her husband and nodded. To them, it was never an option that she wouldn't make it. I do believe they willed her survival into existence. I refuse to say that God had anything to do with it.

Once she had gained enough strength to sit up on her own, she finally saw the fruits of her labour. She took it into her arms and saw the one thing she knew she was meant to do. Create. Bring forth. Be fruitful and multiply. A precious baby boy. Ezekiel Amos Robinson. Yes, I know you thought it would be me. But I'm not coming for a while yet still. This is my older brother. The miracle child. He's the special one. Even though this is my story, he's still the one that deserves the title of greatest human ever. And not our parents.

The whole hospital ordeal was documented for the entire universe to see. The story of how they looked death in the face and won was inspirational. It was unheard of. Some people thought they were bat-shit crazy and should've aborted the child. Others lauded them for not taking a life. Then there were those who found the topic of killing someone to save yourself worthy of intellectual debate in and out of the classrooms.

I wish I could've been there to see my brother as a baby. Unknowing of the role he would ultimately play in my life. In the life of the world. Greatness had been born. My parents knew this from the moment they set eyes on him. And so they set about grooming him into that greatness, in the only way that they knew how: by commanding force and unbending will. The results were all that they expected but not what you might expect. Their experiments into the human mind had now left other homes and walked right into their own.

The Normal Days

There was a time when my family could be categorised as normal. Unfortunately, I was not here for those times. I'm actually in severe doubt of their existence as it's more likely my parents were just biding time before revealing their true nature. The set up before the emergence of divine evil. But that doesn't really matter. What is important is that they appeared normal. These were the ‘showing off the son’ days. The getting excited about how fast he was growing considering how weak he was at birth. The 'isn't God good to give us such a blessing' days.

These days were full of first-time parent stuff. Trips to the park stuff. The occasional throw-up on the shoulder and pee in the face during a diaper change. It was sleeplessness and hectic, and they loved every single minute of it. Mostly because they were dying to practice all the shit they preached in their books on their own child and not just other peoples’. There's no doubt in my mind that they saw raising a child as another