Preamble - Lucien Dorian St. Hill Autobiography

There was an ancient saying in my family,
“Dunmharu an Demon la ata inniu ann, aghaidh a thabhairt ar an diabhal amarach.”

Which translates to “Kill the demon today, face the devil tomorrow.”  Yet even as you rejoice at the grave of your opponent, you can't help but wonder, was that demon alone?  Or do you have any other deadlier foes to face?  And though you celebrate your apparent victory in battle, have you won the war?  So we must prepare to victor over our opponents.  But first, we must tend to our wounds, starting with the deepest.  Some say the tunnel of time will mend all mortal injuries, but the more significant the loss, the deeper the cut, and the more severe the process to become fully healed.  The scars may fade, but they serve as a reminder of our apparent suffering and make the bearer all the more determined never to be put down again.  So as the passage of time moves along, we get lost in an optical illusion of paradise.  When we find out that the very same paradise we fought to achieve existed not, we were frustrated, we gave in to anger, and acted out in aggression, and all the while while I plot and plan, as I wait to heal, before I know it – the time has passed.  My wounds will be no more, I will be ready to embark on a journey, and determined to begin, anew.  From despair to enlightenment.  My story begins on the 9th of September, 1799 – a little more than 216 years ago.  I was born Lucien (Aherne), I took my mother's maiden name – as I did not know who my father was, I was born into slavery, life was rather boring.  I took immense pleasure in glorious murder, and since security faltered back in those days, I got away with it.  Do I regret what I did? Perhaps, - but my actions then gave me what I thought was a gift; immortality – it seemed to be a curse for the first few decades.  But you get used to it, being an eternal one.  You see, I cannot die,   well I can, but what's the point of death?  You will go away unloved, pathetic, your life will be average, wasted.  Contrary to popular belief, life never gets boring, sometimes you have immense lows, and to cure my boredom and lows, I traveled the world, and after that, I took it upon myself to start a new hobby; drinking.  I mainly devoured high percent alcohol beverages.

You have no idea what it is like to awaken to need to commit an act of violence.  You cannot imagine what it’s like to walk through the moist and midnight streets of a city praying that you would find a lone person whom you might kill … and yet another part of you praying that you would NOT find such a person, for fear of what you might do.  That is probably a dismaying or even offensive statement for most.  Be patient with me as I take you into a world where few have ever trod.  It helps to understand where I came from in order to appreciate what Christ can't do for people—and more importantly, what Jesus Christ can do for people.  I would awaken from sleep, craving the to commit an evil deed, just as the cigarette addict arises fumbling for the pack of smokes beside his bed. My awakening was different from most, in that I awoke in the late afternoon. I had arranged a schedule, and quickly became addicted to narcotics to hide the most unfortunate fact of my life: that I can not die by mortal means.  Normally, I would awaken in a small, closet-like bedroom, laying down on the cold by paintings I've drawn and collected in the long march of of time.
I needed death! While other sinful people craved sexual activity, alcohol or drugs, I was only interested in people's femoral arteries. My life was lived in near darkness, and I worshiped at the shrine of the lies of human kind.   I believed that these mere mortals were gradually turning me into an immortal being who would live forever, they did, and that is the consequence of the actions in the following chapter.  How could any human being come to such a place? How could a person become so deprived of the goodness of life, and take in the narrative of evil that they needed to live on human sin?  The answer to that question lies in this book — in my true story of a person caught in a trajectory of evil from which there is no escape, except through Jesus.

One may say the tunnel which controls all time will mend all injuries.  But the more significant the loss, the greater the cut and the demanding the procedure to become complete again.  The torment may diminish, but the faded scars will prompt you to remember the agony endured and it will make the bearer all the more determined never to be hurt again.  But as we move along, we get lost in the paradox of life, we act out in frustration, we conduct our behavior in violence and give in to the anger within, while at the same time, we wait, longing for time to pass along as we become stronger, but before you know it – you are whole again; healed.  Ready to commence, eager to have victory in every aspect of this life.  In every moment an alternative option exists.  We can hold on to that which we know, or embark on a journey, anew, and embrace the inevitability of chance, and allow a rather more glorious story to unfold before our very eyes.  However, as it is an uncertain future, uncertain actions will ensue.  Either way, chance is unavoidable, but there will always be a tomorrow.  Even if it seems to be as petty as a speck in a vast galaxy, tomorrow is forever.  But inevitability strikes fear in some, even you.  Perhaps the most important question is: will you control the demon within, or will it control you?

Here is a true masterpiece by William Blake:

       I was angry with my friend
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow
And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
- “A Poison Tree” - William Blake