The Restless Soul of Samson Ropa

Then Samson reached toward the two central pillars on which the temple stood, And he bent with all his might so that the house fell on the rulers And everyone in it. (Judges 16:29)

Samson Ropa laid on the ground, and stared up at the sky. As he looked around him, the sun gleamed through his glasses and burned his pupil. He felt at peace, as though no one could take his happiness away. He started to rise, still just living in the moment. Then he was knocked out of it by a right-handed punch to the side of the head. The punch wasn’t that hard, but it was hard enough to knock him back to the ground. Samson didn’t know why he was getting hit, but what really pissed him off was that he couldn’t hit back.

Samson had always hated his school, but for different reasons than it just being school. He had hated the things that school encouraged and pushed on kids. If a student was a little more energetic than other kids, then the staff wouldn’t hesitate to test him, diagnose him, and give him pills for ADD. However, if a student was being energetic and disruptive in class, a teacher would call the parent and inform him. The parent would punish him anyway he wanted, and tell him that he needed to pay attention. The student would never misbehave in that class again.

It was the same scenario for Samson’s current situation. If he was in a school fight about 40-50 years ago, the two boys would brawl it out, and after on won, they would give each other solemn respect, and might even become friends. However in this day and age, boys couldn’t fight, at least they weren’t allowed to. If someone started to harass you, you were supposed to let them. “If you don’t give them attention, they’ll leave you alone,” is what his teacher had said. If you fought back, you were equally responsible. And even if you tried to inform someone that you had been wronged, it was usually a case of your word over his. It was especially difficult if the accused is Stein Namare, an honor student who knew how to hit someone without leaving a mark.

So Samson just laid there and let Stein throw a few more punches. Then Stein got off of him and took a knee next to his head. With a soft voice, he asked Samson if he knew why he had done that. Samson shook his head, and then groaned when he felt a sharp pain in his neck. Stein sighed. He started to tell him, but his voice had masked by the ringing in Samson’s ears. All he could make out were a few words, but the name ‘Delilah’ stuck out more than any. This had infuriated him, because he had finally realized what he had done wrong.

Delilah was Stein’s girlfriend, and probably the biggest b***h in Rockefeller High. Samson had turned a corner into his class and ran into Delilah, causing her to drop her books and fall back. Apparently she had told Stein this, and he decided to teach Samson a lesson. This was that Samson had to walk into school feeling like one walking broken bone. Why he had been late to class. Samson had to just sit there while the teacher scolded him, While everyone stared, and while Stein had smiled from across the room.

After the bell rang, he ran into the bathroom and locked the stall. He just sat there for a bit, thinking about his life, his family, and how much none of it mattered. He needed someone to talk to, someone to guide him in a different direction. He looked in his bag and pulled out a white business card. He couldn’t remember where he got it, but he never asked. It was quite bland; all it had was an address and the word’s, ‘Need Some Advising?’ in blue.

As Samson left the building, he plugged the address into his cell phone’s GPS, and found that the address was only a few miles out. When he stepped inside, he was greeted by an empty waiting room and smiling clerk. She called me over and asked me my name. He told her almost immediately, as if she had pulled the words out of his throat. She typed it into the computer, and told him take a seat. As Samson walked towards one of a dozen chairs, he realized that she hadn’t even asked him why he was here, or who he was here to see. Then an odd looking man stepped out of one of many doors and called him in. He reminded Samson of a writer. As he walked in, the man shut the door softly. “Now,” he said. “Let’s begin,”

Samson stepped out of that room about an hour later, feeling as though he had stepped into a new body, with his old body still sitting on the cushioned chair in the Advisor’s office. He never told Samson his  name, but there was a sheet of metal with the word ADVISOR engraved in it at the front of his desk.

When he got home, there was no greeting, no, ‘How was your day?’. Just a grunt from the living room telling him to close the door. He went into his room, laid on his bed, and thought about what the Advisor said to him.

It seemed as though nothing that this man could say was wrong. Every idea, every statement, everything made sense when it came from his mouth. Samson had agreed to everything with a nod and a smile, and asked if there was anything he could do. Samson was told that he could think it over if he wanted, giving him choice, but it was as if he lost all free will when the Advisor gave him the idea. So Samson obliged, and started to plan.

Samson sat in his car before he walked into the school with this bag propped up on his lap. He slowly breathed in, waited, and then out. Then he unzipped his bag and pulled out the M9. He checked the clip and counted fifteen rounds. He opened his glove compartment, and left a note that he had written the night before in his room inside of it. He zipped up his bag, and started on his way towards the school. This was the only solution he thought to himself. There wasn’t a sliver of doubt in his mind. For the first time in years, he had walked into school with a smile on his face.

Author's Note

This story is linked with two of my other stories, "Hero in the Night", and "Skin and Bones". These are sort of prequels, or chapters, to another story I'm working on right now. Please rate!
-Noah