The One with Many Names

Originally from "The 1 Cent Show"

Jeffrey, his name was Jeffrey, only that it really wasn't. What was a name, after all? Jeffrey had many names. Today, he had decided to call himself Jeffrey, and right now he sat beneath the large oak tree. Every night, he would come out and sit beneath its large boughs, at the stump he would sit. This tree rested atop the crest of a small hill, encompassed by nothing but the large dome of a starry night sky. Jeffrey would come here every night, just as the sun would set beneath the horizon, and he would watch the moon rise. He didn't really enjoy this act he was destined to perform; in fact, he loathed it. No, Jeffrey did not enjoy looking at the moon, and he did not enjoy watching the sun fall to its nadir. Jeffrey much preferred the sunrise, even though he had never actually seen one. Someone else performed those duties. Yet obligation was a hard master, and Jeffrey sat here every night, watching the moon climb to its zenith. Jeffrey did not even enjoy looking at the stars; to him, they were just yesterday's moons. They were beautiful to some, but not to Jeffrey; to him, they would be akin to the beauty of a graveyard.

"An obligation to be here," he thought again, "that was the only reason he came." Every morning, he came to mourn the sun and guide the moon, at least watch over it. For this time was Jeffrey's morning; he held an unusual sleep schedule, the reverse of most others. Occasionally, he would wake early and catch a glimpse of the sun high in the sky. Yet unfortunately, the stolen glimpse would snuff out its brightness. He would always curse those days.

It was on those days indeed that he cursed himself, cursed his name. It was on those days that everyone cursed his name. Cursed, deplorable, hideous, they called him; he spoke worse of himself: vile, wretched, feared, repulsive. Those were all his names as well. What was a name? What is a name? He tried to counter those names with his own, names like Jeffrey, or Roger, Jason, or Frederick. Normal names, names with which he just might feel ordinary. But ultimately, it did not matter. Ultimately, he could change a name, but never a face. He liked Jeffrey; it was a favorite name of his, he'd never met one he didn't like. Alas, he'd never met a Jeffrey who had liked him. Very few people liked him, and those who met him would quickly change their opinions of him. He could change his name, he could add a façade, but it never mattered for he could not change himself. He was unmoving, unyielding, eternal; changing his name would not change him.

He had many names, many fake names, but also many real names. So, what was his name? Well, some called him Thanatos, some called him Hades, Orcus, the grim reaper. Most simply called him the name which he most loathed, Death.

The End