On the grassy knoll, the people gather. United in common purpose, they laugh, dance, and sing along, off-key. Their tickets are checked before they enter, but once inside, they are part of the chosen. United in common purpose, they sit, stand, and settle in to watch something magnificent. The performers take the stage- the first of them. The night does not begin with the promised singers, their voices and words renowned across the land. It begins with the newcomers, screaming into an uncaring night, into blank faces with their ears waiting on their promised reward. United in common purpose, the audience listens- they are drawn in, distracted from the revel by the unexpected beauty of something unexpected- but they are united in common purpose. The bards take the stage, one at a time. They shout their names, their dreams, their stories at the gathering of humanity. The hill absorbs their sound, the receptive earth accepting this violence against the soil. United in a common purpose, the haggard listeners sing along, and along, and along. The performance carries on, the players of the parts changing places until the band is unrecognizable. In concert, united in a common purpose, everybody enjoys the music.
Month: December 2020
Crushed underneath the hammer in the crucible by the clearsmith with the limp, the hailstones gathered moisture and began to drip drip drip. They melted as they smelted in a facsimile of alchemy. The master swung hard, a grisly application of his extra strength. The claustrophobic workspace encouraged a faster pace. With extra motivation, he pursued his grand ambition. Crash, gnash, smash- so the tools say. The crystalline structure, with steam rising off in waves. It allows the water to peel off, from the spear of ice. Spear and sword alike, a glaive that changes size, shape, and kind. As the night approaches a later hour, the clearsmith begins to flounder. Left with nothing else to ponder, the craftsman starts to wonder: in a crucible of heat and metal, is evaporation fundamental?
“I’m sorry for letting this happen. I should have ended it before it began.”
“That’s not what you were saying last night.”
“We exchanged fluids, but not an ounce of romance.
“That was a whole lot to dump on me before noon. I’m barely awake! Park, scarf down some eggs and bacon. De-stress.”
“…surprisingly enjoyable.”
“Aw, you’re making me blush. I’ve never heard anything so completely over-the-top before. I’ll die of your praise.”
“It’s inimical to cultivating something healthy, or halfway functional. You’ll need therapy after what my cocktail of mental illness, unsavory habits, and- God knows, you don’t deserve this mess.”
“I drove twenty miles past midnight when you broke down on I-95. Maybe I don’t deserve that, but I damn well wanted to do it!”
“Your instinct to mend every broken bird’s wing-what are you doing now?”
“Out. Out, that’s what you want, right, want me to leave, storm off like I’m a kid and you’re the mom because then you get to say ‘told you so’! Not like I can leave anyway, or you’ll pull out the contact tracing charts. Screw you, lover boy. And your little dog, too.”
“He’s not my pet, primarily-”
“Our pet! See, this is why Rach stopped hanging out with us.”
“Please, explain. How is your tiff with your friend my fault?”
“Argh! Shut up and just- I’m here because I want you! I love you! Why are you the dumb one when you majored in Faulkner or Aristotle or whatever?”
“Prosperity and comfort don’t make a home. You’ve been unhappy.”
“Sure, I have! We’re stuck together in this pressure cooker because someone wanted to hold onto our UST more than he wanted to fuck his boyfriend.”
“Girlfriend.”
“God, I know you didn’t just correct me for misgendering myself. This is about your ‘sexuality crisis’, isn’t it, well, maybe I used to be your girlfriend and now I’m your boyfriend. Just because I was always- I heard myself, don’t put on your ‘well, actually’ face. Used to be boyfriend, now girlfriend. This is the problem, is that when I try to acknowledge the positive, you make sure I know where the negative is, even though we’re both living through the same pandemic! Let me slip up, trip up, say the wrong thing- nobody is judging you! It’s you and me and God and I’m not that sure about the last one!”
“Should I attempt to lighten the mood with a joke about Continental philosophy?”
“Hah. Thanks.”
“I am sorry. I don’t believe my assessment is unsupported by the evidence, but I apologize for bringing it up now. We can defer the decision.”
“Yeah. We’re not breaking up. We’re not on a break. We’re thinking, and- and waiting- we weren’t even together. It’s like Schrodinger’s dating. We still live together. I just- I am not being broken up with over breakfast I made for you in our shared apartment. We can figure it out after.”
“Speaking of what happens after, I finished planning the post-COVID vacation. Let me show you the slideshow.”
After the first lump of coal, Thousand did not question anything. It wasn’t that she saw no value in compassion, or kindness, or other traditional virtues. It was that the statistics promised little chance of redemption. With just a bit of arcane struggle, a crack snapped the chunk of carbon repeatedly. All that was left was a black powder that she could use to fill in the stencil. She opened the drape and cast the prayer. No, it was not that she was unwilling to do what was right. In fact, her recent actions had been so far outside her comfort zone that it wasn’t funny.
(Photo by Nikolay Kovalenko | Colin Viessmann)
Intermittent acts of violence, widespread fraud, and a loose understanding of consent had marked the past several months. She hadn’t made a decision she could be proud of in even longer than that. If there was anything left of her soul, it lay sodden with the blood she had shed- through action and inaction alike. Thousand did not question anything; she knew that now all she could do was win. There was no chance of playing fair. She sent lumps of coal, now, instead of receiving them, and watched as the recipients were slowly overwhelmed with luminescence.