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| I LOVE telling stories!! This is my serious story-telling face. |
THE BEGINNING OF THE END
He lay his head in his hands and rubbed his temples. His office was stuffy from the rousing fire in the hearth but he refrained from opening the window. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to mentally remove himself from his conundrum and look at the situation from a more removed perspective.
Around him, the knick-knacks, paperwork, instruments, volumes that filled the massive bookshelves sat watching him. the portraits of grandfather and the rest of the patriarchs – all glaring at him: “Well? You've been given an extensive education, what is the decision?”
“Huh?.. Huh?.. Huh?..” the clocks chimed in like a chorus of metronomes.
He abruptly stood, grabbed his heavy robe, threw sand in the hearth, and left his things to their own chatter.
He paced the long, stony hallway, the cool air clearing his head, but nothing came. He stood staring out one of the windows that banked the hallway.
The snow was falling. How could ice be so graceful? All the scientific explanations could never explain the pacifying effects of snow. He opened the window and reached out his hand. The snowflakes landed on his palm and melted before his eyes. This somehow depressed him and he closed the window. His problem, he decided, was that he spent entirely far too much time alone.
The snow was falling. How could ice be so graceful? All the scientific explanations could never explain the pacifying effects of snow. He opened the window and reached out his hand. The snowflakes landed on his palm and melted before his eyes. This somehow depressed him and he closed the window. His problem, he decided, was that he spent entirely far too much time alone.
“Excuse us, my dears” Viktor said with a small bow.
They reluctantly left to entertain themselves.
“Well, well, look who decided to join the rest of the world?”
“Yes. Well. We can't all be... conquistadors”
“True” replied Viktor, “what brings you down here to interrupt my performance? What genius plot have you concocted to remedy the situation?”
“I haven't. That's why I'm here. I'm stuck. And I was hoping, well, I thought maybe a fresh perspective is what I need”
Victor nobly leaned back in surprize, “my perspective, you've come to seek out my perspective... well, well, well. This is a delightful proposition. I think you are coming around to true enlightenment, Oscar.”
“Yes. Well,” Oscar sighed as he entered the room and settled into the couch “desperate times call for desperate measures”
“Indeed they do” agreed his brother as he joined him on the other end of the couch, “now then. What are we dealing with?: the glue that held everyone together has melted away and we are left with chaos. Anarchy...
“So, then what is the origin of this distention.... when did it all start to fall apart?”
The two of them sat staring into the flames, the crackle and pop of the wood stirred up flurries of sparks like tiny solutions that faded too quickly to be grasped.
“So we gave them kings and countries to fight for. And we gave them commerce and free enterprise to provide goals and quests - motivation. But still,” Viktor's eyes narrowed “the artists and the philosophers... they kept questioning, doubting, tearing our structures apart, seeking for more... for things we cannot give them!” He crossed to the decanter and half filled a small glass in annoyance, “I am so sick and tired of being held responsible for humanity's problems.”
“Hmm. Yes. Well, what is the remedy then?” Oscar posed gravely.
Viktor walked to the large hearth and swooped up the poker. He poked at the smoldering wood dissolving it to ash and moved the un-charred timber over the coals.
“The remedy, my friend, is to go back and prevent the last wave of dissent.”
“Wait, wait, no. go back? Viktor, we can't do - “
“It's the only way, Os. By creating such a king, such a charismatic emperor, the likes of which the world has never seen. We then have unflinching loyalty of the people, peace and order reign again, and you can learn to enjoy yourself for once. The glory days, my friend. All we have to do is go back and prevent that last wave of rebellion.”
“The last wave?”
“The denouement, if you will,” Viktor stared darkly into the fire, lowering his voice “the final unravelling - the 20th century.”
NATURAL SELECTION
Morning in May. Fog consumed Munich. A man stood quietly sketching on the bridge overlooking the river. He wore his army uniform without a coat – immune, so it seemed, to the chill.
Out of the fog emerged a tall dark figure with a top hat. His silhouette gloved in a black overcoat of exceptional tailoring.
Silently, the man stalked the young artist, who sat immersed in his landscape. And what a fine landscape – each blade of grass, every ripple of water – the simple lines of pencil culminating into a living, breathing moment.
The man in black stood observing over the artist's shoulder. He leaned in close to the man's neck and inhaled deeply, slowly savoring the intimate moment between them. He took a step back.
The artist turned round, his large brown eyes anxious, defensive. But, upon seeing the dark man in his fine coat and gentleman's hat, a peace fell over him. He lowered his pencil, and gave a deferential nod of good-morning.
The tall figure stood there for a minute, taking in the soft depths of this man's chocolate eyes, so sensitive, so vulnerable, so melancholy. In those eyes were the sights they had recorded, sights of battle, mutilation, destitution, sights that may not have so profoundly effected the average pair of eyes. Oh how delicious, those eyes. They were a great work of art in themselves. Oh yes, this man will do, thought the gentleman.
The gentleman reached his gloved fingers into his coat and drew out a business card.
“At your discretion,” he stated simply. He touched the brim of his hat in good-morning, and silently disappeared once again into the fog.
Looking down at the card in his hand, the artist read “Society of the Philosophical and Esoteric, 13 Germersheimer Str.”
That evening, the artist knocked confidently on the door of 13 Germersheimer Str. He didn't know why he was there, only that there was something about the tall man that morning that put him at ease. And ease was not a feeling he had experienced in a long time. Perhaps he would find brotherhood, perhaps the men here would be just the kind of friends he had been looking for his whole life – men who were passionate about their country, men with high moral standards, men who embodied what it was to be German.
There was nothing notable about the entryway, the single door was black with a brass knob and knocker. The sun had just set, leaving the world chilly and dim.
The door opened, but no one remained to introduce themselves and show him in. Shivering in the doorway, he shrugged and stepped into the abyss.
It was a plain, dark hall. Footsteps echoed down a stairwell ahead so he followed them to the basement. There he met another blackened hall. A candlelit room opened to the right, and what he saw was...
“Adolfo” said the gentleman enticingly, “come in and shut the door, my friend. You don't mind if I call you Adolfo, it is a most sentimental and endearing name. Come.”
Adolfo stood in the doorway with wide eyes. The walls and ceiling were covered in oriental scarves leafed with gold. There was an armoire full of small objects behind the gentleman and a table to the right covered in golden statues and exotic fruits. Various vessels of incense filled the room with smoke. There were twelve men besides the gentleman standing six to each side of a large table. They were all dressed in hooded cloaks that obscured all but their hands.
“Come and join our brotherhood. We have been looking for a man like you, a man with your skills, with your... passions. We have been searching for a man such as you to fulfill the great prophecy. Are you this man?”
Adolfo stared. Was this a dream? No, no the gentleman's voice echoed in the room and rang in his ears, it was as though his whole life had been a dream and this moment was his awakening. How did this man know him – know his heart?
The gentleman laughed, a deep all-encompassing laugh, ”I know your heart because it is destiny. Will you keep it waiting?”
Adolfo stepped forward into the room, drawing upon his courage and his pride, “No... I mean yes, I mean, I will not keep it waiting,” he replied finally able to meet the gentleman's gaze.
“Good. Sign here” he pushed a piece of paper towards the artist. The man standing directly to his left procured a pen, and he signed. The same man on his left collected the pen and paper, and Adolfo was lifted up onto the table.
Chanting began as they circled the table. Adolfo didn't understand what they were chanting. Either they were mad or he was. But the smoke became intoxicating and the chiming bells and the vibrations of the deep voices reverberated in his chest, pounding out a new heartbeat, driving out all sense.
Time seemed to stop and go on forever, sound blurred together, until he was traveling very quickly through somewhere unknown and everything he thought he knew dissolved into dust...
THE GATHERING PLACE
The next thing Adolfo knew, he found himself in the woods. These were of course no ordinary woods. It was night. Overhead, the stars twinkled and danced. The trees seemed also to twinkle, and only after inspection were his suspicions confirmed; the trees were made of the purest silver. He recoiled and turned about, the forest swirling into a scintillating carousel of demonic foliage. Where is this place, he cried out to the heavens, where have they sent me, and why and for how long?
Disoriented and nauseous, Adolfo plopped to the ground – thankfully carpeted in regular, ordinary grass. His breath puffed out in ragged clouds. He shivered and rubbed his arms. It was then he noticed a path at the edge of the glenn, and without hesitation, he got himself up and started down it.
It was a pleasant walk, after one got accustomed to the ambiance of metallic trees. They were quite luminous, like walking in a garden of candelabras. After a time, he came to a stream which was narrow enough to leap across. On the other side of the path, the forest continued but the trees here were made of pure gold. Adolfo had never seen so much splendor. It was all together a pleasant place, here and there a small bird took flight, a rabbit scampered into a golden thicket.
And after a time strolling through the golden forest, he came upon yet another stream. He leaped, but miscalculated the distance and landed ankle deep in the water. How curiously warm the stream was. It was a most luxurious sensation, this warm stream. Resuscitating his shoe as all the water drained out of it, he surveyed the path ahead to find before him a forest of crystal - no no these were diamonds! Adolfo continued slowly, in awe of what he saw before him. There was surely not a more enchanted place in all the world!
And as soon as he had found himself in the woods to begin with, he found himself standing before the gentleman.
“My friend. We meet yet again.”
The gentleman wore a fine crimson smoking jacket lined with black satin. He sat upon a cushioned chaise in a gazebo of polished marble among the majesty of the shimmering trees; a rather ominous figure for such etherial settings. “I see you did not find the bridge” he commented, looking down at Adolfo's wet leg.
“Where is this place?”
“Where indeed. It is nowhere, and that is why it is a most suitable gathering place for meetings such as these.” The gentleman got up and started down the path. Adolfo followed.
No one can say exactly what they spoke of while walking through the forest of diamonds, but one can only guess that the gentleman spoke of the future and the fate that would befall man because of disorder and disunity.
Finally, the gentleman stopped and turned to look into Adolfo's eyes. “I have traveled far and wide, searching, searching for a man who could rise above this madness. A man with your talents.”
“But how can I be who you want, with all my passion, I have done nothing but follow the orders of greater men!” Adolfo blurted out.
The gentleman, eyes twinkling with mirth, drew up the back of his hand and tenderly brushed Adolfo's face, “oh my son, you have the gift of sight, the gift of seeing essence beyond form, and that is all that is required. The question for you to answer – for yourself – is are you ready? Are you ready for your new life, the life you have suffered so long to deserve? Suffered so that you could bring a new age to man kind. Shhhh, no no, do not utter a word, give me your answer at the end of the evening.”
They now stood at the edge of the diamond woods, facing another gazebo just as the first, but much much larger. Both floor and ceiling were populated with twinkling chandeliers casting rainbows on the smooth marble. Settees of silk, trays of rich food, and a fine party of musicians played to a bouquet of ladies in taffeta and lace.
Together, the men ascended the steps. Adolfo had never seen so many breathtaking ladies. Some were young, some mature, some tall some small, some voluptuous some slender, and everywhere in between. He quickly downed a flute of champagne and fell into the eager arms of the nearest woman. Round and round and round he went, he must have danced with every single girl. His first partner was older and statuesque, she glided with graceful strength, mystery reflected in the emerald depths of her eyes. His second bounced around with pure sweetness, a bubbling brook, fresh spring day. Another was a spitfire with flaming hair, dueling him with witty repartee, cachinnating with delight at his replies.
The gentleman sat on the periphery, sipping champagne, putting back canapes and truffles, his toe keeping time to the music.
After what must have been hours, rosy faced and glistening with mirthful perspiration, Adolfo returned to his friend, collapsing boyishly onto the settee. The gentleman passed him a flute of champagne and an assortment of canapes.
“Enjoying ourselves?” he asked rhetorically. The young artist seemed to radiate with joy, causing the gentleman to feel a tinge of jealousy. How easily men find joy over the simplest merriments. How childish they are, how base. But then he looked into the man's face and saw that beyond the twinkle in his eyes lived a great loneliness, a great desolation.
“Walk with me” he stated simply. And the artist quickly swallowed the rest of his drink and followed.
They walked for a bit in silence, the peace and enchantment of the wood settling into them once more. The gentleman stopped and caressed a nearby branch lovingly. Then, to the artist's horror, he snapped the branch from the limb of the tree and held it out for the artist.
“Take it, it is my gift to you. I have taken a particular liking to you Adolfo. Together, nothing can stand in our way, no one can stop us from returning rightful glory to this dying world.”
Adolfo tentatively reached out in disbelief. The gentleman didn't let go, instead he moved closer. He could smell the champagne, the strawberries, the mirth. He could smell Adolfo's rapture and see it in his shining, innocent eyes. The gentleman slowly descended upon his lips, his hands squeezed the man's shoulders. He towered over him, pulling Adolfo under him, entering inside, tasting his prey. Tasting the loneliness and fear after years of hardship, tasting the despair. He drank deeply from the pools of his sadness, his isolation, his hopelessness. Then finally, the grand finale, his self-loathing. Reluctantly, the gentleman eased up, savoring the soft moist strawberry scented lips and gracefully stepped back.
Adolfo clung to his little tree branch not sure what had occurred. He blinked and could see that the gentleman stood before him completely unruffled, so he followed suit.
They continued strolling down the path together. “So what will your answer be, my Adolfo” the gentleman casually asked.
“Yes, of course yes, and a thousand times yes!”
“Well then, we had better get started.”
Adolfo woke suddenly and found himself lying on a park bench overlooking the river where he had been painting earlier. It was cold and dark, he felt light as air, euphoric. Seeing the morning star on the horizon, he sucked in an icy breath, and ran back to base.
PERFECTING THE HUMAN RACE
“Ta-dah!” announced Viktor, flinging the doors to the great room open, “the prodigal son returns.”
No one greeted him in the great room. How very anti-climactic; Viktor disliked a grand entrance wasted. He swiftly departed for Os' study.
The sunlight streamed through the tall windows flanking the hall, but the door to his study lay wide open and no one inside. Where else could he be?
He wasn't in the garden, nor the kitchen, dining hall, dueling room, or the stables. And all the horses and cars and helicopters and other modes of transportation were quietly standing by, so he hadn't left. Where on earth...?
Viktor went up to change and shower. Passing by Oscar's room, he peeked inside. Os never lazed about in his room during daylight hours, and yet there he was, or what used to be Os.
“Brother?” Viktor peered into the room timidly, “What... what happened to you?”
Oscar was inaudible from the great mass of down on his bed. He was merely a shadow, a ghost. Even Viktor knew that they were not invincible. They would cease to exist if the people forgot them.
Viktor gave a guttural cry of frustration “How can they be forgetting you?! I can't believe this! Every act of generosity on our part has only made the people more unhappy, has only added fuel to their demands that we compensate for their inadequacies. They have no memory of how things were before we civilized them, they only ask for more with their hands out, like spoiled children who throw a tantrum when they've eaten all their candy and are still unsatisfied!”
Oscar, unable to make a sound, gave what appeared to be a dark glare. Ghostly tears formed and fell strait through his face onto the sheets.
Viktor tactfully perched on the edge of the bed,“I did everything I promised. Listen, I know you're upset, as you should be” he cajoled, “well I did give the world an almost unstoppable king, and then I brought them all together against a common enemy... If you want to make an omelet you've got to crack some eggs!”
Oscar's eyes glared into his brother's.
“But... wait, I was able to discover a way to solve our little dissension problem once and for all. In fact,” his eyes narrowed in thought, “now that I think on it, this would solve your little waning problem also. I promise, just give me tonight, Oscar, and I will make everything right.”
Viktor went straight to the underground lab, “this shouldn't be too difficult, people are just as any other domesticated animal, except maybe a little harder to break. Would they rather live like wild boar? ...this is for their own good!”. And with that he rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
DIOS EX MACHINA
It was always hot and muggy this time of year, but tonight it felt like the city was on fire. Paco dribbled the soccer ball around his room restlessly. He could hear the clinking of dishes being washed in the kitchen, the music his mother liked playing on the radio, and his father going on about something he read in the newspaper. Something was in the air, Paco could feel it, like a bomb about to be dropped. He normally had trouble settling down, but tonight, someone turned the hyper switch on full blast or shot him full of caffeine. He wished there was somewhere he could go and just run as hard as he could, leap off a waterfall, feel the cool air rush past his face. But those open places only lived in childhood memories, they didn't exist anymore.
Lying on his bed, on top of the covers in his underwear, the lights off, the window as wide open as his eyes, Paco's head was a zoo. “Monkeys. Monkeys!! Get out of my head, monkeys”, he commanded. Monkeys are such contrarians... He was the only one awake at this hour.
Paco gave a deep sigh and crossed to the window. Maybe some fresh air would clear his head. It was stuffy as hell. You could actually see the fog of humidity. It glowed red from the stoplights. He wanted to yell “GOOOAAAAAAAAAAALLLL!!!!!!” just to let out some energy, break the oppressive feeling, but Paco exercised a little consideration.
He suddenly noticed, he could feel his heart beating in his head. It steadily got louder, stronger. Pain throbbed, it was difficult to breathe. The pounding grew so loud, it was a red alert going off in time with his heartbeat. Paco fell to his knees, he couldn't believe what was happening, he could think of no way to stop it, he could not think at all. He lay there shaking with cold. His eyes ran, but only vaguely did he register the burning wetness tickling the bridge of his nose, his temples, on it's path to the carpet. He focused there, on the carpet, escaping into the scratchy fibers. His ears filled with roaring, a great flapping of wings, and blackness found him at last.
*****
Sasha stopped walking and took a deep breath, holding out her arms so the breeze could cool her. Life sucked sometimes. Today was no exception. She hadn't eaten except that half finished burger and a lemonade she swiped when someone got up from their lunch to go to the bathroom at the food court. Her headache was probably from dehydration.
“Uch”, she said to herself and put her hand to her forehead. She just wanted to find a patch of grass and lie down, why hadn't she thought to go to the park – oh yeah, because she would rather not watch hookers and junkies go about their work-day... night... whatever. FUCK! What the hell is this headache from?
Sasha thought she might throw up, but knew it would be pure stomach acid. She put both hands against the concrete wall and hung her head, breathing in through her nose, out through her mouth. Another wave of throbbing, piercing pain overtook her and then the world rolled around her, like the inside of a washing machine, the ground came up and hit her left side. Good thing everything was numb now. The thing about moments like these is you appreciate the small things: Air, consciousness, eyelids. Sasha heard the sound of the ocean, waves roaring in her ears. She felt the scratchy sand against her skin. She felt the peace that comes over anyone who accepts that there is nothing to be done but fall inward, deep deep deep where nothing can reach you.
*****
Eliot was alone on a Friday night. Again. Keiko (Mom) went to get her hair blown out and attend this month's benefit party meeting. The meeting was merely an excuse to get their hair blown out, compare manicures, and pretend like her life had purpose. Hiro (Dad) was away on “business”, which was code for “pleasure”.
This was perfectly ok with Eliot. He liked take-out and enjoyed being alone. He didn't relate to anyone else anyways, certainly not his peers – their lives seemed to revolve around decorating themselves with the newest this and listening to the hottest new that, monkey see monkey do, it was tiresome.
“Mr. Takasaki?” Bina, the housekeeper knocked softly on the door.
“Yo,” Eliot answered, opening the door and going back to his desk. He sighed. No matter how many times he told her 'You can just call me Eliot'... I mean what did they do to them at housekeeping school to make them so afraid of letting their guard down.
“Oh, sorry to disturb you, sir. Did you want any more pizza?”
“No, you can go to bed, or do whatever...” god it was always so awkward giving someone permission to stop catering to your every need.
“Ok. Goodnight, Mr. Takasaki”
“Yeah, goodnight, Bina.” Eliot turned back to his computer. He was in the middle of figuring out how to network with the global camera system so he could vicariously enjoy the escapades of street artists, maybe capture some of their work before it got whitewashed.
His computer buzzed, a high pitched sound. The dogs outside howled. That's weird, they were trained to bark ferociously, they never howled. The monitor let out a subtle, ear piercing “beep”, and Eliot's eyes felt like they were going to pop out of his head. “What the hell-”
He got up to rinse his eyes, but found himself on his bed. The high pitched buzzing continued to fill the room. His heart beat in his temples. He tried not to make a noise incase Bina would hear him, but he couldn't help moaning and gasping with pain. Shit. Where did his mother keep her yellow pills and could he get to them? Fuck. Aw, this sucks. Eliot buried his head in the pillows. He felt himself falling forward into outer space, warp speed through the stars.
Good. Real good.
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