Descent

I am naught but a passenger on this train.

The trains arrive, and then they depart.

The sun rises, and it sets.

Que sera sera or whatever. .

Have you ever seen two suns rise?

I have.

And then I saw no more.

What a sight to have burned into my empty retinas–my last image of this wretched, decaying earth.

As I lay in my VA cot, I could hear the talking heads chittering like locusts on TV. They critiqued our every move, as if watching a chess final.

But the pieces weren’t porcelain–they were flesh and blood.

My friends were flesh and blood.

I was flesh and blood.

Or was I? All my blind fingers felt was steel and plastic.

And cold, always cold.

I believed all the slogans.

“The All-American boy!”

“The Patriot!”

“The Hero!”

They made me the Country.

Then chewed me up, and spit me out.

The curse of blindness is sensitive ears, so they say. I was never good at anatomy.

But I think there’s something to it.

After my release, I wandered for a while. At first, people took me in. I hated their pity. Hospitality ran dry soon after.

That’s when I first heard them, and they were loud and clear.

I don’t even know where they learned their shit; they clearly had never been “over there”.

But damn, they understood. They got it like no one else did. So I listened as hard as I could.

Could have been days, could have been months. I don’t really remember how long I hung around with them. First they said they’d help me, and they did, for a time, more so than anyone else did. That was until my money ran out. Seemed to be the case for everyone.

They were feeling it too, so they said. Everyone had to, “tighten the belt for the cause,”

But they preached the right of it, I swear.

It was the suits.

It had always been the suits.

They got metal pinned to their chest that gleamed in the sun.

I got mine pinned to me too, and now it hurts when I breathe too deep.

Wrapped around their fingers as I was, they gave me a backpack, and some instructions on where to go.

They said it was time to take things back. They loved to quote Revelation. They even named themselves the “sixteeners” after some verse in it.

I was just a soldier. I followed orders.

But I believed ‘em.

Oh did I believe ‘em.

The backpack they gave me was heavy, too heavy.

If I think about it, I knew where I was heading. Even blind, I knew my way around.

Took the Metra downtown. Up the stairs at Union Station. Three blocks down on Jackson. Up the stairs to the Brown line. Keep the backpack close.

The instructions continued from there, but they didn’t need to.

It was a one way train.

Funny, though I was blind, I swear I saw the fire.

I’m glad I was gone before the screams started: I’d heard enough of those over there.

As I fell into the eternal dark, I couldn’t help but laugh.

I convinced myself they didn’t believe what they preached, not really believe it at least.

That if push came to shove, they wouldn’t actually pull the trigger.

No, that was wrong. I knew. And I believed it.

Did the denizens of Babi Yar think the same as they faced the end of the barrels?

I paused, as much as one could when falling eternally.

Why did I know that place?

And how come I knew the butchers of that place would soon tell me?

No fire licked at my apparition.

No knives flayed my skin.

I found myself comfortable, and my belly full.

All was black.

And suddenly, I saw the multitude of the shrouded host ready for my welcome.

I felt their hands in mine, pulling me to dance, though I wished not to.

My memories faded. My desires abated. My wants abdicated.

Finally, I wanted for naught, but to dance. Yet I resisted their summons.

I thought it a paradise.

From the depths of the blackness, the conductor of our dance unmasked himself.

And for him,

finally,

I danced without abandon.

All is clear.

The world above has gone mad.

The Pied Piper plays and the rats follow. It’s no surprise to me that it was a rodent that led Alice so very, very far down the rabbit hole.

Soon, all will swing and sway in time.

They should rejoice.

How glorious would it be to be forever full and forever warm? Shouldn’t we all revel in the prospect?

Those “Sixteeners” were blind, but not in their means, only in their scope.

The end is near.

What else could ever matter?

The train is gone, yet the platform is still full of nameless faces holding tickets.

I always thought the sun would rise again, like clockwork.

I never thought there was an option to remove the gears, yet here we are.

Everything fades.

Moment by moment, my memories decay to ash.

I was a boy once. I loved Westerns. Well my dad did, but I liked sitting and watching with him.

Then, I was a man.

I shot a horse over there. It was such a terrible thing.

But letting it live was worse; I still hear the pain in its breath.

We loved watching those horses, and their riders with their drawls.

Or did we?

And was it a horse I pressed my pistol into?

Or a man?

Was there a difference?

I don’t think it matters.

I’m here.

But who am I?

I only have one purpose: I must dance as I’m conducted.

Who was that man I sat beside while the Westerns played?

Would he come dance with me?

Mommy

Do you remember your boy?

Hold him close.

Don’t let him go.

When he comes to you full of dreams of breaking free.

Don’t let him go.

Don’t.

He was a fool.

Why is it so, so cold?

Mommy.

Won’t you come dance?

Please?

I taste naught but ash.

I see naught but darkness.

I hear naught but silence.

I smell naught but cinders.

I feel naught but emptiness.

All that was is but naught.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N:

Look, mods, if you put an inch of license into a challenge, I'm taking a mile. You said we could right a story, and then never said it couldn't be an allegorical exploration and observation of the 2024 zeitgeist. That's on you.

If you've enjoyed this, please leave a like and an insight below. If you really enjoyed this, tips to fuel my coffee addiction are always appreciated. All formatting is designed for desktops. Want to read more? Below are the best of the very best of my works: