1/0: Entries from the End Times

Episode 5: Fourth Circle

By Wen XiaoshengPublished 9 months ago • 21 min read

You’re invited to the Copper Palace!

If you’ve received this, congrats! You’re eighteen or above and

you haven’t:

Been flattened between two mountains

Accidentally cut an artery on the scissor flowers

Fallen into a deep depression after seeing how much better you could’ve been in the obsidian mirrors

Had your cranium crushed by diamond hail

Been raptured

We are the most exclusive club in this clusterfuck, the first and last vestige of fun after the death of the sun. Loosen up! Live life a little! Drink! Do whatever drugs you want! Sleep with whoever you want!

Just don’t try to fool the bouncer with a fake ID, or we’ll rip out your tongue and strap you to a red-hot pillar for eternity.

The other half of the jujubes, the San Yao, the dried shiitake mushrooms, and the black chicken, which had miraculously not decayed, bobbed among the bubbling, milky waters of a well our two-headed canine companion had dug out beside the steaming river.

“Zero,” One said in a register reminiscent of someone asking their dog to spit out what it had in its mouth, “we are not accepting an invitation to a party at a place that threatens to rip our tongues out and strap us to red-hot – again, I emphasize, red-hot pillars for eternity.”

“That’s only if we try to sneak in with fake IDs, though.” At this point, the heat and humidity from the river had become so unbearable that I yanked my sweat-soaked t-shirt off my back, wrung it, twisted it tightly, and hung it from my neck by its crumpled collar.

She punctuated each word with a clap of her hands. “Rip. Out. Our. Tongues.” She picked up the tempo. “Red. Hot. Pillars. Zero!”

“Come on, One, I haven’t been to a party in so long, and you’ve never been to a party.” My mouth watered at the fresh, earthy fumes that entered my nostrils. “Why don’t you come with me? We could have fun!”

“That, that’s your idea of fun?” she spluttered. “Potentially poisoning your body with strange substances and sexually transmitted diseases?”

“More fun than reading that big book of yours,” I muttered under my breath. “Besides, people don’t just party for that.” The eagle clawed at my temples, spurring on my excuses. “Some of them just like to dance. Some just want to have a good time with their friends. What was it your superstar J.C. said about only throwing the stone if you’re without sin?”

“Firstly, that’s a good verse, so I’m going to let go of how you used it against me.” Her fingers curled in on themselves like wilting flower petals, and as she glanced at me, she spoke less pointedly. “Secondly, it’s best if you simply aren’t near any of those strange substances.”

“Even more reason for you to come along and play the angel in the passenger’s seat –” I pulled the ignition key out of my pocket, holding it up to the sun in triumph like an Aztec priest presenting a heart to Huitzilopochtli “– because I have the keys to the car, and I’m going whether you like it or not.”

“I can’t even dance!”

“I’ll teach you.”

She stopped pacing along the sequin-lined riverbank, the strands of silver in her hair shimmered in the sun, and the tight tendons in her shoulders seemed to unravel at that. “You will?”

If our conversation were a judo match, I would’ve just scored myself an ippon. A full point.

“Yeah, right here, right now.” I patted the happily panting two-headed Xolo dog between its ears, leapt to my feet, and slid my leather jacket off my shoulders. I sauntered over to the Nissan Versa, popping the door open, igniting the engine, choosing a random CD from the compartment, and turning the volume dial of the radio to the very top.

When I turned around, One had already begun to bob her head to the first burst of the drums, a hesitant smile spreading over her lips.

“It’s good, huh?” I grinned encouragingly at her and clapped along to the congas, timbales, guiro, and cowbell. “That’s it, just let the music carry you!”

The trumpets and trombones exploded. Then, the lead and bass guitar thrummed through the speakers and into my marrow. One’s wind-battered skirt swirled in time with the keyboards, piano, and organ.

“That’s it, there you go!” I howled with the two-headed dog, twirling my jacket in the air like a lasso, the intertwined eagle and snake embroidered on the leather rippling to life. “Listen to that guitar sing, and follow my lead!”

I kicked right, left, right, then clapped twice. Left, right, left. Clapped twice. I aimed two finger guns at One. She kicked right, left, right. Clapped twice. Left, right, left. Two claps.

I rock-stepped left, right, left.

She rock-stepped left, right, left.

I rock-stepped right, left, right.

She rock-stepped right, left, right. Her smile flourished. And then, a little laugh leaked out from her, light, sweet, and silvery. A song in and of itself. I wanted to blast it through my speakers.

I offered her my open palms, expecting her to push me away again.

But this time, she took them immediately.

“Step left, now turn right with me!” I shouted over the trumpets. “Good, good, that’s great, you’re doing great! Step right, and turn left – there you are, you’re a natural.”

I slowed down, so she could better see the next steps. I tapped the ground with my right heel, then my right toe. I brought my right foot across my left shin, and kicked my right foot.

She did the same, still laughing giddily.

I hopped onto my right foot, gently tugging her along with me. Left heel. Left toe. Left foot over right shin. Kick left.

“Now this is the fun part,” I said breathlessly, letting go of one of her calloused hands to set my jacket in the shrinking space between us. “Pretend this is a hat, yeah?”

“Every part of this is fun!”

We danced around it. The Xolo dog danced around us. The stars danced in the sky. The instruments intertwined with each other. If only I could copy this moment onto a CD and replay it again and again. We picked up the pace until I practically swung her around me on the axis of our laced fingers. She was the earth and I was the moon and the sun had died, so I supposed the dog had to be the stars.

Maybe I wouldn’t need any other hit ever again. Never feel the invisible eagle’s talons in my temples again. Ever again. And we would live forever.

She crouched to pick up my jacket.

I kicked my leg over her head.

She stood too soon.

I kicked her in the head.

“Shit, shit! Fuck! I’m so sorry!” I dropped to my knees and gathered her into my arms, cradling her cheeks in my hands and patting frantically at where I had grazed her forehead.

“I’m okay!”

My voice climbed in pitch to a near shriek. “You are not okay! I kicked you in the fucking face! I’m so sorry, One. I’m such a piece of shit…”

“Don’t swear, and don’t be sorry, it doesn’t hurt.” She squeezed my bicep reassuringly, chuckling incredulously as if she couldn’t even believe her own words. “I had, I had fun. And there wasn’t even a sun.” She brushed her damp hair from her reddened forehead. “There wasn’t even a sun.”

Then, she leapt to her feet and pulled me with her, her next sentence strumming at the strings of my heart as smoothly as Santana played his guitar. “Let’s go again, I’ll be the kicker this time.”

24/Pig

Groceries (1)

Primer
Foundation
White eyeliner
Lipstick
High-waisted pleated skirt
Cropped racer jacket
Taser

2. Groceries (0)

Black suit jacket
Black dress pants
Jaguar print button-up shirt
Black eyeliner

“What is this for?” One peered suspiciously at the first circular container after we took turns changing in the Nissan Versa.

“This will help the makeup last longer,” I said sternly, “and keep your eyes closed.” I dipped my fingertips into the primer and patted it into her skin. “See how I’m not rubbing?”

“No,” she said dryly, “because you told me to close my eyes.”

I flicked her forehead. “Can you feel how I’m not rubbing?”

She leaned into my touch. “Yes.”

“That’s because it’s bad for your skin and it can cause streaks.” I snatched a tube of foundation from the overflowing plastic bag and smeared some of it onto her inner forearm to check if it matched. Then, I dabbed it onto her furrowed brow, scrunched nose, cheeks, and chin. “You’ve really never worn makeup before?”

“I’ve always wanted to, but my parents wouldn’t let me because of 1st Peter 3:3.” She rubbed her collarbone. “Beauty should not come from outward adornment and all that.”

I stopped her with a sharp tap to her hand. “Yeah, Peter said this, Peter said that, but I don’t recall Peter telling you to make yourself miserable in God’s name.” I applied foundation to the greyish crescents under her eyes with my ring fingers. “Plus, didn’t he write that book in jail? He’s got bigger fish to fry than some girl a few thousand years in the future who’d like to try makeup. Now keep your eyes open for me, please.”

I readied the eyeliner, tracing her twitching waterlines. I flicked the tip of the pen, drawing feathery wings – at least, I hoped they looked like feathers and not wrinkles – at the corners of her glistening eyes, her lashes fluttering against my thumbs while I held them still.

She looked at herself in the side mirror, my heart lost the beat, and I immediately held my hands up like the deceased cop I had stolen his beloved vest from had risen from the dead and had me at gunpoint. “Do you like how you look? If not, we can go back and get cleanser –”

“No, no, I like it!” She scooted closer to the side mirror, turning her head from side to side. “I look really pretty.”

“You’re already really pretty without it.”

“Did you help your father with his makeup, too?”

My wry grin grew genuine. “And braid his hair with ribbons.”

“He must’ve been really pretty, too.” The corners of her eyes and her mouth crinkled in unison. “Not that he wasn’t pretty without it.”

The light of Huitzilopochtli filled my sternum.

“Sorry,” she started, “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it –”

I lowered the eyeliner and threw my arms around her, tucking my nose into her neck. Her shoulder blades stiffened under my splayed hands, but then she softened against me, awkwardly rubbing and patting my upper back.

Red, yellow, and green neon lights swept across the rammed earth core, brick, and mortar walls. Towers flanked the four corners of the compound. Each roof had seventy-two ridges, and on each side, all the gates were decorated with nine by nine arrays of golden door nails protruded from every barrier.

All except for the entrance that One and I approached, which had an eight by eight grid. As we strutted down the flagged, stone pathway, she still rubbed her collarbone now and then. Her skin had inflamed and peeled off, patches of raw pink framed by pale flakes.

“Hey, I told you not to do that.” I held her red right hand, lacing my fingers through hers, and forcing it down “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Used to it,” she said through gritted teeth. She pressed closer to me at the agonized, gurgling screams of the inky, faceless figures strapped to the glowing pillars around us. I wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt –”

“IDs,” a man with a stone lion head snarled, smoke spilling from his flared nostrils and between his fangs.

We both pulled out our pagers. When he reached for them, it occurred to me that he only had four fingers.

A woman with a stone lion head did the same for a gaggle of inky, faceless figures to our right.

“Teo Etan Cruz Ramirez and Aihan Youxin –” The man with the stone lion head passed us our pagers and stepped aside, gesturing grandly to the gate “– welcome to the Copper Palace.”

One – no, Aihan’s gaze fell on a tall, athletic figure in stiletto heels, a V-necked, lacy white bodysuit and matching, low-cut jeans that showed off her G-string. The girl turned around and twiddled her fingers at her in a flirtatious wave. One gingerly returned it, her face flushed.

The stone lion prodded Aihan in the upper arm with her pager. “Ms. Youxin, welcome to the Copper Palace.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Thanks. Thank you.” She tried to tuck the pager into the pocket on the inside of her racer jacket, dropped it, fumbled for it, and finally put it away properly.

I nodded toward the girl in lace, leaned in, and lowered my voice to whisper against Aihan’s ear. “You like her, huh?”

“I like her style.”

“Yeah, her style is sick, but that’s not all you like about her, is it?” I playfully bumped my hip to hers.

“She’s pretty, but…but it’s not right.” She shook me off, and brushed her thumb over her crucifix.

My heart dropped onto the dance floor in a puddle of its own puke. “Your parents told you that, too, didn’t they?”

She swallowed hard.

“Hey,” I said softly, “you said it yourself, it’s –”

“It’s the Word,” she rasped, “and the Word is the truth, and I shouldn’t have said those words.”

“What if I told you the Bible never said homosexuality is a sin?”

She looked at me and my heart shuffled onto its knees.

“But it does say that homosexuality is a sin. Leviticus 18:22. Thou shalt not lie with a man as with a woman; I – it is an abomination.”

“It says that in English. In Hebrew, it says, ‘Thou shalt not lie with a male as with a woman. The Bible says ‘male’ instead of ‘man’ because it refers to the practice of men laying with boys.”

“1st Timothy 1:20,” she muttered to herself, “For the sexually immoral, for those practicing homosexuality…”

“In Ancient Greek, it says, ‘For the sexually immoral, for those practicing arsenokoitai, also known as pederasty. The practice of men laying with boys. If you ask me, God’s condemning some of his own Catholic priests, not you.”

I cradled her face in my palms, careful not to touch the wings in the outer corners of her eyes. “And if it weren’t for you, I would’ve died. You gave me my life. Let me give you this, and let me help you talk to this girl, okay?”

“Okay.” She swallowed, but then she started to smile. “You read the Bible in Hebrew and Ancient Greek?”

“No, I read the footnotes of your Bible.” I winked teasingly, and tilted my head at her. “You have your taser?”

“Amen.”

“Amen?”

“Means, ‘it is so.’” She winked and rested the heel of her palm on the bright blue device, which she had hooked into the waistband of her skirt.

“Then, amen, my friend.” I led her into the palace. “Amen.”

“Zero, wait.” She dug her heels into the cobblestone and I stopped in my tracks. She placed her rosary around my neck, her crucifix resting over my chest. My heart beat like a hummingbird’s wings. “He can be the angel in your passenger’s seat –” she shot a stare at me that cut into my conscience like the obsidian blades of a macuahuitl “– for when you have to use the washroom.”

She led me in before I could interrogate her over how the hell she knew I didn’t use the washroom for the toilet. And as I thought about how hard she scrubbed her collarbone, how she looked at the nail scissor flowers, if she used the washroom for the toilet.

What else did she keep in that inner pocket?

The light of Huitzilopochtli in my sternum dwindled.

So…should I call you Teo, Etan, Cruz, or Ramirez?

LOL you can call me any of the three except for Cruz.

How come?

It’s my mom’s maiden name. Should I call you Aihan or Youxin?

Aihan.

Gotcha.

You’re probably the only person who does.

Where are you?

I’m waiting by the bar.

I’m coming over there, don’t move a muscle.

A slick, cavalier voice cut through the booming bass, drawing my attention away from the pager and to its owner.

“Hey, man, haven’t seen you here before.” A man sat in the stool beside mine, flashing a blinding white smile at me, the crystalline clusters where his pupils should have been glinting with interest. They were rectangular, like a goat’s. “Which circle are you from?”

“I’m from the first one.” The invisible eagle’s talons tore at the nape of my neck, and I had to bite my tongue until I tasted metal to stop myself from flinching at the brilliance of the stranger’s teeth. “How about you?”

“Oh, I’ve lived in this circle my whole life.” Goat Guy tapped his foot – his cloven foot – against one of many streamers strewn over the dance floor’s glowing red, yellow, and green tiles. “Looking to let loose, huh?”

He pulled a packet full of white powder from his suit jacket’s front pocket, tore the corner, and poured it into his palm.

“Yeah, it’s been a rough few weeks,” I croaked, the maguey cactus, yucca, and agave fibers meshing with my heartstrings and pulling me towards him as he dipped his fingertips into the substance and smeared some onto his gums.

“Here, you want to try some of this?” He shook the half-emptied packet at me, his teeth now decayed and crooked.

“No, I’m good, I’m good, that’s all yours, man.” I tried to untangle myself from the net, but the needle suspended in my cerebrospinal fluid spun rapidly, pointing right at the powder.

“I don’t mind, man.” Goat Guy scooted closer to me. “Sharing is caring, and it’s more fun when you do it with someone else, anyway.”

Like he had to remind me. I did it for the first time at my high school graduation ceremony. And when I did it, I felt as light as the dust in my nostrils. All the energy I had crammed into every chamber of my heart fractured through its fleshy cages. It took five minutes to settle in, but it seemed that the throbbing burn in my neck, shoulder, and arm ligaments vanished in an instant. I could fight forever. I could live forever. And when it wore off, I had never felt more dead. So, I took more. And more. And more and more and more. Every weeknight. Then every night. I didn’t sleep for four of them. I woke up naked and alone for another five.

Then the boys taught me how to mix it with water, so I could inject it every few hours. Before I went to my college classes. Before I went to my judo matches. I hid it in my boxers, snorted it behind closed curtains, locked in my bedroom, my mother banging on the door. I had to piss in a bottle, and didn't have time to get to the washroom, because my bladder didn’t work anymore. And then, I did another line, even though my heart ached in every chamber, even though I thought I would die, because I couldn’t work without it.

My fingers unfurled, and the fibers guided them towards the packet.

Then, my pager buzzed against the crucifix resting on my breastbone.

ETAN

GIRL IN LACE CAME UP TO ME

WHAT DO I DO

My fingers curled into a tightly clenched fist. I wiped the sweat from my nose with the cuff of my suit jacket and turned from the packet, unable to look at the cloven hand that grasped it.

“Just give me a moment,” I almost gasped like the dying engine of a stranded car with the air taken out of its tires.

“No problem, man,” Goat Guy said with a sniff.

Get it together, Etan. Get it together, she needs you, and you need…you need to not let her down.

What is she saying?

She says she likes my skirt!! :D

She’s definitely looking at your legs.

Like, as a friend?

Test the waters, compliment her, then tell me how she reacts.

I gtg, if you get in trouble, signal me by tucking your hair behind your ear.

You’re doing great!!

Just don’t do too much.

Goat Guy dumped the powder onto the counter and scraped it into several impressively straight lines with his credit card. Then, he rolled a dollar bill into a straw, held it to his nostril, and inhaled the first two lines.

I scanned the crowd for Aihan and the Girl in Lace, but they were lost somewhere among the wildly dancing mass of dark figures on the floor.

How’s it going?

I told her she should read Song of Solomon 4:7.

What did I just say?

And what does that verse say?

You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you.

I huffed incredulously.

“Hey, I saved some for you.” Goat Guy prodded me in the ankle with his cloven foot and motioned towards the two remaining lines.

“No, no, man, I’m all good, that’s all yours,” I laughed lightly, even though the needle lunged for the coca and the fibres around my heart tightened so much that they were slicing into my cardiac muscle tissue.

“Just try one line,” he pressed between snorts, “I’m telling you, it’ll make you feel like a champ.”

Champ.

Champion.

The last line shifted into the ghost of a man in a dress, and the warmth of the sun seemed to spread through my skin.

Hey Etan, I think she liked the compliment.

She says I’m really sweet, haha!

As I leaned down toward the last line, the straw in hand, Goat Guy nodding reassuringly, my heart pumped its fists in approval, and the invisible eagle alighted from my sweat-soaked hair.

I inhaled deeply.

She’s asking if I want to have a threesome??

That’s not the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, is it?

Can you see this?

Nvm I’ll ask her myself

Red. Black. Blue. White. My lungs inflated and the fibres snapped apart. Red. Black. Blue. White. Orchids, lotuses, and water lilies bloomed along my neural pathways. Red. Black. Blue. White. I could live forever, I could fight forever. Red. Black. Blue. White. I would never die. I would never die. I would never die. I would never die. The eagle took me in its talons and I flew away with it, higher and higher and higher. Higher than I’d ever been.

I am a champion.

I am the champion.

I told her I’m waiting for marriage, but she isn’t listening to me.

I told her I’m not comfortable with it, but she still won’t listen to me, and she’s bringing me over to her boyfriend, and I don’t like the look in his eyes. It’s all going so fast, I don’t know what’s going on.

I’m tucking my hair behind my ear.

Can you see me?

I am –

“Come back here, lambchop!” the Girl in Lace called from the chaos. “We won’t bite, unless you’re into that!”

“Yeah, well, you know what the Bible says about the lamb?” Aihan screamed back. “To fear it!”

An arc of electricity erupted in the middle of the dance floor.

The crucifix on my chest crackled loudly and my breastbone burned.

I fell fast and hard.

Aihan ran to me, her taser in her trembling hand, her jacket only half-hanging onto her scratched shoulders, her breathing harsh. The Girl in Lace and her Boyfriend in Wolfskin were hot on her heels.

I caught my reflection in the glass of the bottles on the shelf behind the bar. Instead of my right boot, the one with the hollowed out heel, I had a cloven foot. This time, I, not the invisible eagle, tore at the crust crystallizing over my face.

My vision reddened, then blackened, then whitened.

I grabbed Aihan by the elbow, shoved her behind me, and drew my MP5 submachine gun on them.

“Don’t come any closer,” I snarled at them. “I’m warning you, you come any closer, you try to lay a finger on her, and I’ll wipe the tiles with you, yeah?”

“Hey, calm down,” the Girl in Lace – no, the Girl in Wool bleated at me, “we’re just trying to have some fun –”

“She’s not your fucking unicorn, you pieces of shit in a pod.” I levelled my weapon at her. “And I’m not fucking around, so back off.”

“Oh, so we can’t fuck your girl, but you can fuck around with blow?” Boyfriend in Wolfskin jeered, his pupils constricting into slits.

All my gears shifted from Park to Fight. I wiped the crack off my nose, tossed the MP5 submachine gun to Aihan, and shot my cloven foot straight into Boyfriend’s groin. Without missing a beat, I spun around, nailing Girl in Wool’s jaw with a perfect roundhouse kick.

The other darkened figures on the dance floor whirled around and charged in our direction, amalgamating into a massive black jaguar with golden rosettes.

I wrapped an arm around Aihan, who still hugged my MP5 submachine gun, and hid her behind the bar. I leapt onto the counter and opened fire, the darkened figures to my left and right dropping rapidly. When I ran out of ammo. I jumped into the fray and unleashed every technique that the coca tossed at my numbing mind. And I knew a lot of techniques.

Empi-uchi. An elbow blow. Naname-uchi. A slanting knife hand. Ryogan-tsuki. A strike to the throat. Naname-keri. Another roundhouse kick. Taka-keri. A front kick. One that went backwards. Right, the ushiro-geri. The crunch of my brass knuckles on cartilage became the bassline. I reversed it. I remixed it. My limbs moved in tandem like the lead guitar, trombones, trumpets, and drums of the sweet symphony I danced to with Aihan.

Oh God, Aihan.

I looked back at her. Her eyes were watery, the reflection of the dusted crucifix distorted in their depths, and I knew they weren’t from the cocaine because Goat Guy had snorted it all. I had snorted it all.

I had made a mess. Again. And she would have to clean up after me. Again. Would she clean up after me? How could she want to clean up after me after this?

Red. Black. Blue. White.

White. Blue. Black. Red.

Red. Black. Red. Black.

Black.

Adventure Dystopian Romance Travel Young Adult

About the Creator

Wen Xiaosheng

I'm a mad scientist - I mean, film critic and aspiring author who enjoys experimenting with multiple genres. If a vial of villains, a pinch of psychology, and a sprinkle of social commentary sound like your cup of tea, give me a shot.

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Episode 5: Fourth Circle

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