Ordinary

A boy is sitting atop the pylon.

“The fear of never falling in love and the tears after losing the feelings of what you thought love was” was tattooed in bold, neat letters across Ignatius’ back. “In humility count others more significant than yourselves” was tattooed in the same style across Uriel’s chest. At least that’s what I think their names were: it was the label on their cages – Ignatius ascending in front of me, Uriel behind me. “Ascension in progress, attention. Ascension in progress, attention,” the cube atop the pylons would radiate – I say radiate, because I don’t think I can hear.

I scream but I can never hear myself. I converse with the other cages, yet I never hear a response. I can see cages descending into the ocean, yet I never hear metal and flesh colliding with water, no sound of swallowing is made. It’s comical to reflect upon how I used to think dropping an object into water would make a swishy ‘splash’ sound, because – and I’ve had years to think about this – I think it should make a vacuum-esque “Pppliiiip” sound. I say ocean, but I don’t think land exists anymore: We’ve been travelling for years and all that I can peer down onto is water. I say years, but I can’t keep count as I don’t think night exists anymore: the Sun is always in the same position. The scenery is forevermore the same, and the motion never changes. “Ascension in progress, attention” – it’s not like I have anything else to attend to. I’ve inspected every bar that makes up my cage: not a single patch of rust is unknown to me, not a single claw mark is unfingered, not single number has escaped my touch. Truth be told, I cannot remember any chemistry, any animal, or any equation. I cannot remember anything before this cage.

The padlocks have always intrigued me. Years ago, we would stop at every dwelling hole to lower a cage to the Preservers below, who would scurry up from their holes below to attach a padlock to a cage and then almost dive back down into their dwellings – they looked like a mushroom bomb exploding as their white tunic trains would billow out into a luffa shape before they dipped underground and then scrunch up as a tissue once they were in the hole. Ever since I first remember, there have been 4 padlocks either side of me, 3 above me, 2 below me, and 5 behind me. No padlock in front of me. Ignatius had a heart-shaped locket in front of him on his cage, and I could see that Uriel had a cross pedant in front of him on his cage, but I had nothing. The closest I came to a marking medal – as I like to think of them – was the last time we ever stopped.

My cage was lowered down from the pylon cables we were travelling on to the ground. A woman came out from a hole and started walking towards me, her tunic blowing softly in the breeze. I don’t think she was a woman, because I don’t think she was human, but her fox-like nose, her bleeding lips and her teary eyes indicated to me that she was a mother. She reached the cage with a book, pen and quill pedant, communistically crossed, and looked at me for a while. Her large grey eyes filled with tears, and her bleeding lips slowly pressed themselves into a refined pout. She reached her hand in to stroke my face and then she left. I understand this account is very choppy, but I didn’t feel anything else then. It was … an event. It was out of the ordinary, so why remember it in great detail? Remember the cage, remember the ocean, remember the sun, remember the tattoos, because they are always with me. Why remember an isolated gust of wind? Slowly, but steadily, she started to walk in the wrong direction, out into the orange, cracked desert. My cage was pulled back up and we swayed back into motion. As I watched her disappear into the distance, I was silent and still. I had never seen anyone move before. Ignatius and Uriel stand limp in their cages, not having enough room to sit down. Not a muscle on them ever twitches. I sometimes ask myself if they are even alive, but then I realise how silly such a question is – why would anyone transport corpses in cages for years only to drop them sporadically into the ocean? But the reason why Ignatius and Uriel don’t move is because they are far more disciplined than I am. Stupid, is really what I am. I didn’t ask the woman anything. She was a Preserver – I think that’s what the hole dwellers are called, as the cube atop the pylons blasts “Preservation in process, attention” whenever we stopped – so I could have asked her anything. Not that I have any questions. Everything is all very clear. Life is simple. We are ascending: we are travelling in our cages on the cables above the ocean. Sometimes, a cage is dropped. You can only see this if you are attentive – it makes no sound so you can only see it. It sometimes feels as if I am watching a supernova explosion – so momentous an event, yet radio silent.

I wonder what life is now for the Preservers. It does not matter, I am not one of them, I should mind my business. I wonder what love is. Another silly thought – love is the locket on Ignatius’ cage. I wonder what crying feels like. I wonder what faith is. I wonder if there is a name on my cage. I wonder if I have a tattoo on my back. It doesn’t matter though.

I wonder what the boy is doing. No.

“Dear Lord…” a sound behind me begins. I twist around to see Uriel on his knees weeping. “You can speak?!”

We stop. Quite literally ground to a halt as the rust flakes grind into powder as the motion – until now uninterrupted for years – ceases. “Descension in process, attention.” I hear the creaking of the attachment mechanism behind me. Uriel will descend. I have been told that I am far to short with my words, but it was Uriel disappearing out of my routine – my routine of doing nothing and sitting – so why remember this event in depth? I sometimes think the woman means something. I sometimes think she is behind the water. But I remember that only the ordinary is important.

The ordinary is this now: Uriel has descended, so now Xavier with a clock pedant is behind me. We do not move anymore. “Time is an illusion” is tattooed in bold, neat letters across his chest.

The boy is asleep on top of the pylon.