Black Magic

There is no magic in life, only its majesty.

Our world is in place—causes arising that evoke effects—and everything follows the rules. Wishes don't come true, but the future does, after the present briefly snaps away from it.

There is no morbidity in death, only destiny. Expiration dates are set in the present but arrive in the future. For all. It's part of the recoil when the present snaps away.

An apex predator sits atop a holy symbol with wholly unholy intentions. Something, soon, will die. Something, soon, will pass from its present to its past—in the future. Our apex predator holds vantage from the apex of a church. The patina of its copper cross has been tarnished by the blood of those who failed to escape the diving acuity of the hawk.

Today is a day like any other. There will be no magic today because there's no such thing. There is only the chain of life, ratcheting tighter around one unfortunate who will never see it coming. That something will die so that our hawk will live.

Its victim is not innocent, however. In this world, bereft of magic, things still make other things disappear. Until they cannot; and then they die. The hawk itself must follow the rules, too. There's no magic for those at the top—only struggle and being in the right place at the right time.

Our hawk bides its time. A scurrying here or a fluttering there; a subtle disturbance of grass blades; or a naïve cry of immature offspring. The right place awaits the right time. Life and death fall into the paths of least resistance. Opportunity knocks. Apex predators kick the doors in.

This church was decommissioned by the Catholic Church in the 1980s, and now it is our home. When we first moved here, we were tickled by a little mouse we'd glimpse from time to time. A church mouse. Small and meek and always running for its life. When the snow melted and the season became temperate, it braved the outdoors—seeking the non-existent magic of the world. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time was no match for something else being in the right place at the right time. We no longer have a church mouse.

While...the hawk lives.

The church, our home, was sold to raise money for the settlement offered to abused children. It was a New England summer church, and I'm told the Kennedys used to attend Mass here. They used to go to Confession here. But it wasn't until Providence began wringing the confessions of the apex predators that justice was served.

Sex is an adult act, and when that light is turned on prematurely, its glare causes permanent blindness.

I've done the research, and there were no reports of improprieties here where I live. My research was thorough, for this was important to me. It's a good place. I've lived in places with bad vibes, and there are none here.

My research identified the gamut from "only fondling" to egregious abuse. Only fondling sounds so innocuous; yet assault is an all-or-none thing, as non-magical as life and death. And causes and effects. But not magic: you can't wish for things that happened to have never happened. The past strains the present and spoils the future. The rabbit in the hat is Schrödinger's until it's pulled out.

Many people stroll by and tell us how they were married here; or baptized here. Their memories of this place are good. But apex predators are still at work everywhere. They perch atop the holy symbols of holy places and await their next hapless victims. When opportunity knocks for them, one door is opened; the other is slammed shut on a casket interring the victim's future.

In the natural world of apex predators, there is no right or wrong. Just the following of rules. These rules are intuitive. They decree life and death. The victims, themselves, follow these rules. The rules of the world.

When sentience can achieve the sense of right and wrong, epitomized with humans, that is the real majesty of life. Tragically, there are some apex predators who seize their opportunities—not without a sense of right and wrong—but despite it. And their victims are innocent.

Perched on a holy place, an apex predator can sit atop a holy symbol with unholy intentions, ratcheting tightly an unholy chain of life. It tightens around an unfortunate who will never see it coming. Soon, something will die. It will be childhood. Naïveté, our offspring, will never again live in a magical place where safety seems guaranteed.