The rats are always first to leave a sinking ship.
Alone in the Amba-Hunain Hall, Teague waited for the other members of the ruling class. Randolph would be the first, then the members of the Amba-Hunain assembly would enter. For two more years, Teague and Randolph would co-rule. Then the power would pass to Martika and Lucinda. Though Martika and Lucinda would never get to rule, their future reign was still being arranged according to tradition. For ten years, the Ambas and the Hunains had rather peacefully co-ruled. Before the Great Reckoning, the rival parties had nearly destroyed everyone and everything. Though there remained tensions, most warfare and bloodshed had ceased. But even ten years ago it was too late for the planet. The excesses of both parties had destroyed the planet beyond repair. The leaders were about to meet for the final vote on the Lottery of Hope. At last, Randolph entered. The two men bowed to one another and took their seats at the head of the hall. They activated the command on their computer screens, and the two side doors drifted open. From the left, the Ambas entered. On the right, came the Hunains. With the ceremonial entrance over, the meeting began. For most of the last month, they had met to discuss the Lottery of Hope. Initially, it was the idea of Monte, a young Amba, but since then it had supporters and enemies from both sides. The ship was already ready, and most of the discussion was over. At the end of the meeting, they would make the final vote. It was Randolph’s turn to speak first. “While I believe in keeping our seed alive, I disagree with the current choice of who should be allowed to have a shot in the lottery. Do we really want the common people to continue our race?” Throughout, this had been the point of greatest argument. Keira, a young Hunain, spoke, “Why do you continue to object to this point Randolph?” “It’s wrong. If we’re not going to select the best, we should at least give everyone an equal chance of getting picked. Why shouldn’t we be allowed to enter our names in the lottery? I don’t want to die. Do you?” Several members of the assembly nodded their agreement. “We’re the rulers. We’re partially responsible for this disaster. Our people who remain need us to show the way—to set a good example of the proper way to die.” Keira searched for support. “What of those that get to go? Don’t you think they’ll need some rulers to continue in stability?” “They will carry with them the law and our stories. That will be their guide.” The reply came from Teague. “Nobility is our final service to our people.” “What good’s nobility when everyone’s going to die? There’ll be no one to remember our noble end!” In anger, Randolph had turned directly towards Teague. The two men stared at one another. Other voices added their strength to Randolph’s complaint. “They will remember, those who carry on.” “I call a vote.” The vote was soon seconded. Each member of the assembly focused on the computer screen in front of them. The screen asked, “Should the names of government officials be excluded from the Lottery of Hope?” The vote was close. But in the end the computer reported that government officials would not be allowed to participate in the lottery. Randolph and the others in opposition looked defeated. “Is there any more discussion before our final vote?” Teague asked. There was none, so only one vote remained. Again the computer screen flashed another question to the assembly. “Do you vote for or against the Lottery of Hope?” For once, the computer reported an unanimous decision. The lottery would take place the next day. Randolph and several others left without a word to anyone. Eager shouts heralded in the lottery day. The noisy clatter of the masses engulfed the palace and woke Teague. Surrounded by the opulence of a dying world, Teague stayed in bed a moment longer listening. Unsatisfied with his thoughts, but unable to stop the dawn, Teague left behind his fitful night’s sleep and went to find Randolph. In two hours, Teague and Randolph would each read twenty-two names that the computer had pre-selected. Together, they would give forty-four people freedom from a certain grave. Teague found his way to the Hunain wing and the bedroom of his counterpart. Lightly, he knocked on the massive door to announce his arrival. Receiving no answer, he entered. Randolph was not in his room. Teague assumed that Randolph must have spent the night pacing, as was his fashion when nervous. Surely, he would see the other man at the first meal, he thought. Without Randolph, first meal hour arrived. Teague sent several servants to search out the other leader. One by one the servants completed their mission without finding Randolph. The last servant, however, obviously had news to report. The young girl ran breathlessly into the main hall and collapsed before the assembled Ambas. “Gone—all gone,” she managed between gasps. The assembled group became as breathless as she. Though they all seemed to understand, Teague needed to hear the girl’s words. “Who? Gone where?” “The Hunain rulers, sir. They left, all of them. Left in the ship. Left for the other planet.” “Impossible! The ship could only hold forty-four people, possibly fifty. There were at least twenty Hunains and half of them had families.” The words of disbelief came from Monte. “They emptied the ship. Left behind everything they wouldn’t need, even the law and the stories, sir.” Her words hushed the crowd. Teague dismissed her and paced the room. There would be no jubilant departure of citizens, after all. Monte spoke again, “Can’t we build another ship?” “No, we used the last of the available resources on that ship. They could have at least taken the stories.” Teague could say not more, so he sent them away. It was true; there was nothing more they could do. They could disassemble buildings and other constructs to get material for another ship. But the project would take too long. Their top analysts had predicted the death of the planet in one month, two at the most. It had taken them three years to construct their first spacecraft. As it turned out, the girl’s initial report wasn’t true; not all the Hunains had escaped. All the children, many of the spouses, and all the Hunains who opposed the action were left behind. In a seldom used storage room of the palace, a servant found them. Despite all the desperation Teague had seen on his citizen’s faces, the faces of the betrayed Hunains were the worst. The younger children cried out for mothers and fathers they would never see again while the older children stood staring stunned by the evil truth their parents had exposed them to. The older Hunains simply looked tired. Teague tried to comfort them, but he didn’t have enough time. The citizens waited. Alone Teauge drove to the capital’s square. Around him, the faces shown with hope and happiness. Never in his reign had he seen such faces. Indeed, he could not remember a time when the citizens had looked genuinely thrilled. Before the news of the planet’s coming demise, hatred and warfare had shaded those faces. Even the peace between the Hunains and Ambas hadn’t produced such looks. He shuddered at the thought of his noble people dying with the look of the betrayed Hunains on their faces. At the square, hurrahs and whoops greeted him. He tried to smile a little. He took his place behind the Amba computer monitor; the monitor was supposed to pick forty-four names. Instead he began to type his message to the people. His words projected onto the looming monitor behind him and to other squares in other towns across the planet. In simple language, he explained. He heard the disbelief, the anger, the tears, the growing despair. Through he tried hard not to, he heard it all. Immediately panicked pleas from other towns sprinted across his monitor. It was no joke he assured them. A band of agitated citizens attempted to rush the leader. They shouted, “Someone must pay!” as they raced towards Teague. The guards fought them off without much trouble for they soon lost heart when they realized fully their situation. When Teague left, the noise was no less in volume than when he had arrived. But the character of the noise was desolate and forlorn. Teague returned to the palace to find that five of the abandoned Hunains had killed themselves. Everything was coming apart. Teague tried to maintain morale at the palace; he couldn’t do it. By the end of the week, the remaining, betrayed Hunains had committed mass suicide and the servants and many of the Ambas had deserted the palace. Teague thanked those remaining for their show of nobility and released them. Most were happy to return to die amongst family and friends. "Sir, what will you do?” Monte had yet to be persuaded to leave. “Monte? Still here?” “Yes, sir.” “Go home Monte. You’ve done your part.” “But sir. . .what-” “I’ll be fine. Now go!” Teague remained in the royal house. Now and then, he would walk the streets, but such walks only depressed him, even though, for once, he saw peace with his people. The peace was admirable, but the price for it was too much. The eyes that looked back at him were vacant, empty, hopeless. The people huddled against one another waiting for the end. Some had already ended their lives. Their corpses lay decomposing in the streets adding to the atmosphere of desperation. He longed for the days when he saw fire in those eyes. Even if hate had lit those fires. Already several cities had slipped out of existence. The end was near. * * * * * As their home planet died, the Hunain deserters awoke from their space sleep. Hung amongst the stars, their destination was before them. The planet where forty-four lucky ones were supposed to have a new beginning beckoned to them. Primitive and unpopulated, the earth welcomed them. From an early age, I had plans.
I would set the world on fire— everyone would know my name. Then life got in the way, and I realized the world's already on fire. The world only remembers the firefighters. When I found true love, I had plans. It would last forever— no truer love would exist. Then life got in the way, and I came to know that nothing is forever. Certain obligations transcend the heart. After my heart's break, I had plans. I would live uncomplicated-- love couldn't touch me. Then life got in the way, and I discovered a heart still beats. No matter how you try, it will survive. Surviving this long, I have plans. I will live each day just for what it is— no more lofty ambitions and goals. Then life got in the way, and dreams return to my head. Will nothing ever end? Supper was tense that night. We both knew that that day was the threshold; once the sun set our life would be costumed in the sooty cloak of uncertainty. Three years earlier the prophets of medicine had turned their divining glances towards Marie. Their solemn sentence had been three years, possibly more if we played by the rules.
I noticed with satisfaction that she ate more that night than I had ever seen her eat. Her appetite filled me with hope that the high-priced doctors might be mistaken. After the last dish was washed, I joined her on the beach. One look at her proved the falsity of any hope. Her shrunken form was draped across one of the warped chaise lounges, a wilted and trampled rose. Her head swayed from side to side, seemingly too heavy for her stalk-like neck. Tinged by the near full moon she looked more like a shade than any living being. It hurt to see her held in the grip of a glutton that gnawed with indiscriminate patience through flesh, blood, and heart. I peeled her off the sticky vinyl fearing she would dissolve into the salty air. We stood there welded together by the thick heat. She worked her arms around me and let her fingers play on the back of my neck, intensifying the night's heat. Deep hunger tugged at me. I pulled her close and kissed her as I had when we first met. My mind exploded at the platter of flavors my tongue encountered in her mouth. Unexpectedly, the mingled flavors of the dinner we had just enjoyed was reconfigured here in microcosm. "What do you feel?" she asked enveloping me in her food-perfumed breath. Intoxicated, I said, "Steak, medium rare and a buttered, baked potato." I expected this odd answer to end my reckless probing, but she only gazed into my eyes with a look of pure invitation. Effortlessly, I gathered all of her into my arms; she was as weightless as a five pound sack of potatoes. I took her to the large upper room furnished and prepared, ready for us. It was foolish. It was irresponsible. It was an act of raw emotion. But neither of us wanted to stop. For three years we had played by the rules, living delicate lives. We were hungry for each other. I tried to speak, but words were worthless. We spent the night wrapped together, discovering a forgotten knowledge of ourselves. With each deeper connection of our bodies, I tasted more. as I sucked the flavor out of every one of her pores, I could distinguish spices, yeast, humanity, and the unmistakable taste of something foreign and malevolent. She died with her lips on mine, my soul's last supper. I left the room with her body in it and escaped to the beach to watch the waves as they scoured the shore clean. Every night I stand alone on the razed playing fields
Waiting for you, the keeper of the night's white fire You promised to teach me all you knew of cooler nights and fiery noons Then I felt your frost-flecked wind as it shook the color out of the trees Clambering for entrance through my single pane i was helpless to stop my drowning But you silenced your fire and took society's view denouncing the unorthodox love we knew I've no stock in society's rules a tribute to raving ass-eared fools. death plays coy once again keeping me from escape
from all the memories that bring nothing but pain. would be better to burn out like a roman candle up in flames, fast and furious without the wasting. wasting wasting wasting slipping further away into the blue-black veldt that hangs over the moon and stars of the my night. there, hidden behind it all, death laughs at struggles as inconsequential as mine, striping love and beauty from the bones until nothing remains but ichor. ugliness abounds in the modern age of here today off tomorrow to the next sparkling thing if only I could find a way to live as the others do, and bury myself alive in the process of becoming other. wake up, set the sun on fire
it's time to go out again out into the bright darkness of the world. slip your scarred skin, like armor forged from all the bled-letting of love's embrace, carefully over the tender bones. make up your best face, the one with a hint of indifference and interest mixed in equal part to hold on the cut-out smile. advertise yourself - here is a heart ready again for anguish and despair - make yourself known in all the right circles. open the door, put a foot in front of the other it's time to go out again out into the darkly lit brightness of her world. For me, no distance measured in miles, time or spirit would ever take me away from Andy. That day when she had emerged from the balloons, my heart knew where it belonged. As I shuffled from foot to foot waiting for the much anticipated reunion, I bought a balloon, all part of my grand plan.
I worked my way over to an empty spot on boardwalk and carefully looped the balloon's string through the hole in a small but flawless diamond ring. All through college, I had given up on parties, booze and frivolous expense. Every spare dime had ended up in the diamond fund. The result now hung from a lime green balloon that bobbed playfully in the wind. Then, there she strolled, down the boardwalk, like a model on the catwalk. I could barely keep my heart from escaping my chest and nearly lost the balloon and its prize. "Hello, beautiful," I managed with a smile. She smiled back, and in the replay, I saw what I had missed before. The unease in the smile. The reserved air. The way she kept her body at a remove, distanced from me. "We need to talk," she said, motioning to a deserted bench near the end of the boardwalk. The old heart in my chest crumpled because we knew the outcome, but then I had actually thought how wonderful, secluded it would calm my nerves to ask the most important question of my life. She ignored my attempt to take her hand and marched to the lonely bench. I sat, but she didn't. "I'm sorry," she began. "Whatever for?" "I've met someone. We didn't mean for it to happen, but . . .. well you see, he's a lawyer, probably going to be a senator one day and he already has a house that his parents bought just for him, well now for us. He asked. I said, 'yes.' You understand don't you?" I nodded my head, but I didn't understand anything, not at that second. The horrible moment of understanding would come, but in that second my mind refused to connect the dots. "You do?" She asked hopefully. I held out the balloon to her like some fool. Tears had started to stream down my cheeks, but I wasn't fully aware why even then. I watched as she took the balloon and noticed the small ring hanging from the end. I also noticed the huge ring already in the spot where my small offering would have rested. How could I have missed that all those years ago? "Oh, no, no, I'm so sorry, but I can't take this, not now." Her face had turned red. I didn't say a word, but I rose and walked away, out of her life, but all these years, I had never let her walk out of mine. I had rejected all others over the years, hoping she would come back to me. Now that she stood before me, I wondered what to do on the boardwalk. He spoke to me with his eyes, soft and brown, a mixture of equal parts pride and pleading. He could only speak to me with his eyes because all I had of him was a picture. I couldn't get that look out of my eyes. I downloaded the picture to my computer. I would look at him again and again many times every day. I knew I needed him in my life. Was I ready though?
No, I hadn't seen a picture of my human soulmate, but it was a picture of my horse soulmate. The picture came from the CANTER (then West Viriginia) Mid-Atlantic site. I was getting ready to turn 30 and was feeling a huge hole in my soul. I had come to realize the previous year that part of my deep emptiness was that I had no horse in my life. I felt I was finally at a point financially that I could do right by a horse, so I had been looking that previous year, but had only seen one horse that piqued my interest When I called he had already been adopted. I was disappointed, but it turned out to be for a reason. The reason was Blue Blue Sea. The horse who spoke to my soul with his eyes. I had only clicked on his listing because he was a chestnut and he had Alysheba (ALYDAR) in his pedigree. It didn't hurt that he had Sea Hero, too, as I had been a fan for him in the 1993 run for the roses. Still, I had looked at other horses with Alydar's blood running through their veins and none of them were in my life. This one was different somehow. I have never felt a connection like that with any horse through just a picture. When I finally called, I was crestfallen to learn that there had been a lot of interest in him. They took my name, saying if I didn't hear back, it meant he had been sold. I kept his picture. I kept looking at it and wishing. I have no doubt that I would still have this picture if Blue Blue Sea had never come into my life. I went on with my life, looking at other horses, but always coming back to his picture. Two weeks later, I had all but given up on any chance of ever meeting Blue Blue Sea. To top it off, I had been sick the night before with an intestinal bug. I had spent most of that day in February sleeping and recovering. When the home phone rang, I almost didn't pick up, but I did check the caller ID. I recognized the name as the owner of the horse that had so captured my attention. I leapt to my feet and took the call. Blue Blue Sea had not sold. People had come to look at him but passed. I was going to meet him that Saturday! Friends told me - you know you will be bringing that horse home, right? I insisted I was only going to look, but my heart already knew they were right. Myself and another lady met him that Saturday. He was the horse we both wanted. I knew upon meeting him that the connection through the picture ran deep. The other woman could come right away with a trailer while I would need to make boarding and trailering arrangements. My heart sunk again, as I felt certain I would lose out on this horse who kept tugging at my heart. The owner met with both of us privately. He opted to sell Blue Blue Sea to me, even though I couldn't take him right away. My heart sang with joy. At the time, I wasn't overly aware of the deep spiritual nature of that connection, but looking back, I know that the Creator was at work here. I am a spiritual person. I do believe in a higher power, but I am not a disciple of any religion because I think we all have the story wrong, even me. We are after all, humans, and it's not in our nature to get things perfect. My connection to Blue Blue Sea started in that moment when I looked into those eyes in nothing more than a photograph. The fact that he didn't sell to any of the other many interested individuals is further proof. Even him going to me, who wasn't ready to bring him home, rather than the woman who was. I am sure she was a good individual and would make a great home for a horse, but the circumstances would not have been right for Blue Blue Sea, knowing his life story as I do now. I was the right home for Blue Blue Sea and he was the right horse for me. Many people told me as I struggled through another illness or issue with him that I saved his life or that he was lucky I owned him. That may be true, but my reply was and always will be, I was lucky to have him in my life. At a time when I was feeling lost and down, the perfect horse looked into my soul and saved me. even the dead have birthdays to distract them from their obsession with the living.
they dress up in party hats and throw confetti on the special day. there is cake and ice cream and perhaps some adult beverages. music fills the air and they delight in one another's company. i no longer have birthdays because i am neither living nor dead. i'm stuck between worlds without a heart anymore. the leaves of last fall lie crumpled and dead in the ditch
they crackle and creak under foot and I envy their talent for talking from the grave. they burned brightly in hues that delighted us and as a justly earned reward they lie down in pastures that will become green. the tree that abandoned them long forgotten. we burned brightly together for a moment before you let go of me like so much detritus but instead of sweet release, I was sentenced to life. I sit, therefore, in a ditch covering myself and contemplating last Fall's leaves. |
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