Somewhere along the local
creek there’s a pathway where kids often go down to play by the clear, rolling
water. The air is fresher there, shielded from the sun with great trees that
provide shade. Kids, especially those without parents, hanngg around there a
lot after school, playing cheerfully until it’s too dark.
The teacher walked by once,
on a chilly November Saturday morning, hoping to see some geese or truth fly
by. Instead there was only mild sunlight, skimming the surfaces of the ground,
peeping through the cracks in the clouds. The flowing water gleamed
brilliantly, splashed up by children who threw rocks.
“DIE, TeSsIE!¡” One of the kids yelled. He threw a rather
large rock downstream, striking a tree trunk. Another rock sailed through the
sky shortly afterwards, this time hitting a young girl with a magnificently
quiet thUUUd.
The teacher didn’t see this
directly, but she heard some of the kids scream with panic and mild annoyance —
spurred into action, she hurried down to the river — blood-stained
river — tried to calm down the stunned children…
im
sorry
im
sorry
im
sorry
im
sorry
im
sooo
sorry
It’s ok, the teacher
manages, out of breath and in denial. She’s cradling the child’s head in her
arms, soaked in thickness and despair. I’m appalled.
b l o
o d
ev r e
y
wh e r
e
The tragedy is suspended
there for a long long time. Nothing really moves, or dares to move. The water
shimmers with reverence. Until the dark blanket rumbles in, and
everything shuts down in darknesss and quietude.
The teacher takes out her
cell phone flashlight, trying to illuminate
the scene.
The bright, narrow light
casts long shadows on the frozen
trees and wilting
kids.
And the shadows dance,
flickering macabre moves, some
changed reality.
The blood can no longer be
seen, a solace that is a
falsity.
We see something — it isn’t
real — the world fades out like the end of a movie.
The teacher still weeps, rocking the dead child.
Cut
the lights.
She’s stuck there, she
realizes. The rest of the children have left, melted into the background or
gone back home. A ceiling descends over her, with dampness and the thin veil of
shadows.
And a fire starts to burn
a fire,
life
a fire,
burnnnning…
crackling
—
Overcome come by
exhaustion, the teacher falls asleep and doesn’t wake up until the cave has
grown to en0rmous proportions. She’s swallowed by it, in a sense, inescapable.
When she does wake up, the sun shines brightly for everyone else, but the
teacher is still trapped in the darkness. It’s a long way back to the light,
but she lets go of the dead child, and soon she’s back in her bedroom, tending
a small fire, it seems.
/
\
/Kallipolis\
/
…- - -… \
/flames
of illuusion\
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