Bacchae

In the beginning there was fire. Caty and Sybil sat opposite the Jacobs siblings, who were whispering. And the room was dark, brooding in hesitance and fear. The blinds were shut; chairs and desks stacked at the doors. Can someone—it’s cut off by another shot. Eems, the elder Jacobs, skips a breath, and slides his foot forward across the floor. Sybil looks at him. In this cave, shield from malice, inside or out? Caty begins to tear up. Footsteps outside rush by, as if galloping. There are others in this room: Dr. Linden is crouched behind the podium, clutching his tie. Nick, Jan, and Cao are texting, while trying to block the brightness exuded. So what’s going on? The dead are risen. The dead are risen. There’s shushing as half the people stand up suddenly in response to another loud noise, the others crouch down further. Sparkles—false jewels appear in Lam’s eyes. A moment of silence, please, before a vacuum closes in, suffocating. The air in here is just terrible. Is that…smoke? The Jacobs stand up briefly, only briefly, stretching. Do you see anything?

Under the ocean, the bleached Great Barrier Reef: Sybil was the first one down. She placed her plate on the seafloor. As an offering, she said. The bubbles were grand. Grandiose. But why here? asked Lam, the younger Jacobs. So far below sea level—here, we are safe from the fire. Sybil smiled. There is no insanity here; only the simple, calm decay. A couple of fish swim by solemnly. They know, don’t they? Caty? Do you know? What? We’re far away. No need to be afraid.

        It was so…claustrophobic there. Not only in terms of space; but there was simply no way to choose, not a single viable alternative anywhere on the horizon. We were left with this singular path, that grew so narrow that you had to turn on your side and hold your breath. Witness: the oceanic expanse, the shimmering beams of light dancing with watery rhythm, dreaming, speaking. Sybil…

No, it’s alright. Really…I—it’s not so bad. Tell mommy— Coral cracks and drifts, the odor of dead fish, an endless forest of stalagmites, like aged fingers rising or reaching…A wide shot, rushing forward a few feet above the sea, capturing the careful blend of blue sky and blue ocean, a lifeless, serene graveyard for the city (world) that used to be. Where things are peaceful, and all the muscles in the body are relaxed—softened now, as Eems holds out a hand that dissolves silently in a deep blue haze muted, knuckles arched in vain…

I want to die.

Whereas under the sinking trees, taps were heard coming from some distance, lovely ominous. Come here, come here, you never came—        Do you know? who it is?      Who would—the anvil dropping as a rounded bulb, blooming inside, red, the ringing of the casing; sensations gushing out of the inner ear, a gasp escaping                 …a snicker…? Thud thud thud  like trees crashing down no resolution just ceaseless pain ahhhhHHHH! the sudden panic of knowing death is fast approaching not like a train but a slow hand reaching your throat while youre tied down   unable to move to move away towards quickly some sort of resolution                  no matter what can anything do now but continue     ?                    …the great emptiness in the act:   the act of killing

and for what?   what for?

Dr. Linden bolts back, his muzzled face in anguish. No one hears him say “ - - - - - -” but a few possess him with fearful glances. He’s trapped in ice, unmovable, unreachable. An incessant clicking noise perks up, scrambling the room. The ice shatters.

        Dr. Linden shivering, crawling across the floor tiles, trying to get back around the podium, one arm clutching his guts, quite literally. He gagged, and others around him imitated him, their throats convulsing and lurching their necks and heads forward. Nothing came out. “Dr. Linden?” Eve whispers. He is unable to respond. He is lying down, eyes open and breathing strenuously. The ceiling, he says unexpectedly.

        “What?” Eve says, who is on the verge of tears. “What is it you mean?” Why is it so?

        Eve carefully slides over and puts her hand over Dr. Linden’s bloodied arm and lets out a soft, decaying whimper. Nick watched, though with one eye out on guard. He shook his head—or was it an uncontrolled tremor, his nerves reacting intuitively, unconsciously to the sight and circumstance?

        In the beginning—

…there was terror. And in the face of terror, Caty let out a shallow breath through her mouth, warmth seeping out. It’s just a game, some undeniable voice says, where the prize is…?   Steely footsteps can be heard coming through the resounding silence and silent horror, basking in the timeless confines of the room. Jan—he’s coming through now—his face illuminated by a sudden moment of the harshest clarity as his eyes fold and his mouth widens into a grotesque grin.

        The face of terror: is it the face of the menace, the soulless pale expression that comes before the pounding heart and the panicked shirk? Or is it the single tear that explodes with the immaterial combustion that finds its way melted into the ceaseless, caking pools of…blood???

        He’s dressed in black,

        He’s dressed for—fun—

        He’s dressed like he don’t care

        Just wants to roll lead ‘til he’s done!

So who’s left? Eems drew back his hand and tucked it away (what else could he do?). Nick was collapsed on his side, one eye visibly drained, the other out of sight, out of light. What if he’s a god? It feels that way in this moment with everyone bowing down. What a god then! And what worship, kneeling down under the whistling blows. Nick—his dark skin as a shield (but also as a target); so what happens now? Cao is loonngg gone, his face is missing, in the abstract sense in that no one sees him, remembers him, in the room no one’s heart drops as his stops. What a god!

Like a thunderbolt, booming. Setting this forest on fire. The trees are losing leaves as winter approaches. The sky is grey and the air is dry (so dry). So at the slightest gust, and the smallest disturbance, the little spark that the numb little man sets goes ablaze, burning everything down.

Fire has no mercy. Nick, in fear, is spared not because of mercy, but in spite of its absolute absence. He chose the right place to hide. The winds turn away. The sighs are undeserved but genuine, and desperate. And meanwhile Eems…the gods laughing in the distance…let us just say that his leaves has fallen; the trunk is still standing, albeit charred with the scars of a certain trauma. But survival is simple, even easy when in the first person. It requires little thinking, and the most basic amount of animal instinct. These thunder claps at least have the decency of giving a clear signal of danger, eh? At least these trees can quiver before the storm hits. How about that for mercy?

The wind howls. Howl, wind! Howl like Ginsberg and blow me a kiss. BAM!

Everyone dance along. The girls are singing, the boys watch with delight. Everyone, dance! We’re all lapsed into this purgatory anyway. The clock is ticking (don’t kill the buzz) and the principal is still far away. What can we do?

        What could we have done? The chairs are sprawled all over in failure. Like a game of musical chairs gone wrong, where there’s only one three-legged stool leaning crookedly and the music never, ever stops. And we all keep going round and round and round until our knees buckle and our heads slam against the tiled floor and the old, sedate man says, “Okay then everyone. Party’s over. Good night, ladies and gentlemen!”

        But it never, ever ends. Someone is still here. Burning down the forest. Someone doesn’t care, does not give a single fuck.       He reloads.

        And we keep dancing.

                On and on and on…