Lament for the Trash Bag

I don't write poetry very often, but when I do, I try not to take it too seriously.  This poem, which I wrote over a year ago, was intended to be silly--in contrast to quite a bit of deep and depressing poetry I heard in a creative writing class at the time.  Nonetheless, even a poem as silly as this can be thoroughly analyzed.  Whether you read it for fun or take an hour to examine each word, I hope you enjoy the break from the lengthy prose I have posted over the weeks.  Of course, I hope you also enjoy the poem itself.

 

I chucked a trash bag into the trash can,

And found myself

Ashamed,

As though I had shattered a moral code.

The trash bag, 

For whom my heart now pouts,

Had procured such an unpromising tear

As to place himself on a podium of uselessness.

Down he went, into the dark,

Mocked—

Surrounded by a new bag

That had pilfered his desired station.

I turned away, showering congratulations on

Myself

For eyeing the sharp tear that had

Misshapen the trash bag.

But then “Shoot!” I shouted.

For I realized,

Had I shown mercy and love,

I’d have mended the tear and given the trash bag a chance.

He, repaired and perfected,

Would have pranced to his station,

And with newfound inspiration,

Thrived for his predetermined purpose.

Instead I left the shamed trash bag

In the dank dark of the smelly trash can,

Shut off forever from bearing trash,

And shunned by an imperfect purchaser.

So I returned to my room, for I thought,

“It's just a trash bag;”

But in this I erred, for a trash bag without trash

Is just a bag.

Animal

I decided to post something a bit different this week.  One of my goals is to try out various genres of writing; thus, I settled on something that strays completely from my normal fantasy and science fiction elements: the Western.  I would consider this story flash fiction, and because of its brevity, perhaps I have not done the genre justice.  However, I have many plans for future Western short stories and at least one novel.  This story also differs drastically from my usual material, as it is written in the second person and the simple present tense.  Because there are so many new things going on here, feedback is much appreciated.  I hope you enjoy "Animal."

Animal

“Listen, Tom, I get what you’re saying,” grunts the man on the left, his greasy and stubbled face contorting as he chews the end of his cigar.  “This…thing has set us back a few hours because of some—what’s that word, now?—delusioned idea of saving the world.  I get it, I get it.  It’s quite the cundrum—uh, conun—quite the fix.  But death?  Come now, Tom.” He pulls the cigar from his mouth, and in the dim lighting spits a wad of dry saliva and cigar juice not far from Tom’s left boot.  “That’s mighty harsh, ain’t it?  Look at things from—“

“From what, Cole?” Tom roars, flecks of spittle catapulting onto Cole’s face.  “From the view of a damned Injun? Tell me.  What did you eat last night?”

“This is one of dem questions where you try and flummux me,” Cole replies, jabbing the cigar between his teeth again.  “Where you know my thoughts and all that.  You can forget it.”

Tom snatches the cigar from his partner’s teeth and hurls it into the dust.  In another moment his apish foot crashes upon it, flattening it to a useless pile of dark leaves and ash.  “What did you eat last night, Cole?”

“Now you got me thinkin’ back.  Might as well be a year ago.” He crosses his arms and leans back against the stony wall, now concealed from the glow of a nearby lantern.  All is silent for a few moments, and then a deep growl trickles from the darkness.  “I had some pork and a side of something or other.  Beans, likely.  The problem wit’ dem beans, Tom—”

“Fine, fine, pork,” Tom turns his back to Cole and begins to pace in and out of the lantern’s light.  “You know where pork comes from?”

“Your questions’ve done me in by now.  Deer, I wager.”

“Your parents done raised you a ninny, Cole.  Listen here.  Pork is meat from one of ‘em grunters.  You want pork, someone needs kill you a pig first.  We eat to live.  Now catching one of the rascals to kill ‘em ain’t easy.  You have to get ‘em and kill ‘em fast, afore they get away.  Now no story tells of some grunter walkin’ up to a man, plump as pie and ready to be supper.  This Injun’s no different than a grunter, only we ain’t fixin’ to eat no Injun meat.  But what we needs is Injun land, and to get Injun land, Injuns need to die.  We kill to live.  Now this creature here, that’s a piece of puddin’, Cole.  Good Lord knows we c’n spend a greatle drivin’ ‘em ‘round like cattle afore we pin ‘em an’ pounce.  But this one comes to us, no arms but fists and some Injun cow sense.  An’ we jus’ let the grunter skedaddle an’ frolic with the others? On my honor, not while I draw breath.  Cole, give me your gun.”

He takes the revolver from the holster at Cole’s side, and his monstrous footfalls along the murky footpath fill the minute cavern with a raucous din.  He approaches you through the darkness, a voracious shadow, unseen and unheard but present.  The conversation had instilled in you some sense of dread, but now all thoughts and fears are fleeting, and some sudden sensation of serenity settles on your heart.  It remains there even as the footfalls grow louder but fall with less frequency.  It remains as he halts an arm’s length before you, hinging on the half-circle of light cast from the lantern hanging above.  It remains as the cold click of the gun’s hammer creeps into your ears.  For a reason you do not know, you shut your eyes.  You wait.  Stale breath slithers through the air, across the space between you and this supplier of death.  You expect the frozen bite of the weapon to pierce you, but instead you hear the distant sound of Cole’s voice: “Down the years ‘head, when you ‘aflect on this, you’ll ‘amember the blood of this Injun was on your hands.” You open your eyes, and see half of Cole’s body beneath the light at the other end of the cavern.  In his eyes there is pity.

“Yes,” says Tom, “I know.”

He takes a breath, places a finger on the trigger, and—

Reversion--Part VI

Josh did not know what to say.  Windows of the past were suddenly open to him again, and he saw everything clearly through them.  He vividly remembered leaving his mother after their argument, getting into his car, and driving to Simon’s house.  It had not taken long, he had heard, for the city to be separated from the outside world, the wilderness where the “barbarians” lived.  Although many things were now revealed to him, he attempted to recall what events had led to the coma.  There was blankness, but not because there were no events to be found.  They had existed sure enough, but these events were cyclical.  Mind-numbing.  Did they even qualify as events? He had cast himself into a vegetative state by living the life still present in Simon, never deeming it necessary to find the will to stop, from the day he had arrived at Simon’s house, to the vague day of his loss of consciousness.  So then, was it lack of food?  He remembered eating more food than was healthy for him.  Lack of water?  Simon had had a refrigerator with a water dispenser, so it would have been difficult to die of thirst.

“Josh,” his mother said, her face twisted with worry.  “Josh, are you all right?  I know, it’s a lot to take.”

He breathed long, forced breaths, tears still in his eyes.  Then he set down his tea, cast his arms around his mother, and hugged her with all his might.  “Mom, I’m so sorry.  I am so, so sorry.  I hope you can forgive me for what I did.  I was so stupid, and I should have listened to you.  I’m sorry, Mom.”

“Josh,” she said, patting his back, “you were forgiven before you walked through the door.  I love you more than you can ever believe.  It’s as close as you can get to unconditional.  I can’t hold what you did in the past against you.  I don’t think any loving mother could.  I’m just so glad you’re back.”

They held each other for some time, weeping about the hurt of the past and the joy of the present.  Outside the window the bleeding sky seeped into the western mountains and willingly gave itself over to a sheet of navy, strewn with the ever-glowing jewels of the great expanse of the universe.  Josh peered out of the window, over his mother’s back, and watched as the last light of the day vanished.  There is such beauty in nature, he noticed.  It is a beauty that most people fail to recognize after growing accustomed to its presence.  The sun rises and falls, rises and falls again.  Sometimes the wind blows, and sometimes the air is still.  The sea, which was once there when you were a boy or girl, will be there a decade from now.  But the beauty is never lost; the person loses his perspective of beauty and is attracted to something else.  And since nature is no event, but a constant, there is nothing else for man to do while viewing it but reflect.  When he recognizes that this reflection is either hurtful or apparently unbeneficial, he finds something to numb him.  Like constructing the largest building imaginable. Like enclosing himself in a space with four tall walls.  Like watching TV.  Thinking that he brings himself safety, he actually loses himself slowly until there is nothing left.  Taken to its natural conclusion, the person becomes like the pale and prone roommate on the floor of his home.

Josh suddenly remembered Simon, and in the blink of an eye, he knew what he had to do.  He released his mother.  “I don’t mean to be rude, but there’s something I need to do.”

His mother looked astonished.  “Are you all right?  You haven’t even touched your tea, and I haven’t made you any food yet.”

He shook his head.  “What I have to do is more important than food or something to drink.  I’m not leaving for good.  Please don’t think that.  I’ll come back, but there is something I have to do first.”

“Can’t you wait for your father?” she implored him.  “He’s hunting, but it’s getting dark, so he should be getting home soon.”

“You’ll have to trust me, Mom.”  He stood and walked to the door.  “I’ll be back soon, and then we can live together, as a family again…until I find a way to be self-sufficient.”

“But not too self-sufficient,” his mother said with a chuckle.  “You’re a good man, Josh.”

Josh smiled thankfully.  “I’m glad you think so.  Now I need to go.”  He opened the door, prepared to walk out, and then looked back at her.  “Oh, and I meant to ask you something else.  I see you have the Bible, and that is not unusual, but what’s with the fantasy-fiction and Transcendentalist stuff? Where are you hiding all the sci-fi?” He laughed.

“Sci-fi?  Why would I read stuff like that?  I’d rather read something about what our world should be like, rather than what it could be like.”

Josh pressed the front door of his home open and stomped into the living room, not surprised that Simon was too busy to heed the noise.  He walked directly in front of his friend’s sight, through the shimmering screen, and with force he brought his foot down upon the black projector against the wall.  The device shattered on impact, black shards deflecting off of the wall and glass skidding across the wooden floor.  At the moment of the screen’s failing, Simon visibly disconnected from his zombielike intercourse with the game he had been playing.  Only a surge of testosterone or some other chemical instilled by human progress can explain what occurred next.  Simon leapt from the couch, burning red in an instant.  He fumed, and his eyes bulged threateningly.  Without restraint of any sort, he stalked toward Josh like a man bereaved of his family by a murderer.  He shrieked, without gauging the loudness of his voice, “I haven’t saved for like three hours!” and grabbed Josh’s shirt, throwing him against the wall.  “What are you doing, you son of—”

“I’m being the best friend you ever had!” Josh retorted, grabbing Simon’s arms and pushing him away.  “I’m saving you from this…thing.”

“That was all that I had!” Simon screamed at him.  “Do you realize that?”

“Of course I realize that!  That’s why I did it!”

Simon glowered and backed away from him.  He returned the couch and placed his face in his hands.  “I put so many hours into that game.  And the projector cost nearly a grand.” He looked up at Josh.  “So what’s going on? Are you out to ruin my life?”

“I didn’t need to,” he replied.  “You did that without any work on my part.”

“But what am I going to do now, man?” his friend asked desperately.  “What am I supposed to be doing?  There’s nothing.  That was all I had.”

“There’s more than you can imagine,” Josh answered.  “More than either of us can imagine.”

Simon shook his head dubiously.  “No, there isn’t.  There isn’t.  I have nothing, no one.  Without that, I’m—”  He then noticed the other housemate out of the corner of his eye, lying on the floor.  “I’m alone.  Um…he’s been asleep for a while now.  You’d think the yelling would have woken him up.”

Josh took a few steps toward his seated friend.  “He’s not asleep, Simon!  Ok?  He’s not asleep.  He’s dead, and he has been for a while.”

Simon stared at the body with a revelation of unrepressed terror.  “Dead?”

“Yes, dead.  You’re hardly different, Simon.  You’re not any better off than he is.  I wasn’t either, a few hours ago.  Have you heard yourself since I broke the projector?  You make it sound like it was your ultimate purpose in life.  But it was an object.  It was something that man made.  And when you thought it was doing you good, it was slowly cutting you off from—everything out there.  The world.  It was cutting you off from joy.  True joy doesn’t lie in large buildings with many stories, or in extra-large fences that stress how much of an individual you are.  True joy doesn’t lie in video games, or anything else that numbs you to the world and yourself.  It lies in community, in being with others, in simplicity.  But even if you can’t have those things, I think I’m starting to see that nature is one of the most important things in life.  We have totally severed ourselves from it, but it’s not too late to go back.”

“You’re talking like buildings, and video games, and all of that, is evil,” Simon argued.  “Do you really believe that?”

“No, I don’t.  It’s what we do with them.  It’s what we make them into.  They become like gods to us, and there’s not room for anything else.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Simon asked, rubbing his temples.

“Look, I don’t know if you even know this, but I was in a coma.  For three years, Simon.  I woke up earlier today and was confused about where I was, what had happened to me, and what my purpose was.  I left our medical hut and found my mom in a small village west of here.  She told me that I had been in a coma for three years, but she didn’t know what had done it to me.  Since waking up earlier, I have been piecing memories and ideas together in my mind, and although I’m no doctor, I think I understand what put me in a coma.  Imagine a person who must always have something to do.  He plays video games for hours on end, but then he gets bored of them.  So he watches a movie or two, and then finds that he doesn’t want to watch anything else.  Then he sleeps.  When he wakes up the next day, there is a sort of new freshness, and he desires to play the game again.  So, everything continually goes in circles until all his distractions are exhausted.

“What does he do then?  Well, not much.  Eventually he’ll either need to pretend that he is having fun with something that’s completely boring to him, or become bored by doing nothing.  You see, we have too many things to do.  We hurry from one thing to another, and since there are so many things to ‘enjoy,’ we never fully enjoy one thing.  We’re so busy—I don’t even know the word—‘worshiping’ all these things, but when we’re tired of them, we’re lost.  This may sound insane, but I think that the person who gets in that place just withers away—or in my case, goes into a coma.  He shuts down, because he doesn’t know how to cope with this…nothingness.  He has spent his life constantly doing something, and when there is nothing to do, the emptiness can be felt in his soul.  That is what put me in a coma, and I think that is what has killed our housemate.”

During his speech, Josh had felt that Simon was unaffected, having been absorbed for too long in his game.  But Simon released a long sigh and made eye contact with him.  “Everything about your coma was true?  So all this stuff that the doctor was trying to tell me wasn’t just an exaggeration?”

“So there was a doctor, then, who checked on me?”

Simon nodded.  “I wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention to him, except every now and then.  Some of the things he said—you know, about emptiness, and shutting down and all—were very similar to the things you just said.”

“And what did he say?” Josh asked curiously.

His friend swallowed.  “He said that doing too many things can be unhealthy, because one day all of those things will lose their meaning.  That can lead to depression, and that depression can lead to heart failure.  Sometimes, heart failure can lead to a coma.  Since you feel you have nothing to do, you have nothing to live for.  And if that becomes severe, then your heart can fail, even at a young age.”

“Then that really is what happened to me,” Josh said, somewhat relieved.  “Simon, most of our community is doing what we’re talking about.  You can feel it while walking down the street; you can see it by looking at the tall fences around the yards.  Everyone is separated from everyone else, and if they don’t let anyone into their lives—well, we’ve seen what happens.  Does this mean anything to you?”

“Josh, even if it does, what could we do? Seriously.  People are going to think we’re crazy.  They probably won’t even listen to us.”

“Yeah, you know, a lot of them probably won’t,” Josh replied with irritation.  “In their minds, they’ll probably react the way you did in this room just a couple minutes ago.  But if we can help just a few people, don’t you think it’s worth it? I ask you again, does this mean anything to you?”

Simon rose to his feet and stood before his friend.  “If I’m going to be honest with myself, as much as I hate to admit it, then yes, it does.  Josh, for the first time in years, I can feel my heart beating.  When you broke the projector, you broke my mind—but in a good way.  It’s hard to explain, and it may seem strange, but it’s like you unplugged me from death.  I’m so glad you were given the chance to live again.  I have a feeling that without you, many people would have died.”

Josh smiled.  “I hope we can make a difference.  We need to try.  Are you willing to help me?”

“Of course,” his friend agreed.  “This sounds like a better purpose than what I had before.”

After contacting the cops and alerting them of their deceased housemate, Josh and Simon began to travel across the community, telling people the story of Josh’s revival from his comatose state.  They had begun this with a powerful fear of rejection, but as long as some listened and avoided the lifestyle that Josh had fallen into, then they would count their attempt as a success.  There were initially many speculative listeners; in fact, some people rejected them at their front door with the excuse that they were too busy watching TV.  But over the course of time, people heeded the message delivered by the two friends, and they also began to warn other Builders of the potential danger ahead of them.  There were many stories of these messengers, telling of the desperation with which they longed for their people to see what was wrong with their society.

Some did not have to do this with words.  For a story has been told of one man in particular whose house was backed against the great wall surrounding the city.  He traveled outside the gates with a mallet, arrived at the portion of the wall that separated his backyard from the land of the barbarians, and read on the tough stone the word “Tolerance.”  With a great sum of strength, he lifted the mallet into the air and smashed this portion of the wall to pieces.

THE END

Reversion--Part V

A light breeze began to pick up, and Josh remembered what it was like to have his entire body immersed in the chilled hand of nature.  The hillocks ended suddenly on either side of him, and before him the land fell away in a long slope, leading to scattered huts, a town that appeared barbaric compared to Josh’s city.  In the lessening light of the day he could see that there were no streets or fences, nor a wall that separated the cabins from nature.  The southernmost homes faced north, and the northernmost homes faced south; wherever a cabin stood, another was facing it.

He left the dirt path and entered the town warily, recalling the guard’s talk about “brave or stupid,” and his eyes scanned his surroundings.  From what he could tell, none of the homes were illuminated by light bulbs, but by candle-and-firelight.  All were one-storied, and were crafted of wood that appeared real—unlike that wood of the modern age that forms the skeleton of a building, cut into the finest rectangular shape.  They had windows, but they seemed primitive and small.  There were no designated front yards or backyards; the expansive greenery of the earth served as both.  Many of the homes had front porches, and it is here that neighbors communed and sipped tea together, as children played games of heroism in the grass.  One middle-aged man walked through town holding a bow made from a curved branch, and a younger man greeted him from his porch: “How are you this evening, Ken?”

The older man turned to him.  “Well, I’m doing quite all right there, sir.  Now how about yourself?”

“Oh, everything is good.  How’s your brother doing?  The last time we talked, you said his asthma was bad.”

The older man nodded.  “He’s doing a bit better, Rick.  He was getting so bad there for a while, he was going cold.  Now he’s recovering.  Thanks for asking!”

“No worries, Ken,” the younger man replied.  “Would you like something warm to drink?  It’s getting cold; the sun’ll be gone soon.”

“I’ll have to take that offer another time.  I need to get some game for my brother before the sun goes down, if I can.  Not to mention, it’ll be nice to be alone in nature for a bit.”

Rick grinned respectfully.  “All right, but don’t forget to come by one of these days.  The children want to hear some more of your stories.  Have fun!”

“I’m sure I will!” Ken said with a laugh.  He continued to walk, and he passed Josh with a slight bow and greeting.  Josh awkwardly returned the greeting and then found himself at the doorstep of a cabin.  A sign was pitched in the grass, reading, “Joe and Maria Eya.”

He walked to and fro for a few moments before finding the courage to knock on the door.  He fretted in his heart and twiddled his thumbs.  Would his mother recognize him as he was?  He thought he looked like Moses or some man from ancient times, and he had hardly recognized himself in the reflection of the sliding glass door.  If she did recognize him, would she shun him or reenact the horrid play of her distraught face that he viewed each time he closed his eyes?  There was no other option for him. She had been the first image in his mind, and she gave him purpose.  If she could not answer his questions, then there was not much else he could do but join Simon in his simple stream of life.  But that life, which he had favored in his past, did not appeal to him.  Perhaps it was the fact that he felt lucky to be alive; he felt obliged to “live life to the fullest,” as the saying went.  What was the fullest?  Was it anything that brought happiness?  Was it altruism?  Was it something that could be measured objectively?  He had not the slightest answer, but something beyond the flesh chanted to him that falling into Simon’s stream of life would not help him appreciate that he had managed to survive—whatever he had survived.

He bowed his head, mulling over an apology to his mother.  But then he realized that while he missed her, and desired that she might tell him what he was supposed to be doing, he did not know what to apologize for.  He had always believed that apology involved being genuinely sorrowful over one’s wrongdoing to another, and then changing one’s ways so that the other is not hurt again.  Someone had once explained it this way to him: the man who punches another man in the face does not repent of his misdeed and then strike a second time.  It would be difficult to articulate what he was sorry for.  He could tell his mother that he was sorry for taking a different route of life from hers; but would he then be willing to change and adhere to her ways?  Of course, the simplest thing would be to say that he was sorry for causing her pain, for he constantly recalled the ache on her face.  Although his illness had wiped away the memory of so many other events, that sadness was more tangible than anything that he had been exposed to after his awakening.  His thoughts were disrupted when the door opened before him.

The appearance of the woman in the doorway did not deviate from the picture that his mind evoked.  Her hair and complexion were tanned, and her eyes were a creamy brown.  The slithering strands of her hair wriggled down the edges of her smooth, chiseled face and curled in near her chin.  Instantly she went pale and her eyes filled with tears, as if she were staring into the face of a ghost of a long-deceased ancestor.  Her gasp was short but sharp, and then she breathed heavily.

“Josh?” she asked, reaching a hand out to his face.  “Is this possible?”

“I’m back, Mom,” he replied as she reassuringly felt his skin.  “I’m lost and confused by recent events, but I’m back.”

She trembled emotionally, and then threw her arms around him and surprised him with the strength of her limbs.  As she wept on his shoulder, she said, “Oh, my son.  My Josh!  I never thought you would come back.  I thought we had lost you forever!  Oh, my Josh!  Just wait until your dad finds out!  He’ll be so joyful!”

Josh felt that he would weep also, but he was not yet emotionally charged enough.  He felt a sort of detachment from everything, but he had faith that his mother could fix it all.  “I love you, Mom.  I’m all right.  You don’t have to worry.  I’m all right.”

“No, Josh, you’re not!” her voice began to acquire its scolding tone.  “You’re too skinny!  And you look so ill!”  She hugged him tighter, and then released him and began to tug him into the house.  “Please, come in.  I’ll make you some tea and something warm.  Please, come in.”

Josh allowed her to pull him into the cabin.  There were only two rooms; the first room appeared to be a blend of a kitchen and living room, and the second—from what Josh could see—was his parents’ room.  Close to his parents’ room was a three-tiered bookshelf, but on it there were only a few books, all on the top shelf: The Bible, The Lord of the Rings, a small booklet entitled “Emerson’s Nature,” and another small booklet entitled “Thoreau’s Walden.”   Also in the living room there was a large, shapeless carpet, seemingly made of a real animal’s dark fur.  Atop this sat a misshapen table laden with empty plates, cups, and a candle, and three chairs pushed beneath.  Near the table was a couch that looked familiar to Josh, but its familiarity made him realize that he had never actually been in this cabin before.  In fact, he had never been in this community before.  From what he could remember, west of his city was a small town, located approximately where he was now.  It had not been as technologically advanced as the community in which he lived, but it was definitely not as archaic as this village.  What had removed a large portion of that town’s population and plopped the remainder into a village of wood and earth?  Where were the buildings that he could faintly recollect?

His mother placed him on the couch and looked firmly at him.  “Josh, I cannot begin to tell you how much your father and I missed you.  How much we worried for you.”

Josh nodded.  “Mom, I don’t know what’s happened to me, but I can’t remember a whole lot.  I think I’m going to need some things explained to me.”

She smiled sweetly at him.  “I’m sure you have a ton of questions.  All I ask is that you wait just a few minutes while I boil some water for your tea.  I don’t like talking to people while I go about my tasks.  The tasks become too distracting.”

She gave him a kiss on his forehead and went to a cupboard that he had not noticed before.  There were clangs of items bashing against one another, and then she took a small tub of clear water and a kettle from a shelf.  After pouring water into the kettle, she set it on a large slab of stone that was lifted above a fire by two rusted, metal arms.  The sound of boiling water began almost immediately.  In a matter of a couple minutes the kettle whistled, and she poured the steaming water into one of the cups on the table.  Soon Josh was sitting comfortably on the couch, a cup in his hand, and a teabag emitting light color and flavor into the water of the cup he held.  His mother pulled a chair from under the table and sat on it, a few feet from her son, facing him.

“I can’t believe my son is sitting here,” she said with hushed jubilance, her eyes raised momentarily to the ceiling.  She looked at him again. “Ask anything you want, Josh.”

Josh sighed, wondering if he was prepared to hear any answers.  “When I awoke earlier today, I was in the medical hut in my backyard, lying on a bed.  I was hooked up to an IV, and an EKG was monitoring my heart.  It was scary.  Clearly, I haven’t been well.  But what happened to me?”

His mother continued to stare at him for a few moments, and then she lowered her eyes.  “I wish I could give you a detailed explanation, but I know only part of the story.  Son, you were in a coma.”

Josh swallowed with difficulty and fell back against the couch.  His head whirled and he nearly wept.  The phantasmagoric images that had pummeled his mind prior to his final awakening made sense to him now.  Something inside had been attempting to wake him, but his flesh had been weak, pressing him back into that unwholesome darkness, the seeking claws of scarcely escapable sleep.  He held his chest as his heart suddenly catapulted against it; it could hardly stand the news.  It had never occurred to him that he one day might collapse into that most mysterious repose.  “How did that happen?  Did I get hit by a car or something?”

“That is the question I have been asking myself for some time now,” his mother replied, shaking her head dismally.  “All I know is that you were in a coma.  I don’t know how it happened, but I’ve been dying to know and praying that you would come to life again.  And God has answered my prayers!”  She embraced him a third time.  “If I never find out how it happened, I’ll still be happy, knowing that you’re back.”

When she released him, he told her, “You said you’ve been asking about the cause of my coma for a while.  How long is a while?”

“Oh, a while, son,” she responded.  “Three years, exactly.  And every minute has passed like a century.”

“Three years!” Josh coughed.  “Are you kidding?  So I’m like…”

“You’re thirty-three years old now.”  She studied his expression and frowned when dismay crossed his face.  “I can only imagine what that must feel like for you to hear.”

“Three years,” Josh repeated with disbelief.  “So, three years of my life were wasted.  What could I have accomplished in those three years?”

His mother shrugged.  “You may have not been able to accomplish anything in that state, but through it, you have come back here.”

Josh nodded in agreement.  “Yes, I know.  It’s just a horrifying thought, that life I could have lived was taken from me.”

She touched his hand and fixed her eyes on his.  “Josh, you weren’t living.  You were dead long before your coma ever happened.  Dead to life, that is.  I’m sorry to say it, son, but—well, true love cannot thrive without pain—everything about your life before your coma was about you.  It was all about you, and you never let anyone in.  The way you were living, son, wasn’t healthy.  You built a wall around yourself, and I used to see it while you were still at home with us.  And it wasn’t just the video games; they were only a small part of it, but—and forgive me if this sounds a little too analytical—they were like a physical expression of what I think was going on inside.  The way you acted when you played those games was like the way you lived your life—you were walled out from the voices of others, from real relationships, and you only occasionally heard the things that you cared about.  Selective hearing, I suppose you’d call it.  Your father and I, we couldn’t bear it, but you wouldn’t listen to us.

“Maybe I’ve just gone crazy with grief, but a few moments ago, when I saw you at my door, I saw something different in your eyes.  I don’t really understand it, Josh, but I feel like something played on your heart while you were in that coma.  I don’t see why you would come back to me, otherwise.  You hated me so much when you left.”

Josh shook his head, and the tears began to fall.  “Why did I leave?  Why did I hate you?”

She smiled somewhat grimly.  “So you have forgotten that, also.  That happened before your coma, maybe six months before it.  Think back, Josh.  It was one of the most historical events in this nation’s history.  Technology had been expanding since I was young, but within the last half-decade, it erupted like crazy.  People celebrated man’s ability to build powerful structures, and gaming systems, and strange machines comparable to man, with very little in terms of supplies.  The cheapest computers used the same amount of energy to follow high-end instructions as computers from two decades ago took to add two and two on the calculator. 

“As I said, many thought that these were things to rejoice in.  Of course, others were terrified, knowing what this explosion of technology could bring.  The president of our nation was in this category.  Simpler was happier, he said.  He, with the support of all beneath him, appeared on TV and encouraged the nation to move backwards.  To go back to the days when horses were used rather than cars.  Before fire was replaced by electricity.  Before skyscrapers reached the heavens.  By doing this, people could find true joy in nature.  Much of the nation’s population, though not a majority, leapt with joy and there was a movement called the Era of Unbuilding, where people took hammers and mallets to their homes in celebration of moving back into nature.  This went on for a year, ending sometime in the middle of your coma.

“More people rebelled, however.  Large groups across the nation decided that they wanted to see humanity continue to evolve.  They desired to witness the full extent of man’s capacity for growth.  The number of people who wanted to retreat back into nature, called the Unbuilders, was maybe half the number of those who wanted to advance, called the Builders.  But cities can only be so large, and nature seems to expand forever.  So across our nation you will see long stretches of beautiful grass and unmarked hills, a pocket of city, and more grass and hills.  It’s an odd sight.

“Needless to say, you decided to join the Builders.  You did not make the decision immediately; it took you some time, and many conversations with your father and me.  Then that horrid day came.  You told me that you were going to join those that were living in the cities.  I tried to stop you.  I tried to convince you that it was wrong, but once again, you didn’t listen to me.  The result was that you yelled at me, telling me that you would rather live with someone who respects what you do with your life.  And you were gone.  I was angry with you, but more than anything, my heart was broken.  I felt like I had lost my son.  And that was the last time I saw you.  Of course, I tried to visit you, especially after I had received news of your coma, but that blatantly sexual fingerprint scanner of yours doesn’t take kindly to strangers.”

Reversion--Part IV

Here continues my science fiction short story, "Reversion." Josh Eya leaves his community to search for his mother, and finds himself in a beautiful land devoid of large buildings and other technology.  He recognizes the stark difference between his community and the outside world.

Having donned normal clothing, Josh closed the door behind him and walked briskly across the front porch of his home.  He could only scarcely recall how to exit the community, but his feet—laden with a pathfinding feature of their own, apparently—sent him confidently in what he hoped was the correct direction.  He left his front yard behind and merged onto the sidewalk.  As his feet led him, he gazed at the houses lining the street.  They were built to utmost perfection, symbols of the endless capacity of man for construction and advancement.  There was not one building lacking symmetry in any form; they were perfectly molded creatures of the human race, tall towers reaching the heavens; they were the might, pride, and wit of man made visual.  The yards of the homes were precisely shaped; lawns were boxes of nature amidst towering industry; the mountainous fences established privacy not only for backyards, but many proprietors even separated their front yards from the world.  The street was flawlessly linear, and the smooth curbs rose smoothly and unmarred around it.  No one was outside.

There was something golden about the city.  Josh was reminded of Rome.  He had heard from stories (and viewed in The Fall of Rome©) that the constructive power of the Romans during their city’s epoch was unmatched.  Likewise, these homes seemed to be at the pinnacle of man’s creative ability—at least in the realm of edifices.  And yet there was also something subtly dark about the city.  Perhaps it was the fact that no one was outside; perhaps the houses were so large that the sun could only with great difficulty trudge above the brick rooftops.  The latter seemed quite possible, for while it seemed to be relatively early in the afternoon, long shadows of houses extended across the street, shady teeth gnawing ravenously at the asphalt.  From around a block a young boy, perhaps a quarter-mile from Josh, came on a bike, and he appeared to misgauge the distance between his front tire and a bump on the sidewalk, pulling up too soon.  The front tire pounded against the bump, and the handlebars twisted toward the boy’s stomach.  He managed to fall off before the bars did any damage to him, but the fall did not look very promising.  At that moment a lady rolled through a stop sign near the corner slowly, noticing the boy on the ground but not leaving her vehicle to check his condition.  After a moment of rubbernecking, she sped down the street without making eye contact with Josh.  The boy pushed up to his feet, set the handlebars straight, and rode toward Josh.  They did not exchange glances, Josh because he did not know what to say, and the boy probably because of his humiliation. 

The homes continued on in their perfect pattern, giant dollhouses meticulously detailed in their composition.  Ahead of him shops rose up, their names stamped elegantly across their faces.  Josh watched as a man exited a thrift store, hopped into his car, and drove no more than a couple blocks to his home, where he parked in the garage.  Josh began to study the porches of the homes around him.  He remembered the porch at his parents’ house; a rocking chair had sat outside during his youth, where he or a family member sat occasionally to read a book or enjoy the fresh air.  As he grew, his parents had tossed the chair and replaced it with a small bench, something more inviting for two people to sit on and talk.  In those days, people—even couples!—went for morning jogs or power walks, and Josh recalled his father sitting on the bench and greeting everyone who walked by.  He had thought it odd at that time.  Although he had hardly ever dared to speak out against his father, his mind had nearly pressed the words out of him: Dad, didn’t you notice how they were purposely not looking toward our house, so that they would not have to face the awkwardness of greeting us?  Yet as Josh, now beginning to tire, began to approach the community’s gate, he was saddened by the fact that he had seen no joggers or couples power walking together.  Why was everyone inside?  Were they too afraid of being seen or of seeing?

He made a left turn around a corner, and abruptly before him loomed a large, dark wall, a Great Wall of China for the community.  It was not very thick, but its overall greatness gave its viewer the effect that there was a definite line between the community and the outside world.  Nothing beyond it could be seen.  Attached to the wall and pointing to Josh was the roof of a station, held up by Corinthian columns and placed under the vigilance of two guards.  Beneath the roof were two gates that could be opened to allow cars in and out, and on either side of those larger gates were small, gated doors used by pedestrians.  Josh arrived at one of the doors and keeled over, placing his hands on his knees.  He had never been in shape, but this was ridiculous.  For the remainder of the journey, he would have to travel more slowly.

“You leavin’?” the guard nearest to him asked.  “Or are you just takin’ a breather?”

“Leaving,” Josh answered, coughing.

The guard’s eyes widened.  “You’re one of the few, then.  And as I like to say to the others, you’re either real brave or real stupid.”

“Why would I be either of those?”

The guard chuckled.  “Never mind.”  He opened the door for Josh and beckoned him through.  “Good luck.  I don’t know how you people tolerate them people out there.”

Josh had not prepared himself for anything akin to that which he now viewed.  Nature.  Once outside the gate, he did not see the structures of perfection that were inside the city, nor the streets that deviated not from their preordained course, nor mechanical patches of grass planted between technological towers; he saw hillocks, rolling for miles into the horizon like the jade waves of an endless sea, crested by fruitful trees of every name and flowers of precise symmetry, untouched and unconstructed by man.  He saw stones of the earth’s most ancient days, undying bones that lamented man’s forgetfulness of them, who acquainted with the land before humanity’s entrance onto the stage of the world.  There was no asphalt street, but a dirt path diving between the knolls and disappearing like a liberated ribbon into the western edge of the heavens.  The grass that crowned the hills and swam between the minute valleys was tall but fine, waving at Josh like pure faeries prepared for play.  There were no wooden fences or massive walls, only luminous land beneath the sun.  And in many places brooklets wound their way south, now tattooing the road with their glistening veins, now plunging out of sight behind a hillock but still singing with sweet voice the true ballad of nature.

He stepped onto the road, overcome with a sense of adventure that he could only recall from artificial sensations of heroism in a video game, and from dreaming of being in the shoes of some champion of his favorite movies.  What was portrayed on a screen or in a story could do little justice to the genuine beauty of nature; these were but poor constructs that, when properly collected and summed, could only deliver a hazy likeness of the entire essence.  Such a powerful feeling overwhelmed Josh, and this drove his heart into a frantic but hale pounding that reminded him that he was alive.  Despite having awakened in a terrifying room of needles and medicines, of the EKG mockingbird of his heart, of darkness and confusion, Josh was—as strangely and misplaced as he had felt since his rising—fully alive.  With every view of birds soaring into the blue firmament and cawing in freedom, every view of streams glittering like liquid glass as they impaled the earth’s skin, and every view of the trees stretching their youthful arms up to drink in the rays of the falling sun, Josh felt his strength returning to him.  He was alive.

Before long all heed whatsoever was lost to the path that his feet took, and his mind linked with nature as he trusted his instincts to lead him to his parents’ house.  Behind him the town began to fade, a dim thorn obtruding from a shining land, only a small number of rooftops prickling above the vast wall.  In the west, ahead of Josh, the sun began to finish its daily trek and hide behind the western rim of the world.  In the faintest distance mountains loomed, prepared to embrace the golden orb and burn in its brilliant conflagration. These natural spikes of the earth transcended all that was deemed great in mortal construction; they scoffed at man’s greatest buildings, dwarfed Josh’s home city, and could nearly pierce the heavens like somber swords.  What man could engineer such exquisite figures of power?  Who could delve into the earth and lay the foundations, the earth’s greatest roots, and from them build a tower of stone and dirt?  Who could concoct the formula to dress the craggy slopes of these mountains with trees, immobilized druids bestowing upon the earth new freshness, new beauty, and new fruit?  Man could build and pride himself in his construction, but all that he created was taken from this mighty planet; the ingredients for inventions had long existed, waiting for man’s mind and hand to discover them.

Overhead the sky blushed as the fatherly light sizzled against the mountains, spreading itself in a fluid, red band across their peaks, and thereby crowning those earthly skyscrapers with ruby diadems.  The streams accordingly seemed to lower their voices, but still they sang odes to the failing light, mourning the end of its journey and wishing it the safest trip in its quest beyond their sight.  At least, this is what Josh initially believed the melodic voices on the air to be.  As he considered the low music, movement from the north caught his eye and he halted for a moment, gazing in that direction.  A circle of young men and women sat on rocks, covered with stained, rough clothing.  They swayed to the beat of their voices and some sort of stringed instrument.  One man sat on a stone lower than those of the other people, and he played an acoustic guitar, singing with the others.  Josh could not catch much of their hymn, but the word “Jesus” rose up clearly above all other words.  Such liberation was revealed in their expressions!  Such gorgeous voices, like those of elves that a stranger might hear when stumbling upon their merrymaking in a faraway glen, were pushed from the singers’ diaphragms, and even the voice of the lowest in skill could be heard flowing like the reddening streams.  This would certainly never be seen in Josh’s city.  Although he did not fully understand the significance of the words they sang, he smiled at their freedom and moved on.