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skonen_bladesHe stomps through the door and into the dark warehouse with his head down. His face is in shadow underneath his fedora. He has a leopard print headband. He’s dressed like a pimp in a purple double breasted zoot suit with huge padded shoulders. His entire face is bandaged. His cigar pushes out clouds that puff and circle behind him like steam from a train. He strides quickly like an executioner that knows the only way he can do the killing is to do it quick. He has a cane held in one lilac gloved hand.
His walk taps out an angry even rhythm until he hits the center of the room. His heels come down together like a rifle shot in the darkening silence when he stops. The sun is going down so the light coming in the windows high up on the walls is almost horizontal.
This man, this homeless lord of the dark under the pier, he looks up. He’s trained the rats to do his bidding. He has seagull minions by the score. All manner of shore scavengers are his to command. He used to be a god but now he hunts for half eaten burgers and cold French fries like his slaves. His army of carrion feeders grows smaller every day as his power wanes. He has decades to live, perhaps years.
He is Oresh, the lord the lost. He is also known as Krane, the master of the missing. This man was what people used to pray to when they needed something found. He was born in the infancy of street voodoo in New Orleans and then forgotten. His existence is coming to an end like a mirror turning over.
He made a decision this morning to go out now and with style. He’s going to spread himself too thin and expend too much energy to ever reincorporate. With a few sharp breaths and a setting of his jaw, he begins.
He goes down on one knee and takes off his hat. He lets go of his cane and the cane stays standing. He reaches up and undoes the bandages that blind him. When he’s free of them, he straightens his back and puts his head up looking forward. His eyes are closed.
He finds things by seeing them. His eyes see all. Nothing is lost because he can see them. Normally he opens his eyes just a sliver and finds what he’s been asked to look for. Three times in his life he’s gone so far as to actually squint. It exhausts him.
This time he opens his eyes wide. The windows of the warehouse rattle to contain a sudden blast of air and light.
All the rats on the beach look towards the warehouse. All the seagulls in the area shut up for a minute.
Renee finds her hairbrush behind the couch. John finds his car keys under the radiator. Peter finds his wife’s will in a shoebox at the bottom of the closet. Lisa’s glasses were in her glove compartment all along. Tim finds the lottery ticket that won him ten dollars tucked in the back pocket of his jeans just before he washes them. Peter finds his shoe under Ellie’s bed before running out to work. Jill finds her earring tangled in the brush of the vacuum cleaner.
All over the country, everyday people find tiny things that were lost to them. Not one of them thinks to mention it to anyone else.
Back in the warehouse, a cane falls to the ground next to a hat and some bandages. Other than that, the warehouse is empty.
tags
His walk taps out an angry even rhythm until he hits the center of the room. His heels come down together like a rifle shot in the darkening silence when he stops. The sun is going down so the light coming in the windows high up on the walls is almost horizontal.
This man, this homeless lord of the dark under the pier, he looks up. He’s trained the rats to do his bidding. He has seagull minions by the score. All manner of shore scavengers are his to command. He used to be a god but now he hunts for half eaten burgers and cold French fries like his slaves. His army of carrion feeders grows smaller every day as his power wanes. He has decades to live, perhaps years.
He is Oresh, the lord the lost. He is also known as Krane, the master of the missing. This man was what people used to pray to when they needed something found. He was born in the infancy of street voodoo in New Orleans and then forgotten. His existence is coming to an end like a mirror turning over.
He made a decision this morning to go out now and with style. He’s going to spread himself too thin and expend too much energy to ever reincorporate. With a few sharp breaths and a setting of his jaw, he begins.
He goes down on one knee and takes off his hat. He lets go of his cane and the cane stays standing. He reaches up and undoes the bandages that blind him. When he’s free of them, he straightens his back and puts his head up looking forward. His eyes are closed.
He finds things by seeing them. His eyes see all. Nothing is lost because he can see them. Normally he opens his eyes just a sliver and finds what he’s been asked to look for. Three times in his life he’s gone so far as to actually squint. It exhausts him.
This time he opens his eyes wide. The windows of the warehouse rattle to contain a sudden blast of air and light.
All the rats on the beach look towards the warehouse. All the seagulls in the area shut up for a minute.
Renee finds her hairbrush behind the couch. John finds his car keys under the radiator. Peter finds his wife’s will in a shoebox at the bottom of the closet. Lisa’s glasses were in her glove compartment all along. Tim finds the lottery ticket that won him ten dollars tucked in the back pocket of his jeans just before he washes them. Peter finds his shoe under Ellie’s bed before running out to work. Jill finds her earring tangled in the brush of the vacuum cleaner.
All over the country, everyday people find tiny things that were lost to them. Not one of them thinks to mention it to anyone else.
Back in the warehouse, a cane falls to the ground next to a hat and some bandages. Other than that, the warehouse is empty.
tags
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Date: 2 Aug 2006 01:53 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2 Aug 2006 02:25 (UTC)