Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Oh faith my addiction or how I learned to land

Her hands trembled, but she twisted her arm and slid it forward. Could the words of her favourite verse save her this time, she asked herself.


And God said, “Let the Earth bring forth living creatures according to their kinds: cattle and creeping things and beasts of the earth according to their kinds.” And it was so. And God made their kinds and the cattle according to their kinds, and everything that creeps upon the ground according to its kind. And God saw that it was good.

But is he kind, she asked herself.

And she saw that it was good as well. For HE is the one who led her here and it will be HE that will save her yet. It is the way she has been taught. This was a fact she did not doubt, even with the slithery beast held in her hand.

“Oh faith, oh faith, what shall ye be? Oh faith, my lord, shall only set me free,” she whispered slowly, beneath her breath.

Stephanie had always whispered to herself moment after moment. Day after day. Year after year. Agony was dealt best without anyone noticing.

And trust me here kids, nobody was going to notice her here, lost in isolation in the most alone city in Canada.

Today was a lie for everyday, the beast is in her hand, waiting to break her skin and decay her soul, the rain clouds forming over her head, and nothing but malcontents to surround her.

Why such a repetition, she would ponder. The curse never breaks and keeps the world bound in chains, a same old routine, day, after day, week after week, pitter-patter after pitter-patter, pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter

Prince Rupert. Not the best home for vagrants. Nor was it the best place to get your fix but you did find it, all you had to do was get down to the needle exchange, kneel to the ground and eat the biscuit. As simple…as…that… and then you flew…

Zoom—another flight on the beautiful plane, so sky high, but there is ice on the propellers and god checked out a while ago. He took all the parachutes with him. So when she falls, no one catches her and she crashes right on West 2nd Avenue.

Today she will not kneel, today she will only pray – just a prayer or two.

“Oh lord, oh lord, what shall ye be? Shall you be the same as today, the same as tomorrow, and as infinite?” she continued to whisper to herself, her eyes sunk towars the impending long thin metallic purge.

Her black spiralling locks fall over her eyes that look like black holes misplaced in the universe. God had crashed her plane many times.

Then flight of thought about the quadric of holy governance: the father, the imagination, the boy, and the boogieman, all has her in chains. Go ask Alice if you dare. Go ask the boy if you dare. Go ask the boogieman, if you dare. Go ask the father, if you dare. Stay in the plane, there are many movies on this one.

The rain falls over her shoulder looking just like tears, the remorseful repetition that keeps her whole Pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter, pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter, pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter

It always rains when the beautiful plane dives. She can’t get a break.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Lord, her clock runs, her hands fall, her hope like little grains of sand falling to the bottom of the hour glass.

She prays, but the repetition pays no dividends. She is stuck in the hourglass.

It was glass that got her here in the first place.

Another prayer comes to mind, she remembers this one as a child.

“Call the king, call the queen, and call the tin soldiers out of bed. The king here, the queen there, so bring your horse, bring your soldier, they have left, disappeared. Vanishing until there is no more king and the queen is dead,” she whispers still.

God must be ignoring her because the plane is crashing on autopilot.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. You can’t be anywhere but here girl. In the hour glass, on West Second Avenue. Prince Rupert. Alone.

The sleepy city has no idea – the storming horse, the tin soldier, the insidious invasion; oh how the sleepy city has no idea. But the rain still falls, Pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter, pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter, pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter-pitter-patter

Stephanie is never alone. Creepy crawly beasts slither and hiss there way down this street:

“A dime here, a quarter there, the king is gone, the queen is dead,” said when certain the power over her is attained.

She is offered no protection but she will not be swayed by dignity decay and is not about to ruin the last bit of dignity beholden to her heart for a dime.

“Maybe then you should pray little one,” the beast seems to say without words, its breath the foul stench of despair, like turpentine without the clean fair, its risen high to heaven, his eyes vacant of all divinity.

Pray for what? Pray for reality, pray for blood but to pray to fall is to make the greatest mistake of all. For she doesn’t want to bring attention to herself… shhhhhhhhhh!

“Still believe in choice?” the beast has asked.

“Oh lord, here me cry, I cannot fight the horse. Where is the boy?”

The invasion nears, sleep no more. One horse, two horse, three horse more.

He hears her not. The needle is ready.

But a hand reaches out and at the last moment she pulls back. The pitter-patter has pattered away, and below the clear night sky, the divine beasts do not howl.

The boy was here all along, no need for sorrow. He was where you are, his name was Myles Morreau.

“Come with me m’am. I’ll take you home.”

And the beast has slunk away in a Prince Rupert alley amongst creeping things and others according to their kind.

All kinds find each other.

All planes must land one way or another.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

and God said, whack all ye junkies who crawl on their bellies.