One Day In The Life of Ivan Munch.

One Day In The Life of Ivan Munch.

A Story by Danny Metcalfe

Ivan Munch’s hands were empty as he entered the church. He never went to church empty handed but on this particular day his fortune had left him. The embarrassment had left his face looking like a sleeping toad. After a time, he began eating flies, his eyes throbbing in excitement. There was no hope for him this time. Even in prayer, his hands clutched to his head, or even sipping from the holy cup.
This left a queer taste of wild envy.
Now it was clear of his affliction…
‘’The spirit is at hand!’’ The vicar declared.
The other church goers imparted their impartial sacrament upon his spirit. There was no refinement. No miracles at hand to cure the corpse of his expression. In spite of their efforts they were none the wiser.
‘’ What we need is a conjurer’’ explained the vicar.
Shaken and disturbed they told Ivan to go sit in the pond in the church garden. After a while he started to pull at his eyes, looking in every direction there was possible and soon his eyes caught sight of the remarkable tall flowers beyond the garden, barely visible in its veiled environment. Ivan, being in a curious mood climbed the wall, jumped and landed in a sea of flowers. The smells were divine. The colours were magic. There was no bad blood here. The light collided with the prows of shy creatures. Ivan felt himself unseen by such beauty. The light and shadows of things that will never be, left him in a trance and wandering in idle truth.
‘’O god’’ Ivan thought
‘’The itch of charity reinvents itself’’
But first one must scratch at the surface. And so Ivan did. He scratched so hard he started to bleed.
His blood being pale like ivy and set to action.
The smell of blood attracted the attention of a flower elf, which from behind a rock encourages conversation.
‘’O this is by far the greatest of curiosities. These sensitive bodies that contain the world live nowhere in particular.’’
‘’What do you mean?’’ asked Ivan.
‘’Ah, nothing in particular’’ replied the elf.
Ivan’s thoughts began to hum in supreme achievement realising nothing in particular. The elf began to explain the shrill of the lobster patterned petals that roused the remains of the past. ‘’White heat on the plains, almost light, covers the invisible eye always shining.’’ And when the image hit it took his breath away. Like a whiff of lightening on the tip of his nose. Ivan sneezed and it started to pour.
‘’ The will of the dead shows itself’’ the elf muttered.
The elf noted the hourly current, concluding the effect to be immediate and withstanding. Ivan cast a glance towards the elf, perhaps in recognition or anxious entertainment and witnessed the elf extinguish the North Star. It was the hour of the day when the children at play were at their most dangerous. 
Ivan felt a little lost.
‘’How will I find my way home?’’ Ivan questioned.
‘’There is no need for that’’ said the elf
And yet Ivan forgot why he was even there in the first place. Still, the enigma caught on and proof of meaning faced upward and faith faced downward and truth stayed in the labyrinth of silent explosions.
Then the elf exploded leaving nothing in particular.
Ivan decided to head east, bringing with him second sight. The mark of redemption. Still, he spoke outward and pressed on with no explanation telling himself the here’s and there’s of nowhere. It was impossible to talk here without being found out. His main worry was to be careful and not to mistake things for what they are not. Still, it was possible to trick oneself and emerge empty.
Ivan thought to himself and then couldn’t stop laughing. He had chosen his fate. That of the laughing toad. That was more than enough to bear. It was the ideal location for such a disorder in the place where what is known cannot be seen.
Thereupon, Ivan envisioned the elf and sat under the shade of the tallest flower.
Meanwhile, the vicar went searching for Ivan and the day had only just begun.

© 2021 Danny Metcalfe


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Added on February 18, 2021
Last Updated on February 18, 2021

Author

Danny Metcalfe
Danny Metcalfe

United Kingdom



About
I am a writer, poet and playwright. All works are first drafts. My favorite writers are: Arthur Rimbaud, William S Burroughs, Clarice Lispector, Robert Walser, Julio Cortazar, Mikhail Bulgakov,.. more..

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