Pittance and Indulgence

It was with great distress that I found myself trapped.  Perhaps it would be better to say that I was simply stuck; for without any intent or malice, can it really be considered a trap?  It was while I was on my way to work, mere clerical work of little importance, that I spotted a child playing upon the edge of the plaza fountain.  I suppose it is hardly that odd for a child to enjoy such a thing; I myself had done the same when I was a youth.  In those days, leaping about on the slick stone had seemed innocent enough; oh how youthful vitality hides from us our own mortality.  Now that I was older, more mature and wise, I understood all too well the dangers which the water masked--the fragile nature of ours.

I contemplated stopping the child, saving him from what seemed an inevitable fall.  I cast my eyes about, where was this child’s parents?  No one stood out; in fact, everyone around me seemed entirely disinterested in what the child might be doing.  I had a job to get to, but I had fortunately left early as always.  It was not that I did not have time to interfere, it was more that I felt uncertain if it was my place to assist in something which was a mere possibility.  Surely I was just being paranoid.  An image of the child laying in the pond, his brains dashed across the plaza, his blood seeping into the water, flashed through my mind with disturbing clarity.  The child’s parents were either not around, or not worried as I; and I realized I had no choice.  Rushing forward, the very thing I had been so paranoid of occurred--the boy slipped.   As he teetered, and began to fall, I gruffly seized him, just barely stopping his fall.

Sighing deeply, I tried to calm my nerves; I felt almost a sense of satisfaction at my decisive response.  Another moment, and I would have been too late; somehow my paranoia seemed justified.  Wondering if anyone had seen my miraculous save I looked around me; I met the gaze of no one.  Everyone simply carried about their business, blissfully unaware, or apathetic, of what had just transpired.  “It’s okay”, I murmur to myself, “I didn’t save this child simply for praise or recognition.  I did it because it had to be done!”   I feel uneasy, surely my anger towards the crowd was their inaction, not their lack of appraisal.  With a deep sigh, trying to throw away my frustrations, I cast my eyes down towards the child now in my arms.

The boy had the same expression as every other person in the plaza; his eyes glazed over with disinterest--almost bored.  Shrugging himself free from my arms the boy immediately climbed back onto the fountain as though he had never fell.  “I should have simply let him fall”, I grudgingly muse to myself.  After all, if he never learned the pain of the fall, would he ever learn to avoid it?  Guilt overcomes me, like a wave of nausea, tearing at my soul, “I should be ashamed” I chastise myself.  Wishing harm on a mere child; what kind of man was I?

I shrugged such thoughts from my mind; this was just a chance encounter, nothing of significance.  Turning, I readied myself to once more depart towards work.  With a sinking feeling I realized that perhaps things... may be more complicated than I had first assumed--my foot was stuck.  Wedged firmly in a crack at the base of the fountain’s masonry, my foot was completely unmovable.  Sighing deeply I begin wiggling my foot back and forth, gently yet forcefully.  I had somehow managed to lodge myself in this crack; surely with some patience I could free myself--such a thing, it should be feasible.   Yet try as I may, the crevasse held firm.  Holding up my watch I squinted at it; 10 minutes left until I had to be to work.  It took 15 minutes walking, but if I sprinted as hard as I possibly could, I might be able to make it in 5 minutes; I was running out of time.  Never in my 37 years of life had I ever been late to work; always punctual to every commitment.  It was of the utmost importance to show respect towards these commitments, even in a meager clerical position which certainly no one appreciated.

Looking around me I try to find someone, something, which could help free me from this crevasse.  There was still time; if I ran I could make it!  A short distance away from me I spied a sturdy looking stick; perhaps I could pry my foot loose with it?  Reaching out towards it I quickly discovered that I was just out of range.  No matter how I maneuvered myself, how hard and far I stretched my fingers, I was always short mere inches.  It was like a sick joke, to leave it so close; yet those few inches might as well been miles.  If my salvation had been on the other side of this world, it would have been no less accessible for myself; stuck as I was.  Instead it lay mere inches from me; seeming to taunt me with each attempt.

I groaned and throwing my head up in frustration noticed that the child had ceased scampering about on the fountain; instead he was now just watching me curiously.  Were my fruitless struggles really so amusing to him?  Gesturing toward the staff I explain to the boy, “Since I saved you from falling, I think it is only fair that you help me out of here.  I am not saying it is your fault by any means, but had I not saved you, I would not currently be stuck here.”

The child continues staring at me, almost as though he had not understood a single word.  In fact, it was as though he had not even heard me.  Instead the child just continued staring at me, staring...   It was so uncanny.  I had the urge to snap at the child in frustration, should he not listen to his elders?  I suppressed the urge, this here was a mere boy; showing my frustration to him would accomplish nothing but to show my own immaturity.  I take a deep sigh before gesturing once more at the staff and asking as politely as I can, “The point is, I need to get out of here.  I am running late, and I desperately need out of here.  Could you, would you, fetch that stick for me?”

At last the child turned his head towards the staff, giving the first sign that he had ever listened to me.  Then hopping down off the fountain without so much a word, the child moseyed his way over to the stick, which he slowly picked up.   Did he not understand the urgency?  The child stood there in front of me for a long while, simply looking over the staff, as if pondering what to do with it.  Smiling broadly, the boy then turned and began to meander away, infinitely amused by his new toy.

“You ungrateful cur!” I yell after the child as he rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.  Here I was stuck because I helped the child, and not only does he show no respect or appreciation; but he takes away the one thing which could save me!  I suppress the urge to spit on the ground, I am never going to have one of these brats.  I used to think children a gift, but now they seem only a curse; they will most certainly abandon me when I need it most, not the least bit grateful!

I groaned inside, now there was no way that I would make it to work on time; it was all that brat’s fault!  How was I going to explain this all to my boss?  A story of being stuck in the masonry of the city plaza just sounded so absurd.  My boss had never commented on my punctuality before, but how could he not value it?  Over twenty years with the company, and never late or absent, he certainly valued it!  Surely he would be greatly distressed when I stumbled into work as late as I was; should I give an excuse?  Or perhaps I should just admit my failure, even if it was not truly my fault?  Which was more responsible?

Again I look around the Plaza, hoping to lock eyes with at least one stranger.  Once our eyes met, could any man truly desert me?  A familiar face.  I could see a familiar face!  The very boss which I was so worried about stood not 15 feet away, looking off into the distance!  Surely he would help me, and I would not even need to provide an excuse since he would realize how stuck I was.  I uttered a short prayer of thanks to whatever great being had brought my boss here, it was nothing short of a miracle.   I pause for a moment, Why is he here anyway?  Shouldn’t he be at the office?  Perhaps he had noticed my absence and immediately had come to my aid?

With embarrassed gratitude I address him, “Thank goodness that you are here Sir!  I was saving a child, when my foot got stuck here...  and well...  I am terribly sorry for inconveniencing you so!  I swear I will work all the more!”

My boss turns toward me, a puzzled look on his face, “Uhh, have me met?” he asks.

Dismay stabs my heart, how could he not even remember me?  I frantically stumble out, “It’s me, your faithful worker of over twenty years!  I do our clerical work!”

The man gives me a warm smile, “Ahh, yes, of course!  You were always a good worker.  I shall see you at work.”  And turning, the man walks away from the plaza, in the direction I had come from.  Despite my yelling, he continues to walk away, until I am once again alone by the fountain.  With a sinking feeling I realize that the man had not even remembered my name; it was all just a facade.   Had over twenty years of loyal service not even earned me the right to be remembered?  And he so easily left me here, completely uninterested in my current predicament!  Did he not realize I couldn’t work like this?

With a groan I ease myself to the ground, a difficult feat considering the position my foot is in.  There was no longer any point in rushing off to work now.  I was already late, and who knew if my Boss would even notice.  Now that I was no longer in a rush, my frenzy earlier seemed all the more absurd.  It didn’t really matter, eventually someone would come along and help me out; since time was no longer of the essence, it didn’t matter.  His boss didn’t even remember him, surely his tardiness would leave little impression.  As apathy settled in my heart I resolved myself, I must no longer care so deeply.  To dedicate oneself so earnestly, yet never be noticed, was there a point?  In fact, when I finally got out of here, I wasn’t even going to bother going to work!  But what to do?  When you have followed the same daily schedule for so long, the idea of something else, how does one even use the time?   Perhaps I could go for a walk?  But where?  Bah, it mattered little, I would just walk.

I sat like that for what must have been hours, I wasn’t quite sure.  It was clear that I would not be able to get out on my own, so I decided that eventually someone would take notice and assist me; it wasn’t worth my time and effort to scream for help, when I was going to be ignored anyway.  So I decided to sit there, with my thoughts, debating what I would do with all the free-time I now had… since I didn’t have to go to work.  A shadow blotted out the sun, and broke me from my thoughts.  An abnormally large man with an even larger smile beamed down at me.  Perhaps I should clarify, he wasn’t a tall man, or particularly large in frame… no, he was strangely fat, to the point that I wondered how his smile could show through it all.

In a disturbingly loud and cutting voice the man bellowed, “Hello there boy, I noticed you have been sitting there for a while.  Mind moving?  You are awfully distracting; and loitering is prohibited in the plaza.”   And then, as if to prove some point that he never made, he pointed off into the distance at something I couldn’t see, “Didn’t you read the sign?”

I couldn’t possibly see something like that, much less read it, as well as that I was hardly loitering by my own choice.  The man’s twisted joviality perturbed me, but I tried to keep up the polite attitude which I had always held.  Bowing to the man, a gesture which seemed more a convulsion than greeting, I apologized in what I hoped was a genuine voice, “You see, I am actually stuck here in this crack.  If you could help me out, I would gladly leave and get out of your hair.  I really am sorry for the inconvenience.”

The man’s smile twisted into a grotesque grimace that would leave the gargoyles on the cathedral above feel lacking, and no longer did it seem his expression had to fight against his bulging cheeks, rather it felt as though the fat rolls only emphasized his malice.  And yet, despite his expression which filled me with a strange terror which ran down my back in cold drops, the man still had the same obnoxiously jovial boom of a voice, “I said you’re bothering everyone.”

My facade of genuine sincerity and politeness finally broke, and I snapped out, “I know! I just need some f*****g help!  Who are you anyway?”  And embarrassed at my outburst, I tried to recover my dignity with a simple, “Sir?” at the end.

If the man had taken any offense to my outburst he didn’t seem to mind; in fact, his face twisted back to how it was when I first saw him blocking the sun.  Pushing what little hair lay upon his head back with an air of vanity, the man proudly declared, “Why I am the town-crier!  I inform every one of the time of day, and any and all announcements! Great or Small!” and as if to emphasize this point the man bellowed out, like an oversized rooster, “The Earl likes Pudding on his Nips!”

Looking about us, I wondered how people would actually react to such an outlandish claim, and oddly enough, the people in the plaza stared at the both of us, murmuring amongst themselves.  A nearby man chuckled, “The Duke likes Pudding? Why I am going to go get me some now!”  And as one the crowd disappeared into a nearby desert shop… apparently to get pudding.  Despite the man’s nonsense, it seemed that the ‘Crier’ had some real power in this area… this gave me an idea.

Turning back to the Crier who was still pushing back what little of his hair remained, I asked meekly, “Perhaps you could spread the news and get someone to come help me out of this predicament?”

The Crier seemed enthused at the idea, and boisterously bellowed out, “Why of course good sir!” and wandering away from me began to yell, at what I hoped was the top of his lungs, it was hard to imagine anyone could get any louder, “‘Despondent Burden of Society’ Occupies Plaza; demands they will not leave until their demands are met!”

How embarrassing...I can’t help but feel shame, even though I know it isn’t true.  How could someone go around professing such malicious lies with such a huge grin and joyful disposition?  It was like a child who is tearing open a gift; was I suddenly a toy?  Still… if it could get me out of here… I could endure it.  I had been wanting to move somewhere else anyway.  I had always lived here, it was my home; but suddenly all those monotonous years seemed ill spent.  Yes, when I got out of here, I was going to go on a journey.  Naturally I would at least go and grab a few things from the house first, as bold as I was now feeling, I wasn’t stupid.

Only a few minutes had passed, and I was already surrounded by onlookers, they all seemed enraged that I wouldn’t just leave already.  It seemed that the Crier had been every bit as effective at spreading his warped story as I had expected.  I didn’t exactly feel delighted with all the scowls and general animosity directed towards me, but negative attention was still attention… right?  I just needed to wait a little longer, and then I could be done with this city and its odd mix of indifference and hatred.  I was surprised I had never noticed it all until now; with a chuckle I reflected on how naive I had been.  The crowd murmured, apparently enraged at how lighthearted I was at occupying their fountain which everyone cherished.

The crowd parted to let an out-of-breath fellow through their midst, whether because he was important, or because he was repulsive, I doubt they even knew.  He seemed distracted and disorganized, and his poor hygiene indicated this was nothing new.  He stopped in front of me, and stood there for several minutes trying to catch his breath, which gave me plenty of time to observe that he was very odd-looking, disheveled and disgusting, but in a rather hilarious manner.  His attire was so hodge-podge that it almost seemed like he wore himself ironically.  I mean, how did someone take someone like this seriously?  He had apparently started shaving, and got pulled away halfway, likely days ago.  Half of his face had a scraggly beard with dried shaving cream hanging off several of the hairs, and the other half was the stubble of several days of not shaving.  His clothes didn’t match, in fact he was missing one of his shoes, and he had only put one of his arms through his shirt, the other sleeve flapped about every time he moved.  It was a wonder he had even managed to get his pants on, and oddly enough, they were even zipped up.  I am also fairly certain he was sporting a bird’s nest, although it could have just been a patch of hay and sticks, in his unkempt hair under a lopsided and poorly patched hat.

Finally catching his breath, the man stood at attention, attempting to look serious.  I had to stifle a laugh at how absurd the man looked, trying to be taken seriously.  With an oddly eloquent tongue he inquired, “Are you perchance the despondents which have taken up occupying this here plaza intended for the enjoyment of our citizenry?”

The crowd behind him cheered, both from such a beautiful speech, and because this dissonant a*s was finally being dealt with.  Trying to keep myself from getting irritated at this demeaning treatment I replied, “Umm… I suppose?  Although I am actually a citizen too, I am just trying to ge-...”

Interrupting me mid-sentence the oddly postured man asks me yet another question, reading off a crumpled up pocket notepad, although by the tone of his voice it is clear he is more going over the idea in his head, rather than actually expecting a response, “It says here that you people have made a demand, that you “demands they will not leave until their demands are met!””

Again I try to explain my situation, “My leg here is stuck, and I am just need--”

The man put his hand up, prompting me to be silent, murmuring, “Quiet now, I’m deliberating.  A simple solution exists, I know it...”  With a huge grin on his face, as if he had found a unifying theory, he beamed, “Your demand is that you will not leave until your demand is met.  It’s all so easy!  You’ll just not leave, then all demands are met!”  Turning to the crowd he bowed deeply, and the crowd received him with much gusto, cheering and applauding his clever semantic twist.  Then turning he pulled out some pocket change, about 3 pence, and a random assortment of other things which had at some point or another, died in those very pockets.  With a loud declaration he proclaimed, “Money speaks!” and throwing the repulsive refuse in front of me he proudly made his way back through the crowd; a crowd which followed in celebration for the brilliance of the Earl, or Duke, or whomever it may be, which could solve such a problem.  And so, I was left alone yet again, this time by pseudo-decree, confounded to the point of speechlessness at what had just transpired.

So here I was again… no one interested in helping me, but now also humiliated.  I hated everything about this town; my mind was decided, I wouldn’t even bother thinking up another place to go, I would just leave.  I felt my stomach churn, I now realized, from the long shadows across the plaza, it was now evening, and I had not ate all day.  But the square was empty, no one to ask for at least a morsel of food.  Looking down I saw that the Duke’s envoy had left a dead mouse at my feet.  I wasn’t ‘that’ hungry.  Repulsed, I kicked the thing as far as I could manage with one leg, almost tearing something in the process.  And with nothing else to do in the lonely plaza, I tried to sleep.  But my legs position made sleeping almost impossible; it was a restless night, but somehow I managed to eventually doze off, my stomach growling with discomfort.

Morning came, and with it, the smell of fresh baked bread.  A smell I had never noticed before as I had walked through the plaza, or at least I paid it no mind.  But after such a rough night, and with a pit in my gut, the idea of fresh bread was salivating.  That wonderful yeasty aroma hung heavy about me, teasing me, as I was powerless to enter those doors a mere ten yards from where I lay.  And so I just sat there, my now insatiable craving for bread, and bread alone, was driving me mad.  If you had told me that I would be willing to kill for just a loaf of bread the day prior, I would have laughed and shoved the absurd idea to the side.  But now?  I would gladly, gladly take a life if it meant I could sink my teeth into a loaf!

And as if my prayers, as dark as they might be, were to be answered, the baker exited his shop, likely to take in the morning air.  As he stretched, I desperately begged, “Please sir!  How much is your bread?  Never has bread smelled so wonderful!”

The baker looked at me with an odd look of surprise, and disgust.  And grudgingly he agreed, “Aye, it is some good bread.  5 pence for a loaf.”

My heart sunk, I only had the 3 which the Earl’s errant had thrown so nonchalantly at me.  Disheartened, I begged, “Could I please buy half a loaf for 3?  It is all I have on me.”

The baker laughed, before his expression twisted into a loathing which seemed odd for a stranger, you would think I had done him some great harm.  With sudden clarity, I realize that he had been in the crowd the day prior.  With a snarl he replied, “I sell whole loaves.  Besides, that money isn’t even yours, it was given out of the taxes which we all pay.  It was our money, and you took it, and suddenly you want me to just accept it for half of what is mine?  My money for my bread?”  Walking over to me he glared down at me, “Why don’t you work like the rest of us?” and with a vicious kick he knocked the mere 3 pence from my hand, and picking it up he pocketed it, as if it had always been his.

With desperation I screamed out, “But I too pay taxes, I have for 20 years!  I also have a job (although I suppose this was no longer true)!  I have a large sum of money in the bank, over a thousand pounds!  I can pay you 5 times your going rate, the moment that I am helped out of this rut…”

The baker didn’t even turn to look back at me, instead he entered his shop, and the last words I heard before the door slammed behind him were, “Man shall not live by bread alone…”

And so now I was back to square one, or even further back, since although it wasn’t much, I was not 3 pence the poorer.  And now I didn’t want out of this cracked masonry nearly as much as I just wanted something, anything, to satisfy my craving stomach.  And so as the daily throng began to flow through the square my eyes were drawn to each and every passing cart of food for sale.  But each and every one refused to give me, even on loan, even the smallest morsel because I had nothing to give them in return.

It all seemed pointless, to keep asking, but hunger is a motivating factor, and so I sat there in my rut, still putting forth the effort, trying to ignore the shame of begging, just to get something.  A passing fisherman pushed his cart past me, and one of the fish from his cart fell to the ground.  With an exasperated sigh, the man took the fish and concluding that it was somehow no good now, readied himself to throw it away.  I desperately called out to him, trying to stop him before he threw it, “Please, couldn’t you just give it to me?”  

The fisherman stopped mid-motion, and lowering his arm turned towards me.  He seemed friendlier than most, and with joy in my heart I realized that I had finally found someone who could help me, someone who would at least be willing to part with what he didn’t even want.  With a grin the man tossed the fish in the opposite direction, and my heart sunk.  Walking over to me the man produced his pole, and handing it to me declared, “My father always said, “Give a man a fish, feed him for a day; teach that man to fish, and he will never hunger again”, so here, this is my rod, a fisherman’s soul.  Take it, and it will serve you better than any fish ever would.”  And turning away, the man left, dragging his cart of fish behind him, singing a ditty about all the good he had done in the world today.

I had actually heard a similar saying growing up, and at face value it made sense.  But looking into the pond, there was not a single fish to fish for.  So this rod was useless to me.  Despite all this, I cast it into the pond all the same, in some vain hope that something might bite.  And so I sat there, alone save for my new companion, finally accepting that everything was futile, just plain and simply futile.

Days passed like that, me sitting alone, barely paying my empty gut any mind.  Once you lose hope, time passes easier, if slower, than it did before.  Nowhere to go, no one to beg, just me and my silent companion; perhaps a rod was better than a fish.  I had shut myself off from the world, when suddenly I noticed a loud pounding noise, one which I realize had been going on for a while.  Looking up I saw a man, with chisel and hammer, carving something, I wasn’t quite sure what, out of a large pillar of stone.  He seemed fixated on me, and the hope which I had cast aside finally came back to me, this was someone who seemed aware of my situation.  Weakly I asked him, “Could you please help me out of this?” I gestured to my leg, as if I even had to elaborate.

The man, whom I now realized was an artist, sighed mournfully, “I really wish I could, I really do.  But you see, I need to finish this monument here, so that all the world will realize that there are people, like you, who are stuck in cracks, and just need someone, anyone, to pull them out.  If I helped you now, all those other people’s messages would be lost.  I am truly… truly sorry.”  And the man then returned to chiseling the marble, a look of awe on his face.  And looking into his eyes on the occasion he glanced over at me, I realized that he didn’t even see me, just the form of a man, stuck in a fountain’s wall.  I didn’t even try to reason with him, I already knew too well that it was all futile; who knows, perhaps someone would notice the statue, and in turn me?

Several more restless nights, the chiseling never ceased, and made it impossible to sleep.  I was growing weak now, or rather, I had already been weak, but now I didn’t know if I could even walk when I did get free.  With a twist in a gut I had almost ceased to notice, I realized that I was going to die here.  I didn’t even know how to feel about it.  Was it really so difficult for someone to just pull me free?  Did I really have to die from something so stupid?  And as if drawn by the smell of death, of those who are weak and have lost a way, a stranger sat down beside me, throwing my old companion to the wayside.

It was a man of the cloth, a priest whom I had never even seen, for I was no religious man.  Yet even though we were strangers, the man addressed me with familiarity that one might use with a brother, “My son, it pains me to see you here, suffering alone.”

Awkwardly I stumbled out the words, “Father”, I assumed this is what I was supposed to call him, “I just need someone, anyone, to just pull me out of this.  Is it really so much to ask?”

The priest looked at me sadly and mourned with me, “It is not such a great thing to ask, you need only ask our lord and savior.  With him, even mountains will move before you.  Knock and he shall answer.”  And with sudden fervor, the man seized my hands and pressed, “Let us pray together my son.”

As I said, I am not a religious man; in fact, the idea of some great being named God choosing to help me out of this situation, which I had a sneaking feeling he had put me in to begin with, simply because I asked… it seemed rather odd.  If I had to draw a comparison, it would be like a bully holding your head in the mud until you screamed uncle, letting him know that he had won; didn’t he already have your face rubbed into s**t?  Did he need anything more?  Regardless of how I felt on the matter, it seemed the priest had little interest in it; he was set on the idea of praying together.  And so without so much as a word of consent, the priest had started without me.

Murmuring with a growing zealotry, all the time clasping my hands in an unnatural and painful grip, the priest fervently prayed, “Oh god of heaven above, lord and savior of his people, please deliver this sinner before you, this man who has sunk to his lowest low, and exalt him before your throne on high.  Amen.”

Uncertain as to what all this even meant, I uneasily murmured, “Amen” as well; it seemed the proper thing to say.

The priest quickly stood up, and dipping his hands in the pond, he then wiped them, with a face twisted in disgust, with a small kerchief which he had pulled from his robes.  And dusting himself off from sitting beside me, he then made ready to go about his way.

Confused, I asked, “What happens now?  Aren’t I supposed to be saved?  Aren’t you going to help me out of this?”  My voice was growing frantic, panicked.  I didn’t want to die.

Nonchalantly, and without meeting my eyes, the priest shrugged and replied, “God has heard you, and he will save you according to him whims.  It is not the place of someone like me to act contrary to what God desires.  I will pray for your eternal soul.”  And then the man left… left me alone, and while I had suspected it, I now know for certain that it had all been just another chagrin facade.

Then, as if it was a natural part of this sequence of madness, a woman stood before me.  I had not even had time to fully process that this god figure, or his servants, had no interest in helping me until after I was dead.  She was dressed as if for mourning, in black with a veil which covered her eyes.  Leaning towards me, she angrily whispered, “Will you hurry up already?”

Taken aback, I stumblingly ask her, “What do you mean?”

“Your children are starving!” she sighs with exasperation.  And looking around her, I notice at least thirty of the little brats, including that one which had deserted me earlier, the little f****r still had that stick.  None of the things looked anything like me, there was no way they were mine, and I had never seen this woman in my life.  I had no family, as awkward and embarrassing as it was for someone my age.  And starving?  I WAS STARVING!  The children which stood around us were all absurdly obese, as wide as they were tall.  They were the epitome of not only being well fed, but being overly fed.

As bluntly as I could, I simply reply, “These are no children of mine.”

And suddenly the cold woman before me is gone, and in her stead is a weeping damsel.  I somehow feel as though I am some villain, who else would make a woman cry?  Between sobs she chokes out, “How could you forget us?  Your own flesh and blood?  Your children starve, and yet you sit here for days, a useless lay-about.  My mother was right about you!”  And just as suddenly, she is again that cold and indifferent b***h, “Your job called, and asked where you were, and now you are unemployed.  How are we to live if you won’t sustain us?  Why won’t you help us?”

Perplexed seems too weak a word for how I felt at the sudden barrage of accusations. They needed help?  Had she looked at me?  Angrily I retort, “If you just help pull me out of this f*****g hole, maybe I can help you and the f*****g brats?  You ever thought of that?”

Sobbing the woman just begs, her last words to me, “So that we can live, could you please just die already?”  And then she is gone, and the b***h as well… and around me I see only the children, looking at me with hunger in their eyes.

And then, as if waiting for something, the children all sit at the base of that statue which I now notice has been completed.  Ironically it looks just like the children at its base, with a bold inscription which demands action, “Die and feed those in need!”  It is almost as though that artist had been a seer who could see this absurd reality which now had me entangled in its grasp; it was true that the artist had never truly looked at me. 

As the children lay in wait, like a pack of hyenas, I feel a cold chill go through me, as if the world has conspired my demise.  And so I just sit there, opposed from those morbid child-like monsters across from me, consumed in my own nightmare.  Oblivious to everything around me, except my own absurdity.

Around me I am vaguely aware of festivities, the cheering of people around me.  It seems as though the whole town has gathered to celebrate.  Cheers of how each has helped another, echo off the walls of plaza’s buildings.  Eerily reverberating through my mind.  My senses are barely able to grasp the reality which surrounds me.  A festival of the end of hunger, and each man eats, and each man drinks; except for me.  Wine sloshes across the pavement as shadows flicker about me as the festivals enter a macabre frenzy.  The food I had once craved is now scattered about, trodden underfoot without care; there was always enough.  I could grab a piece, they lay at my feet, but it doesn’t even matter.

Looking back up and across my way, I can still see the children, through all the bodies, silhouettes, and shadows.  Not a single one blinks, not a single gaze wavers, they stare at me with such intensity that it is all I can do to not recoil in the terror of a world gone mad.  There is such hunger in their eyes that I realize, despite their well-fed appearances, they are truly starving.  And as forks and knives are passed among them, a cold chill seems to drift through the crowd, and the crowd seems to shift away, leaving me alone at last with ‘my children’.  As one the children stand, and with solidarity they move towards me, prowling like one who is on the hunt.  And I finally realize what it means to die so another can live.

With a scream I frantically try to claw away from the approaching wall of my prosperity, but it is futile.  Each approaching step reverberated through my being, bringing the madness to its natural crescendo.  And then just as it seems the whole world will explode… silence.

I pause for a moment, confused, I turn to try and look behind me at my approaching death, but my eyes lock with a beautiful woman without peer.  She smiles gently, and I feel my heart set at ease, the growing madness cast away.  Reaching out gracefully she briefly caresses my face before dropping down to give me what I have always wanted; a sweet release.  Softly pulling my foot from its shoe, she leads me away from that fountain, and away from the madness of that town’s plaza.  She doesn’t say a word, and somehow I don’t want to break this silence, so I follow in silence as well.  I have finally found someone who would help me, and together we leave that town of indifference, hatred, and madness--never looking back.  I have always wanted to take a journey.

Author's Note

Another short story, this time about the way society rationalizes marginalizing behavior towards those who need even the smallest bit of help. Sorry 'bout the rambling nature of the main character, this was just how the character felt to me. I was trying to make this a bit Kafkaesque. Hopefully you can bear, and even enjoy, this allegory. Any advice is, as always appreciated.

Reviews

[roarke]

Very Edwardian cast to it. An alternative story arc to an employee of Scrooge. Style wise, the tale is very consistent. The building of the feeling of frustration turned to disbelief, turned to Elysian Field relief. It's not so much the rambling of the character that other's me, I think the conflict too repetitive. I'm talking about 20-25% too much. Try cutting this story's word count in half and then go back and fill in what's important. I liked the madness and as the reader, I could sympathize with pleading to people and have them ignore what seems to be right in front of them. Style and story are fine, just streamline it a tad.

[Jennie Baron]

Splendid! I try to read all the fiction I can on this site to learn from others but this captured me. Its surreal nature put me in mind of Alice's adventures in Wonderland...As for the ending, one interpretation is that the narrator died and death can be abrupt. Don't know if that was your intention. There's that delicious ironic element, too. Truly imaginative. My only suggestion would be edits for picky English-teacher type things; for example, the switches in verb tense can be distracting unless you had some specific literary rationale for it.

[Blue]

I don't usually read prose online especially this with length but for some reasons, I was attracted to your theme. You had me in the first few paragraphs and I thought, "Hmm, this is worth reading..." I was intrigued because being trapped like that and having no one bothering to 'actually' help is somewhat unrealistic. But then, I know you are trying to relay an important message that would justify why you chose that scenario. I love the protagonist. He's unapologetically human. His thoughts fascinatingly and fearlessly depict what usually go on in our minds. What I truly love about this is you portrayed society in what could be in its most pathetic level. We carry on with the facade of trying to help. Our philosophies are distorted. Wisely written, Nusquam!

[♔ CrownedDevil &#..]

Great write. I enjoyed reading this story.

Kaze~ :-D

[Dai Hanshou]

It was Kafkaesque! I admit I had to laugh at some point... morbid child-like monsters, haha!
But it ended so abruptly, you know? So unexpectedly. And it's such a shame that what matters most to you means nothing to others. Taught me the significance of 'sensible' people alive. Awesome work!

[A. Amos]

Good read thanks for sharing