Last Chapter?

The Wasteland, Winter, Now

It was a fight. It seems over now.

Despite the unbearably cold, the ground is pitted with oozing mud and dark puddles to the horizon. Drifting smoke obscures the waning sun. But night is closing fast with increasing cold and blackness.

A figure lies prostrate on the ground. Indistinguishable from the wasted terrain. No other sign of life, if he counts as that. He couldn't be alive.

He is flat on his back, every inch of his body covered in stinking slime. Only the blood on his chest, arms, and face breaks the overwhelming gray of the field. His right arm is extended awkwardly toward a sword. It lies shattered and beyond his clenched hand.

I don't want to die. But I know I am. I can't remember the fight. Who or what or why. Everything so obscured. My brain defying my attempts at recollection. But I've never felt so defeated. So utterly broken and lost.

Trying to breath. Every smoke-filled breath an agony. My vision narrowing. Blood in my mouth. Blood in my throat. Why am I not dead yet?

I feel, more than see, the presence. Someone is standing over me. Trying to focus my vision, blood trickling into my eyes making it an impossible and painful task. I can't tell if it's a man or woman, but I can sense the devastating beauty. And make out the absurdly clean, white clothing. Like an unexpected streak of lightning at the darkest hour of night. I feel unbearable shame. I wish the mud would swallow me down into its filth.

You will not die. Stand up. Follow me.


But I can't. I can't. And I'm so miserable. For God's sake, I'm dying. Who is this? Can't they understand? I'm dying.

Yes. You can. Look at me. If you won't stand, then crawl. Follow me.

And I do believe. And am suddenly sure that life lies in dragging myself after the muddy footprints of this voice. And yet, here I lie, content to nurse my pain and feel death seeping into my bones like a curling mist. And I don't even understand why. Too humiliated to follow this beacon of perfect light and beauty in my worthless condition? Or too proud to reach my hand up for help and life?

But please don't leave me. Don't walk away. Give me more time. Or perhaps take away my wayward willfulness and save me despite myself.

I lie motionless. I don't want to die. But I know I am.

I don't dare open my eyes. Equally afraid to see utter darkness or His pure light.

Rearview Mirror

Kansas, Spring '08, Early afternoon

The windows are down. The sun and wind are invading the car like a happy dream.

We are in no hurry. We stop where we please. We find untraveled roads and drift along under the speed limit. Driving like a grandma.

Taking turns sharing our favorite songs. The stereo turned up just a little too loud. We join in when we both know the tune. Our voices playfully circling and touching. We sound good together.

We stop at every park and graveyard to explore the trees and ancient names.

I open the door for her. And away we drift. I'd feel foolish if I was the only one who could not stop smiling.

Conversation is lazy and gratifying. Our silence is just as enjoyable.

Realizing I have never been so happy.

I realize I have never been so happy.

Reflection on Proximity and Proportion

New Jersey, Summer '08, Midnight

The bright lights and happy chatter of the Boardwalk fade incrementally with each step one takes onto the beach and towards the rising surf. A hundred yards from the frenetic night crowd and the flashing lights of arcades and restaurants, the darkness and noise of the ocean swells erase everything.

The moon shines down on swirling dark waters, shattering into shards on the uneven reflective surface of the perpetually restless waters. The sand retains the sun's daytime heat, in contrast to the cool waves racing up to wash my feet.

Off to my right I catch a glimpse of dark forms racing and dancing on the edge of the water. I wander closer. Laughter and childish fun. Age slips away in the presence of the infectious excitement of the beach at night. I smile in approval.

I'm nearly among them. A silent and unnoticed presence in the darkness. A shout rings out through the night, "I am the queen of the world!" I search for the voice, trying to make out the crier in the mix of dark quick shapes. "I am the queen of the world!" There she is. She stands far out on the rocks of the pier. Her hair streams out behind her in the wind rushing in from the sea. The water crashes around her, spitting up and around her. "I am the queen of the world!" She is yelling out the words at the top of her lungs. Over and again. "I am..."

I'm captured: standing like a statue. Her form is dark and her face turned away from me towards the on-rushing waves, but I know she is beautiful. It's true. I wish there was some way to show her homage.

She is queen, the whole world belongs to her.

I'm so still that a game of tag comes close enough to spit sand onto my feet without the players being aware of me.

Time to move. I wander away. before I've walked thirty paces, her voice has faded from a triumphant challenge, to a distant, weakening note. It fades in and out whipped on the wind. Another few steps and its gone. Drowned by the overpowering crash of the breakers.

The waters are roaring with powerful mirth. Loud laughter at this joke.

She has lost her thrown.