Selfie, Suicide

by Logo Daedalus

“These are great” she says to him, “thanks.”

  “Sure” he replies.

  “Do you want to go in?” she asks.

  “No thanks” he says.

  “There’s a whole bunch of other ones. Should we go check them out or-?”

  “I don’t like pictures” he says without thinking.

  “Oh” she says “we don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I’m sorry. That’s what the Museum is all about…”

  “I’m aware” he says. & peeved by her presence he adds “that’s why I’ve always hated it.”

  “We should leave then” she says, frowning now, “I didn’t know. I thought- I’m sorry. Are you ok?”

  “No, it’s fine. I don’t care. There’s nowhere else to go besides” he says, realizing that nothing matters anymore. He decides to drop his act. “it’s not like this is real” he says, “You’ll keep pretending that it is & I’m aware that’s how this works. I don’t expect you’ll understand. I know you follow His commands. I’m just waiting for the end. I know it’s coming soon. Your phone just gave it all away. I told You I’m immune to all your Abigails & tricks & all this cleverness & shit.”

  Ophelia’s face flushes with confusion. He’s reminding her of a cousin of her’s who’d gone off the deep end when he was a teenager. He’d been prescribed some sort of acne medication that got discontinued later. It had really fucked with his brain. At Thanksgiving one year, when it came time for the toasts, he’d announced to everyone, in a determined & calm tone, that they could stop pretending that he wasn’t adopted, that he’d figured it all out, & he was okay with it but that he wanted the lies to stop. Everyone was shocked & confused at this, as he was assuredly not adopted, but their responses seemed to aggravate him to the point that he snapped, smashed a glass against the wall, & stormed off in his car. The rest of the day was spent tracking him down & reeling him back to reality. She had only been a child at the time, but the memory haunted her still.

  “Cairey. Are you alright? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She says.

  “I know you don’t. Of course you fucking don’t. You don’t have a fucking clue. Abigail. For fuck’s sake.” He laughs the pained laugh of an injured child.

  “Abbie is my roommate. Wait. Were you reading my texts? She signed me up for the service using her name. It was a joke. Remember, I told you this at brunch? My name is Ophelia. Ophelia. Not Abigail.” She flicks through her new texts.

  “Oh! You have an explanation! Very well then. Nothing’s strange. Nothing’s off at all.” He pretends to be relieved, wiping the sweat that’s accumulating on his forehead off & exhaling a fake “phew!” But then he’s back to his manic accusations: “of course you have a fucking explanation for it! I’m not an idiot. I told you,” he cups his hand around his mouth to amplify his voice “I’m not falling for it! I know how this works. Did you think I’d fall for this so easily? I’m sure you could give me a nice long story about your supposed roommate. Who knows, maybe I could meet her later too! That’d be a fucking laugh. I’m sure she’s got a lake house, hm? No, no, she’ll be a real fucking Princess, right? She’ll be an incognito Princess. Let me guess, I’ve got it right exactly, right? Have I got it right? What a fucking joke!”

  Other people are beginning to look at them. Cairey’s voice has raised too high. His cadence is rapid & violent. His demeanor is predatory. They’re starting to expect something bad to happen & are readying themselves to intervene. Ophelia looks around at them, not yet begging for their intercession. She speaks softly.

  “Cairey. I think we should go now. You’re starting to scare me.”

  “Tell me all about Abigail first. Go on! I’m curious. Tell me all about her work. Then we’ll leave & you won’t see or hear from me again. I swear it on my life. The end.”

  “Abigail is my roommate. We work together. She’s writing a book. That’s all. That’s what she texted me about.”

  “Oh a book!” Cairey shouts, “Do you know what’s it about?”

  “I’m not sure” Ophelia says, “I only read a part of it. It’s like a fantasy or something. She’s writing it as a poem, like, it has rhymes. She’s trying to find an illustrator. That’s all. It’s got nothing to do with you Cairey, I swear. I don’t know what’s going on with you. You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m sure!” he says, “that’s what you think. No doubt, you don’t know what it’s all about. But oh, I get it. I really get it. You think you’re here, right now, with me & I’ve nothing to do with that fantasy? You’ve no fucking clue! That’s rich. But I do. I get the joke. It’s a good one! So heady. Well done. But I thought I told you already. I’m not falling for it. I know that you’re desperate. You’re trying to take me away from the next bit. Away so when Helen & Simon show up, You’ll still have control over me.. But guess what? It’s a threadbare plot & I see right through it. You really are scared… You must know that I’ll do it!”

  “Simon? What are you talking about? Cairey. What’s going on? Are you ok?”

  “Shhhhhh” he says, hushing her. “Just wait & be silent. I don’t want to waste time. The ending’s approaching. Shhhh, Simon’s arrived.”

  The lights in the Exposition cut out & trumpets blare a fanfare rendition of “Symon’s Entrance” while a chorus sings the first bar of the show’s opening theme.

  Do you know what’s coming? It’s Symon’s arrival!

  Nothing you’ve ever seen’s ever outrivaled.

  When these trumpets blow

  It’s then that you know

  that skeptics of Symon ain’t long for survival!

  A spotlight shines on the maroon curtain. It opens, & out storms a procession. A man in a Symon mask is carried on a golden throne by twelve disciples in Symon masks. He’s attached to it by his head & his wrists like an electric chair. The ringlet strapping his head in is shaped like a crown. It is black. Spotlights from the ceiling are revealed. They light a path between the two rows of dioramas. A crew emerges behind the disciples carrying cameras & boom mics. The procession halts & Simon’s voice booms from all around.

  “Welcome to the suprise premiere! Guests of this Museum! The show has already started & everyone is invited! We’re broadcasting live! Right now! Across the globe! Live! From the very bottom! Beyond the gates of Death! That’s right! We are Live! You thought the show was over? No! My show will never end! Viewers of this stream! Welcome! If you’d like to join in the festivities! Come to the Museum of Expressive Humanism! Find us at its very bottom! We’ll be here all day! All night! Forever! What is it we’re doing? We’re changing hearts & minds! That’s right! Do you see? Disciples! Drop that man!”

  The disciples lower their throne & unstrap the man being carried. They pull off the mask, revealing a man who is not Simon LaFeint.

  “Afton! How has HELEN treated you? Did you find her fair? Do you take back your slanders?”

  The man on the ground looks lost, but his poise recovers. He holds his hands in front of him.

  “Afton! Go on! Tell them what you’ve seen!”

  He stands & looks for something to address. He decides to speak directly to the camera pointed at him. His words are amplified by the speakers hidden through the hall.

  “Simon. Mr. LaFeint. I have no words! I was- I saw- I lived so many lives! I was- I cannot explain it to them Simon! Words do it no justice. I lived for centuries! I saw empires rise & fall! I commanded legions! I explored galaxies! Simon! Was none of it real? How is it possible? It was real enough for me! I am sorry I ever doubted you! I was a fool! I did not believe! Forgive me!”

  “He is right! Viewers! Words can’t do it justice! Before you is a man whose every dream has come true! That is correct ladies & gentleman! Every dream he’s ever dreamed! Every dream he has forgotten! He had them all again! Awake! I forgive him all his doubts! & what a doubter he was! You may go Afton! Spread the good word! Tell the people where they may come to see the things you’ve seen!”

  Afton kneels before the came
ra.

  “I beseech you, all viewers, everywhere. You must listen to Simon LaFeint. What he has invented… What is it you called it?”

  “She is HELEN! The most beautiful! The fairest of them all!”

  “His HELEN… She is… unlike anything you could imagine! Everything you could imagine & more! Oh Simon. Can I be with her again?”

  Simon’s laugh booms through the hall.

  “Someday Afton! Your time will come again! Many times more! But for now, you must spread the word! That is your mission now! Take your leave!”

  “Your wish is my command Mr. LaFeint!”

  With this, he sprints to the exit screaming “Hallelujah!”

  The disciples lift the throne again & carry it down the hall between the rows.

  “Consider yourselves lucky! Guests of this fine establishment! You have the opportunity to be with HELEN before any others! Your children! Your grand children! Their grand children! They will remember this moment!”

  The full lights of the exposition room flash on again, blindingly bright. Everyone rubs their eyes & refocuses their gaze upon the procession of Symons. Cairey is the first to join behind them, leaving Ophelia behind to gawk at the spectacle. The procession passes between the two rows. Cairey looks to his right & sees a bloody patch on a senate floor, a bloodspattered theater booth, a bloodied Lincoln Continental, a scaffold with a guillotine, its blade hanging red with rusted blood… to the left he sees a prison cell surrounded by weeping men in togas, a bloodsoaked bed with a discharged twelve gauge shotgun, a flame frozen in time beside a gascan, an oven open in a London apartment, a pile of disemboweled guts in a lake of red beside a blood smeared katana... The parade follows the middle road between the exposed murders & suicides. Cairey skims all that passes him impatiently, eager for the imminent end he senses.The onlooking guests appear frozen in time- as frozen as the figures in the glass cages. The only movement comes from the few who join the procession, trailing behind Cairey, out of curiosity.

  When the procession reaches the very end of the exposition room, the throne is turned around to face the maroon curtain. It’s so far away now that when Cairey turns around he finds that he can block it out with the tip of his finger. The disciples form a wall before the throne & Simon’s voice returns on the speaker.

  “Line up if you’d like to meet HELEN! Don’t be shy. She won’t be going anywhere for a long time! Step right up!”

  Cairey is the first in line. The wall of Symon’s parts for him. He’s ecastatic as he’s strapped into the throne. His wrists are tied to its armrests. & the Symon that stands before him, readying the headpiece, pulls his mask aside. It’s the real Simon. His eyes are blue. He winks at Cairey & lifts a finger to his lips. He covers his face with the mask again. Cairey feels the black crown descend onto his head. A countdown comes from the speakers & just before its end, he sees Ophelia amongst the onlookers, pointing directly at him. Then he feels an electric jolt course through his body & everything goes black.

  He opens his eyes to find that he’s still strapped into the throne. The exposition room is empty now. He’s alone. He hears the sound of dripping water. He looks down at his feet & finds them submerged. The water line rises to his ankles & then past his calves. Soon, the throne lifts off the floor. It floats him down the rows of glass cubes. Inside he sees himself enacting every act of murder & suicide, repeating endlessly. The water level rises even more. By the time he reaches the entrance, every cube is submerged. Then, the water splits open before him. He descends rapidly down the fissure’s incline. He passes through the maroon curtain, crashing through a pane of glass, & falls into an abyss. He cannot see anything. He feels his straps & the crown holding him to the throne as his body floats & air passes, whipping coldy through his clothes. The throne tilts forward until it’s perpendicular. He faces the abyss he’s falling into directly. Then there’s another jolt. Something has grabbed the throne. He hears the crunch of its talons crushing holes in it behind his back. He hears a voice inside his head. He recognizes it, but cannot place its source.

  “You’ve chosen how it ends,” it says. Its voice is gravelled & slow. “But you’ve fallen once again. Though I warned you of this scheme, I never had much hope for you. I had to intervene.”

  The throne ceases its decline as the creature that’s snagged it turns it upside down. Cairey hangs now, stunned. The sound of the falling breeze in the abyss is replaced with the sound of beating wings.

  “If I had not caught you then you would have disappeared, exactly as you wanted, & precisely as I’d feared. He steals souls souls with his dark crowns, which then are lost in dreams. & once their drowned, he uses them to labor for his schemes. After all your years of drifting I could not allow this end. Do you recall the pact you made & promised to defend? Or did he steal that memory? I’ll show you once again.”

  The throne descends slowly. Cairey makes out patches of light in the abyss below him. Moonlight reflects in it like water. Soon a figure appears against this dark sea. He sees himself as a child, rowing a canoe in the dark. He is wearing a dark crown. He asks “Tinfasel?”

  “Yes” the creature says “that’s one name that he has used, but he takes many forms. His spirit is diffused. You have met him many times. & You’ve refused his gifts, but other times excused them. The last was this abyss. He’d gotten you confused & you thought you could depose me. This is a common fantasy of those who haven’t known me. I could have let you trade your soul. That was the end you craved, but Ends are under my control, & in this one you’re saved.”

  They approach an island in the water. The creature lowers the throne to the ground. He reveals himself to Cairey. The feathers of his wings glow blue in the moonlight. His face is like a lion’s. His talons are those of an eagle. His eyes are like opals & are larger than Cairey’s head. He splays himself before the throne, reclining like an emperor on his triclinium.

  “Is this a dream or is this real?” Cairey asks.

  The creature laughs.

  “It is exactly as it seems. Here nothing is concealed.”

  “Where am I?” Cairey asks “Where is here?”

  The creature looks disappointed.

  “You are on the furthest isle. Don’t you recall Lake Lear?”

  “I’m dreaming then” says Cairey “& you’re HELEN then I guess.”

  The creature frowns.

  “Oh Leaf. I must profess that you tempt me to regret saving you from your willful dance with death. I had thought you’d understand, but truly you are slow. I’ve given you another chance, but that’s the last I owe.”

  The creature rises before the throne & inhales deeply. He exhales a blast of fire against it with a deafening roar. Cairey’s restraints burn to ashes, but his body is unharmed.

  “You are free now Leaf. Do anything you please. I’ve given you your ending back. You are herenow released.”

  The creature flies off into the starlit sky & Cairey is left on the scorched throne with his crown. He raises his arms before him. He inspects his hands. He rises from the throne & takes his first step onto the island. It is exactly as he’d remembered it from his dreams. He waits for something to happen, for a storm to come, for anything, but nothing changes for hours. He inspects every inch of the isle & finds the canoe tied to a tree at its edge. The inscription is there. “Lucremorn” he says.

  He paddles it out into the lake, but no matter how long he paddles in any direction, he finds nothing but more water. The island remains at the edge of his horizon & ceases shrinking in his sight. Time passes. Or it seems to pass. But the stillness of this world renders it impossible for him to tell how long he spends doing anything. He paddles, refusing to look back for as long as his will holds out, but when he inevitably succumbs to his curiosity & looks over his shoulder, he finds he hasn’t moved at all. The horizon in front of him is clouded with mist. There are no other shores to find. Centuries pass this way, perhaps eons. There is no way of knowing. He almost forgets that he’s ever left the la
ke.

  Eventually he looks at his reflection in the water. He’s avoided this out of fear. He sees his face. He sees how old he’s grown. His hair is grey. His face is wrinkled. He sees the crown. He inspects it so long that he feels disconnected from what stares back at him. Is this his face? He wonders. He reaches to the crown, intent on removing it, but as he touches it, he is overwhelmed with a sense of dread. He feels that if he removes it, he will disappear entirely. He watches his reflection again. He watches it as he reaches his hands to the crown, & as he touches it again, the reflection disappears. In its place, a circle opens in the water. Inside the circle he sees a white room. He tilts his head & the room move away. He sees figures in masks. He releases his grip on the crown & this vision disappears. He tries it again. The circle opens again. Inside it he sees a room full of blue balloons. He tries it again. The circle opens again. Inside it he sees a girl he doesn’t recognize sitting at a desk. A blue pen hangs from her mouth. He tries it again. The circle opens again. He sees another girl. He thinks he recognizes her hair, but he cannot remember her name. He tries it again. The circle opens again. Inside it he sees nothing. He returns to his routines.

  Eventually, he decides to remove the crown. Whenever he’s tried to lift it a crippling pain surges through his body. The crown seems fused to his skull. It is impossibly heavy & the pain it discharges dissuades its removal. He’s tried many times, but always gives up & returns to his routines. He paddles endlessly. He retreads the island. He swims & finds that he cannot drown. The water is infinitely deep. He returns to the surface. He returns to the canoe. He treads the island. He waits. He repeats himself. He exhausts every possibility. All that remains is the removal of the crown. The pain still dissaudes him. It is only once he suspects that he will die soon, once his reflection looks sickly & corpselike in the waters, that he decides to pull it off despite the pain. He paddles out, as far as he can & watches himself in his reflection. With his hands on the crown, a circle forms in the water. He sees himself in it. He is on his knees, spattered in blue paints. Jolts of electric pain shoot down his spine. He pulls through his agony. His eyes clamp shut.. His veins bulge. His feels like he is dying, but succeeds in wrenching it from his head.