The train pulled into the station and Theodore said nothing as he hopped away from his seat and ignored the waving and air kissing of his girlfriend and the air slapping of his friends as his little paws touched the cold marble of the station and an air-conditioned breeze swept through the caging tunnels and he thought he could see, in the midst of the black, there just beyond the headlights of the train, deep within the cavernous tunnel, a small and pudgy and hostile looking face, staring right into his eyes.
“Hey Theo, remember we have that show on tomorrow night. Don’t you flip out on me. I need my vocalist on fire. I’ll pick up round seven. I can feel it man, this is gonna be the one. We’re gonna get signed I can feel it. We’re gonna be rich baby” shouted Rex as the train’s doors closed and the giant mechanical carrying thing shuffled off into the dark tunnel.
He stayed for a second looking into the tunnel and looking for that black and white face, the one that had been haunting him for so long, the one that had been busy undoing the years of his sure binding. He looked at where he had seen The Badger staring back at him, but the feeling of acrimonious spying was now gone as the darkness was no longer perturbed by that cranky old badger and his belligerent complaining eyes.
But he wished The Badger were still there.
And so he walked in a way that was like a cripple dragging himself back to his waiting chair and it looked as if the imaginary springs that all rabbits seemed to possess were; in Theodore, neglected or omitting.
There was a strong gale blowing through the vents. Theodore brushed up his fur and shivered away the cold that dampened his skin. He went to undo the locks to his apartment like he always did; taking the key from around his neck and holding it so the bottom was at three o’clock so it would need one swift and slight turn to slide into its place at six.
Theodore pushed his hand towards the lock and the pressed against twelve and six and it slid straight in and he stopped for a second and he lowered his little paw and he stared at the lock and watched the shiny and silver ‘T’ dangling from the end of a chain that was tied to a ring that wound through the key itself and it swung back and forth like a pendulum and it ticked and it clicked as it spun to and fro like the beating heart of a grandfather clock and his eyes followed; to the left and to the right, and as it slowed, so too did the racing that had been dashing about in his mind.
He had never turned a key from twelve to six. Not once in his life had ever he encountered something as aberrantly rare as this.
He thought about Florence and he imagined her being someone whose name was only brought up in some past tense and how perfect that past would be if her act had ended and he had staged some new obsession since that ending to now, when he was looking back with distant appreciation. And as he thought about her as someone he had known and as someone whose burdens he had once attended to as his very own, he didn’t think about her with any consolidated feelings whatsoever.
He saw her face as an event, as a period of time or a group of periods of time; spent time, wasted time, time wished away, time spent waiting for something to start, for something better to come.
He wondered how far he would have to turn his paw to move the key from twelve to six. Would he need to turn the key twice? Or could he do it in just one twist?
The pendulated ‘T’ slowly drew its swing to a fancy stillness. Theodore stared through the silver letter at a splinter in his door that was sticking out of the frame. The door was blue but the splinter underneath; in the part that had broken away, was painted a different colour.
Though it was undeniable that the door was blue, it appeared to him now that it had once been black.
“Good evening Theodore.”
He could hear the voice and he knew the face that had shaped the words so he felt no pining to turn around. He nodded his head, still staring at the oddly coloured slinter sticking out from the door.
“Tis a fine evening to be coming home, wouldn’t you say?”
He said nothing.
He lifted his paw to the key and turned and the door opened without a single twist, creeping open, spilling free of his unready paws. And then; as he stood beneath the towering frame, an eerie silence wept upon his ears.
He hadn’t locked the door.
He went in and sat down in front of the fireplace. He always left enough wood to burn through a working day so that when he returned he would only need to gently place a handful of kindling or a small yet generous piece of wood to bring the fire back from the breath of extinction and bring a subtle texture to the dim light within his apartment and he sat in front of the fire warming the pads at the bottom of his paws and his fur brushed and shivered as the warm air massaged his freezing skin and he listened to the sound of raindrops from an old tape machine for there was nothing more soothing than the sound of rain from inside of one’s cozy warm home.
Then, through the sound of light rain splashing against slippery stone came the deafening chorus of bells tolling in their hundreds and thousands; the sound of shapely metal being clamored and hammered and oh the bells they rang and they clanged and they dinged and they sang and it was less like a song and more like an obliging verse and faces pressed against front paws and eyes looked to the front and important things were surely about to be said.
Theodore turned on the television and the light stung his eyes and the sound of the anchor quizzing an engineer about a recent collapse in one of the sub tunnels, it caused an uncomfortable concern to his ears and he tried to change the channel and to dim the light but the buttons; though pressing, had no effect and as much as he slapped the control against the palm of his paw, nothing was doing.
The batteries were dead.
The news then flashed images of new tunnels being burrowed and they believed that we might have passed the core and that from that point on, it would be a short travel away from reaching the other side and channeling the sun’s light through. The anchor and the engineer looked thrilled and their eyes lit up like neon lights as they exchanged congratulatory glances.
The television then played a popular meme; an image of a beautiful looking rabbit, her hair tied in a pretty pink bow, her lips glossed red and her long lashes, like sexual whips, painted midnight black, half closed as if she were bowing into a blush and her cheeks were just the slightest bit red and her lips were full and alluring and her eyes; though partly shaded by her lashing lashes, spoke of contradiction for she was a thing of beauty yet according to the words etched on and about her, she felt not as if others imagined her being.
She was beautiful yes, but the words on her chest said that here breasts were too small and she was striking yes, but the words on her paws read ‘weak’ and ‘fragile’ and should she open her mouth the world would surely listen but on her lips it was written ‘I’m afraid I have nothing to say’ and in her paws was a sign; a simple white card, with the words ‘I’m ugly’ and ‘life is to hard’.
Theodore didn’t see the television. He was pouring himself a glass of whiskey and looking at a white page sitting on the table and beside it a black pen that was splotching ink from its tip onto the bottom of the page. He drank from his glass and placed it down on the table and sat himself in front of the blank page. He tried to think of something to write but his mind felt stained and so he scrunched the paper up into a ball and lay the pen back down on the table with its tip drawn upon a corner of another blank page and he took his glass and he went into his room and though he could have done many things, he chose instead to close his eyes and to lay his head on his pillow.
He might have wanted so much to speak but he had neither the practice nor the intention and so he kept the momentum he had always known; feeling as if something were about to snap or collapse and instead of getting out of harm’s way, learning to appreciate and to live with this new unsettling feeling.
Then he went to sleep.
THE GREAT GIG IN THE SKY
He was dreaming.
But his little paws were so very sore.
He felt like he had been walking for months and as he shuffled forwards, he caught his reflection in a small puddle of water that was being fed by a leak in a rusted pipe that ran above his head, along the length of the tunnel’s roof.
He saw in his reflection, an old rabbit, like he, gazing through the murky water with the same tired expression. The older rabbit looked worn, as if Time and age were clinging onto his skin, anchoring him to his past and frightening him into running so that when he stopped and assumed he could run no more, his skin hanged loose and little sheets and kinks rolled in nice round and simple folds.
And it was hard to tell if he had stopped for good or whether he was just catching his breath before he tried one last time, to get somewhere.
The old rabbit’s eyes were less than red; they were more of an orangey brown haze as if his spirit were now setting into the line of his imaginings and darkness were casting its shadow over his horizon.
He had a single breath in his mouth of which he swished around like a piece of hard candy, passing it through his teeth and under his tongue and though a child might have crushed the air with their chafing appetite and scoffed one or two more without even an inkling of consideration, the old rabbit kept that single breath in his mouth and held onto it like life had done unto him.
And when he finally exhaled, that last breath limped and hobbled out of his mouth and it settled just shy of his trembling chin. And though the old rabbit was terribly old, Theodore knew that the reflection was his own.
He had; since he was a child, felt this constant familiar strangeness to his own aging, as if a grain of sand were being compared to an Earth in its reflection. And in time, when he would accept that he was no longer that tiny seed and imagine himself revolving infinitely around his own imagination, he would then see in his reflection that his oceans were not as full as they had once been and what was once lush and green was now arid and crackling under the effect of Time.
And he had always felt; whenever he glimpsed at the pulling hands of Time in his own reflection, that he had been so small and insignificant when in fact he was momentous and telling and then that he was so handsome and relished, revered and adored when in fact every smile was a sneer of revolt and then that he had become learned and sagacious when in fact, he still knew so very little about himself and those who loved him and hurt him the most and then; in the end, that he was finally ready to run, when in fact, it was already too late.
And so, a young rabbit stared into his reflection and saw an old rabbit looking back.
“Where did the time go” he wondered. “And how did we ever lose track? Is this the same rabbit that amounts to wondrous things? And how long did we spend dreaming? Is this reflection really as it seems? Who are you old rabbit? I’ve seen you in times before. Is this; the face that greets me, the mask I always wore?”
He turned away from the puddle and saw a winding tunnel; ahead by the end of the room. It was a small hole dug into the join where the wall and floor met and the hole travelled in a different direction. Theodore squeezed his body through and clawed his way down deep into the darkness.
And he wasn’t sure in what direction he was now going for it felt that he was digging up and then around then he felt his blood rushing to his head and then he felt that even though he was lying flat that he was in fact standing still.
And then he saw; just out in the distance, a shift in the colour and he rushed towards it with sprint in his paws as if Time had slipped of its grasp and lent him a second away from his own skin and he rushed and he raced, seeing the black and white shape always just another bound from his reach and then; when he came to some kind of an end, he looked behind him and though he could not see her, he could feel the threads of Time catching up with him, ready to weave him back into her fabric and he could feel his death being drawn into his shadow, a shadow he cast though there was no light about to do so.
He looked at his sore paws.
His nails were worn down to rounded stumps and the thick skin on his pads was cracked and bleeding but he had no choice. He dug his paws into the thick grey rock and tore away grain after grain and while his paws scurried away, he looked over his shoulder, feeling the footprints of Time creeping upon him and he turned his face back to the grey rock and he ripped away at loose stones and thick grey mud and he flung it all back over his shoulder and as he did, he turned his head and saw The Badger walking behind him through the darkness with something being carried like an infant in its quarrelsome hands and his paws they kept digging, but with every step of The Badger, they slowed and they slowed until they no longer dug but instead they braced fearfully against the grey rock.
The Badger stood before him and its size was immense and its eyes were as hollow as its intentions and the thing in its arms was his self, the old rabbit of whom he had shared a stilling glance. And the rabbit looked weak and failing, his hazy eyes having turned a midnight black and he sat like young child in the arms of The Badger and he spoke.
“I am not frightened of dying, any time will do. I don’t mind.”
Theodore felt every beat of his heart sink to the tips of his toes.
The old rabbit looked up to The Badger like a child would to his father.
“Why should I be frightened of dying? There’s no reason for it, you’ve gotta go sometime.”
And the old rabbit stared into The Badger’s hollow eyes following his own exclamation. He waited for any response that would concur with what he had said but The Badger said nothing and The Badger did nothing.
The old rabbit then looked at Theodore and he didn’t seem so sure anymore. He looked scared and so Theodore turned back to the rock and he dug and he dug and he dared not look over his shoulder. If Time were to make her mockery then she could do so without his avid attention and if he could, he would not swish that last breath around his stinging gums.
The air was thick and his spirit was fading.
And then Time spoke.
“If you can hear this whispering, you are dying” she said.
And then Theodore woke on his bed in a fevered sweat.
MONEY
It looked like lightning was striking from outside his bedroom. Bright flashing streaks of white and yellow stormed through the hallway and between the small cracks where his door lightly banged back and forth, unable to close.
Theodore wiped the sweat from his brow and sat on the edge of his bed, concentrating on nothing but his breath. He put on his favourite slippers, the ones with oversized feet and he placed thin strips of potato peel on the inner soul and then dressed himself in a yellow robe and a pair of thick green woolen gloves.
The television was still on.
He must have fallen asleep and forgotten to turn it off. He didn’t usually do things like that. He was always so conscious about waste; taking extra minutes each night to unplug every device and to double and triple check that noting was left running. Sometimes though; as he lay in bed, he would always think he had left the kettle boiling or a bolt unlatched.
His mind felt as clouded and stuffy as the air in his apartment so he decided to get some air on his veranda. He turned off the television and took some change that was sitting on the counter and stuffed it into the pocket of his yellow robe and as he was walking out the door, he noticed a letter sitting unopened by the entrance.
“That’s strange” he thought.
The post always came in the afternoon and he hadn’t remembered seeing the letter when he arrived home. Surely he would have noticed something like that.
Then again, maybe he didn’t.
He took the letter and put it with the loose change in his robe and closed the door behind him. As he walked down the path towards the taxi stand, he saw a group of adolescents huddled together obviously up to no good. One of them was dragging on a cigarette and he stopped in front of her, watching in an admiring daze as the end of the cigarette burned bright orange as she inhaled and only a slight trail of smoke slithered from the ends into
the damp tunnel air and as he watched the smoke dissipate, he had a feeling that he had forgotten something and he felt a sudden urge like itch in the back of his mind to quickly rush home and double and triple check everything before he went anywhere.
“Did I lock the door?” he said.
“I don’t know, did you” said the Smoking Girl.
“Sorry?” said Theodore looking confused.
“Are you ok man? You look kinda funny” she said.
“What would you do?” asked Theodore.
“What do you mean?” The Smoking Girl said.
“If you were me, and you weren’t doing this. What would you do?”
“You’re strange. I dunno. Maybe go to Syd’s.”
“Syd’s. What is that? A bar?”
“It’s a club. Really trendy. Everyone goes there.”
“Are you going?”
“I dunno. Her guys, we goin to Syd’s or what?”
The other rabbits shrugged their shoulders and continued passing around a small joint, their long fringes covering their jaded stares.
“I dunno” she said.
“Do you have another one of those?” asked Theodore, pointing to the cigarette in her hand.
“Sure, you got any money? I only got a couple and I got no more to get more.”
“Money. Ok, yeah, no problems.”
Theodore reached into the pocket of his yellow robe and took out the loose change he had taken from the counter and pressed all of it in The Smoking Girl’s open paw.
“Woah mister, are you sure? For one smoke? Are you high? You’re not a cop are ya?”
“I’d really like to try one.”
“Sure. But just so you know. It’s a fair deal. You can’t ask for the money back.”
Dark Side of the Moon by C. Sean McGee Page 4
