The Flammarion Syncope

by Garret Ford

  “...” He kisses my ear and gently undresses me.

  “Thank you.” I run my fingers down his muscular chest.

  Red carnal glow. My glorious Adonis with a cola-can thick erection that stunned me. How will that fit? He was mine, I was his. In sharing our bodies. He kisses me gently. I hold him inside me. It was finally happening, I thought. This is what fucking feels like. Finally.

  Back step, winter, frozen, February. Nothing to do. I inhale from my glass pipe- I closed my eyes and felt the burn in my lungs and slowly exhaled. Alone and coked to the gills. Has it always been this way?

  Taken a different path. No. It has always been this way. I must be retarded and nobody has the heart to tell me to give up and accept that I will be alone forever. Instead they keep saying “try hard and you will meet the right person.” Lies. Sickening lies.

  My mortar and pestle renders all into a psychoactive paste that I can set on fire and inhale. Odd floating, not like before. I took a drag from my cigarette before picking up my pipe again to clear my head. I took a long pull off my pipe until only ashes remain. I hold the burning inside me. I feel warmth, I am home- or in love, not that I know.

  I notice an orange bird sitting on the lip of my lighter. I shoo the bird away. The bird transforms into a fancy hat. The hat is suddenly grabbed by a white-gloved hand at the end of a long thin arm growing from the right side of my lighter. I manage to light my cigarette.

  “Fuck!” I curse, and drop the lighter, it is biting me!

  My lighter sprouts long thin legs with army boots on its feet. My lighter stands up, dusts itself off, bow with a hat flourish. I nod in recognition. Manners are important when hallucinating.

  “Christ, what an imagination I've got.” I quoted Brunner.

  “Well, you have certainly done it now Pumpkin!” The lighter spoke to me a condescending but amusing British accent.

  “You can talk?” I cocked my head.

  The lighter pauses and laughs, I laugh.

  “This is good shit.” I looked down at my pipe appreciatively.

  “Pumpkin- truth is, you is dead.” It said, pacing in the snow.

  “Dead?” I lift up my cigarette to my mouth and try to inhale.

  “You aren’t deaf but you might as well be-“ It said, flame sputtering angrily, I notice my cigarette is nothing but a butt.-

  “Funny… I only lit this…” I said looking down.

  “You know, fucking snuffed it- Pumpkin?” The lighter made an exaggerated noise of a person dying and drew a gloved finger across the flint, the flame sputtering for a moment.

  “But how- when?” I looked at the talking lighter incredulously.

  “How Pumpkin!? Oh, gee that’s rich-. How do you think!” The lighter hopped up onto my knee. “As for when, a breath ago, came out for a fag and puff on the pipe- then before you could say Bob’s your uncle-...” It spun its dandy hat on its finger while it spoke.

  I am in the cold February sky. Above my body. Despite being freezing out, I am comfortably numb. My body is limp on the back step. At first I doubt- then I realize that it is me, my same stupid puffy coat with the detachable fur trim around the neck, the same purple neck warmer. I look at my corpse- morbidly curious.

  “There you lay. Eyes shut, heart cold, breathless. Poor pumpkin.” The lighter said, grimly.

  “Not in a hospital surrounded by friends and family. Alone, face down in the snow?” I said, crestfallen.

  “Too much of a good thing, pumpkin.” The lighter said.

  “Fate is as cruel as it is funny.” I said, laughing.

  “Funny pumpkin?” The lighter asked, flame growing bright.

  “If I would have known today was the last day. I would have maybe have… called my mom or something.” I wanted to cry, but couldn’t. “That is how it ended for me? What a downer.”

  “Pumpkin, don't be sad!” My lighter crooned has now grown to the size of me and is wearing a tuxedo.

  We stand on the edge of another dimension. The backyard left behind, approach an ancient theatre; it stands in a vast featureless abyss, lily pads of light make our path towards the theatre façade.

  “Final Farewell to Life.” I read the marquee on the outside of the theatre. “Is this where I get to see my life flash before my eyes?”

  “Spoilers! Pumpkin!” My lighter slaps my hand playfully.

  I brush the snow off my shoulders as stand before the theater, I take off my parka and drop it at the coat check. The doors are heavy and immense and together we push them open. The abyss closes in. Together we walk down the red carpet into the theatre hall decorated with gold and red, a grand chandelier is a second sun, the empty box office, a pair of winding stair cases to another pair of doors. To the side of the red carpet there is a banquet being held, all manner of people are there babbling, having drinks and laughing.

  I recognize a few of my favorite writers; Hemingway, Thompson, PKD, Teasdale, Howard, Lovecraft, Blake. I wave to them- one of them raises a glass to me. I try to cross the velvet rope but my lighter stops me.

  “Plenty of time to mingle after pumpkin.” My lighter crooned.

  I ascend the stairwell. The lighter leads me to a pair of golden doors with skulls for knobs. I reach forward, to the handle- I feel a chill and look back to my guiding lighter.

  “Point of no return and all that.” It said, flame growing dim.

  “What is on the other-side?” I ask.

  “Everything you miss out on, Pumpkin.” My lighter crooned.

  Beyond Perception, darkness is made manifest, the gate opens.

  A

  Yawning

  Abyss

  Reaches

  Out

  For

  Me.

  I am held,

  In thrall

  It consumes,

  It howls.

  It hungers.

  I can resist the call, I cling to the sliver of light in my soul.

  Sitting now,

  Beside my lighter,

  It now looks incredibly human,

  Except for his flint, wheel, and wick.

  Flame head.

  Same dandy hat.

  Theatre seats.

  The wallpaper on the walls is peeling

  The ceiling is in bad disrepair.

  Rising gloom in the room,

  Lights on the walls dim.

  A film projector start behind us and the curtain splits.

  This is the end.

  I watch,

  The previews play, None of them make sense,

  On vacation, In France?

  Standing at the Eiffel tower, hand in hand with…

  People I’ve never seen before.

  In a backyard.

  Explaining how death works to a kid I’ve never seen before.

  Christmas morning. At a funeral

  Children laughing?Crying in the bathroom alone.

  On the beach.

  Drinking a margarita,

  Cool island breeze.

  Hospital.

  A doctor approaches with a humorless stern face.

  A wedding.

  Dancing madly with friends.

  What joy!

  Midnight.

  A policeman standing at my door.

  An office,

  Sitting beside a man as he buckles weeping.

  Darkness. A lone candle sputtering out.

  I watch, I am betrothed to the dark.It begins,

  My life flashes before my eyes.

  Lonely, disappointments, mistakes, haphazard cruelty.

  I persevere in obstinate condolement-

  The whole way through?

  I was awful to so many.

  The memory of a madman.

  I deserved this death.

  Why? What an ass am I.

  The credit roll and names of everyone who appeared in my life are scrolling past, occasionally freezing for major characters with clips of the parts they played in my life. Montage of moments; magic and mundane. My lighter
and I sit watching it in silence. Finally it gets to the extra reel: carnival ride operator 1-23, grocery store clerk 1-2345, and countless more. My lighter puts its hand on my shoulder.

  “Mayflies in the dawn.” My lighter crooned.

  “The previews. Why the previews?” I said, disappointed.

  “If you stop reading a book after the first three chapters because everything was going wrong- similar notion.” It crooned.

  “There was going to be sad parts in the future.” I said.

  “Of course, Pumpkin, but happy parts too.” It said.

  “My life- was I that bad?” I asked.

  “Worse, we had to cut for time- and keep the rating down.” The lighter laughed.

  “I never atoned for my sins.” I said crestfallen.

  “You died before that could happen, Pumpkin.” It said.

  “Does that mean I go to hell?” I asked.

  “Always questions, you come off as dumb, Pumpkin.” It said.

  “As far as deaths go, have you seen worse?” I asked.

  “Regular deaths? Seen much worse- you know, I’ve been around long before your kind, will be around long after your kind are all gone. But as far as suicides go, yours was pretty pathetic.” It said, flame flaring brightly.

  “Wait--- suicide?” I look over.

  “A soft suicide, Pumpkin. Killing yourself slowly with drugs, then one night- lose track of all you done one night and you snuff it-.” My lighter crooned and patted my back gently.

  “---” I said, crying.

  “Poor parents. Hate you for this- Your flat-mate- finding you like that. goes to counseling for years… Bloody shame Pumpkin.” The lighter crooned, I am stunned.

  “Pumpkin, you should have gotten some professional help, I mean, I know I am a magick talking spirit lighter but... what did you think was going to happen, get high enough every night and float away to the land of do as you please?” The lighter crooned.

  “I wanted to live.” I cried out.

  “Take it from me, life is for the living, and you isn’t.” It said.

  “But I didn’t mean it!” I sobbed.

  “Pumpkin. Everyone wants to live, but not everyone wants to have pain. Don’t be upset about being dead though, I mean, you cannot actually be dead- because you cannot be anything anymore. Except dead. You liked Buddhism, remember, Pumpkin? Maybe you will be lucky, come back as a pigeon. Flying is fun I hear.” The lighter laughed and slapped me on the back.

  “This a trip. I will wake up- Namu Amida Butsu-” I said and attempted to pinched myself in the blank abyss, finding nothing.

  “You gotta go when you gotta go, like the loo.” The lighter crooned, and I am frozen.

  “Tut-tut. No need for words here Pumpkin.” It said, flame growing dim.

  I am fading.

  “Silence is the language of the dead...” The lighter tapped my lips gently with its gloved hand.

  “---” I said.

  “You know, Pumpkin. I like you. I will make an-.” It said.

  “An exemption- because I’m an actor?” I pleaded.

  “No exemptions, especially for actors.” It said, flame flaring.

  “…” I said.

  “A pact.” It crooned, the flame dim.

  “Do I get to live?” I pleaded.

  “You get to live, but you will be severed from fate in your world; love, pain, loss, gain- everything in the previews and more will never come to pass.” The lighter crooned.

  “Then do it.” I stammered, desperate.

  “Faust would be proud but hear me out Pumpkin. You forever become an interloper in the world of the living; always outside, alone, and odd- the land of the dead leaves a mark that the living- unconsciously avoid-” The lighter said, patting my back.

  “Do it!” I said, coughing. “I don’t want to stay dead!”

  “Memento mori… you died this day, I am only fudging the records, putting you into a body that didn’t die- the world where you did die will play out though. You can’t go back home. Pumpkin.” It said.

  I am in the abyss, with only the lighter’s flame before me.

  “If you will it- you shall live, Pumpkin.” The flame grows vast.

  I am in awe, is this the beginning of time?

  “Grasp the flame, accept the pact, renew the cycle.” It echoed.

  I grasp the flame with my frozen hand.

  Everything is in reverse. Suddenly, I am floating over my body watching the entire scene. I thrash St. Vitus' dance and I rise from the snow, unfreezing. Then taking a final toke, the smoke rises from my mouth back down into the glass pipe's bowl. The lighter and my glass pipe unburning itself. I am walking backwards into my crummy basement suite. I am taking off my puffy with detachable fur trim, purple neck warmer, and boots- going back into my room and unpacking my glass pipe. Un-snorting and un-cutting cocaine. Un-smoking weed. Un-crushing the psychedelic paste that killed me. Then slumping onto my bed, and listening to music in reverse.

  Finally everything slows down. I stop observing myself from the edge of the other dimension, I am looking out through my own eyes again. I am alive!

  The select screen music plays softly. I’m stuck.

  “My last save point was here?” I said, melancholy.

  “Disappointed, as usual.” She frowned.

  I played with the menu options for a minute before resuming the game. Going through the motions, my character pretending to be surprised, I know what is coming and how to react.

  “No.” I lied. “The game is fun enough, I don’t mind.”

  “You choose to resume the game, you have to play through the parts that are boring, stop making the same mistakes.” She said.

  “I’m gonna skip right to the boss this time.” I said.

  “You aren’t strong enough.” She said.

  “Then what should I do?” I said, putting the controller down.

  “Go kill rats in the tavern basement.” She taunted me.

  “Grinding is boring.” I said.

  “Is it now?” She said, she put her hand on my leg.

  She kisses me deeply and we make-out on the couch in the basement, the menu music playing softly in the background. We stay there, entangled, for a brief eternity.

  “Getting late, gonna skate.” She said.

  “You aren’t going to stay late?” I asked.

  “Watch you play through the same levels again?” She said.

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t either.” I said.

  “Be seeing you.” She said, sticking her tongue out at me.

  She gets up off the bean bag chair and climbs the stairs out of my basement. I pause the game and listen to her in the boot room, hoping she will come back, stay with me awhile longer.

  I live! My god! My life! It worked! How jolly!

  Rise and shine.I am awake, again.

  Time runs linearly forward now.No longer in reverse.

  I can live a new better life now.

  I think to myself.

  “Christ, what an imagination I've got.”

  I cut up a line of cocaine. A mighty line.

  My final line?

  I feel the numbness spread.

  Pack my glass pipe.

  I put on my puffy down winter coat with the detachable fur trim.

  Toque, Purple neck-warmer,

  Go outside for a smoke.

  I light the glass pipe and inhale. I’m cold.Odd.

  I feel a chill as I hold it inside me.Very odd.

  Death is inside me.Odd. I. I- I…

  Déjà vu?Smoke swirls away into oblivion. No.

  Yes, I have always been here. And thank god for that.

  The revels would never end now.

  I remain in Dreamland, forever.

  Deep dreamer.Awaken.

  Chapter 10-

  “True love is death; it destroys who you were.”

  Chelsea N. Oppenheimer

  We had been taking turns driving, the last leg of the journey. She fell asleep in the passeng
er seat, and there- greasy hair tied back in a ponytail, no make-up on, slumped in her seat drooling, and snoring- I realized I loved her. Not at a dinner party, or a romantic evening- it was there- when I realized she was another perfectly flawed human.

  No flower blooms forever.

  Each love, ends with heartbreak.

  Each life, ends with death.

  It is our nature- but only as stars guide ships; love guides life.

  Existence is filled with no shortage of varying degrees of misery, but there are beautiful moments of love, life, and levity- delicate glass figurines- brief summer days- unwrapping gifts on holiday- birthdays celebrated with friends- lover’s first kiss- dancing at weddings- epiphanies- rainy weekend mornings when you don’t need to get out of bed.

  I am sitting on my bed with her; the end of our first date; I kiss her neck gently, she caresses my face with her soft hands. Dark, together, the only ones home. Everyone else is gone out.

  Teenage love. We kiss, lips trembling, tender, inexperienced. Slowly unbuttoning, touching, squeezing, groping. Innocent- almost.

  Distraction. My door swings open. There casting a long shadow is my dealer, a huge Samoan with a black frizzy mane of hair and a black hoodie is standing in the doorway.

  “Door was open. Here today, busy tomorrow.” They said.

  “I said tomorrow.” I said, stunned.

  “Here.” They handed me the weed, I went to my nightstand, took my money, and paid my dealer, they left without a word.

  “Wait, you smoke weed?” She asked, pained.

  That first sweetest betrayal, how exquisite.