The Flammarion Syncope

by Garret Ford

  The letter has come. I shake with anticipation. I have been waiting ages to get it. I go inside of the house with it and sit at the kitchen table. My clammy hands hold the letter.

  I open it, and unfold it, I read it.

  The next two years will be decided by this letter.

  Am I accepted? Open the Eye.Am I rejected?

  Why me? Third Eye Awaken.Why leave me?

  Where will I go?Awaken the Soul.Must I move?

  My first home, My room, My bed,

  My friends, My neighborhood.

  Familiar. Comfortable. Home.

  It comes with the territory.The dark of it.

  Breathe deep.No.I unfold the puzzle.

  I peruse the letter.Yes.I peruse the letter.

  On the mountain,

  There creation lay,

  Weathered canvas.

  Far sight, Olympus.

  Crawling mortals below me, bowed in reverence.

  I fall up. Freed.

  Infinite spiraling starlight guide me to my true home.

  Bold chariot fly-

  Blasting through the azure spinning sky of infinite lights.

  I am the sky.

  Parallel mirrors- sea mirroring sky that waking god arises.

  Death dies.

  The endless ocean of souls, shattered mirror reflects aleph.

  Landward I scour,

  There- wherein I grew, loved, hurt, cried, and perished.

  I ascend.

  My flesh was ephemeral as the astral wind.

  Rejection.

  “No thank you, now fuck off.” I muttered.

  Then as if to cement the failure into my mind. I read it out loud word for word to myself. My heart breaks. The reality cheque bounces. I stare at it vacantly. I fold it up and stare out the back window. The rug has been pulled out from under me and I am thoroughly upon my ass. Once again. Everything would change soon.

  I call my friend. She has her life that is together. Husband, house, dog, and even a mini-van. I sit in the kitchen and put a fresh pot of coffee on. Nearly out. I hear her let herself in. We sit down. Coffee and cigarettes. I quit smoking. I feel a tang of temptation. The first puff- I would feel it. All the way down to my toes. The warm fuzzy feeling. Like kissing someone new.

  “What brand do you have?” I asked.

  “You quit years ago.” She said.

  “Maybe today is a good day to start again.” I said.

  “Are you alright?” She asked.

  “Chico.” She said, holding out her pack.

  I look at the teal and pink pack of cigarettes, I take one out. I put it between my lips, light it and inhale.

  “I hate the cheap ones, but fuck it.” I said.

  “That’s the spirit, how long has it been?” She said.

  “Too fucking long.” I said.

  “A moment or a lifetime, it is always too fucking long between a cigarette.” She said, tapping the ashes from the end of her cigarette. “When I was a kid I would think about how I needed to go to sleep so I could become my future self; one that was playing the next day.”

  “Metaphysics even as a child?” I marveled. “No wonder you got into the master’s program.”

  “Will you be joining me?” She asked smiling.

  “No response yet, still waiting.” I lied; no reason to kvetch.

  I drink my coffee, smoke, and smile. Lame duck. Single. NEET. Mooching off their mother. After a few hours fly by, she leaves. I feel better after her visit. I check my email. A second rejection email, in case the letter was late. Is this life or is this hell?

  How blessed to wake up playing in the future- must I be trapped perceiving this; while I seek the reality I am denied-. And how do I sleep through a life of misery- save perchance that sleep of death. Alone in my home the hours crawl I close my eyes and think about better times. Better places I have been. Those times are still happening somewhere. I want to go back there. Or move forward. I can't stand being here. My hopes soar above, my heart remains below. Life goes on. And on. And on. And doesn't make any sense. Perhaps that is the most painful part of it- the senselessness.

  “I feel like this card may be the best signifier card for you.” The fortune teller nods thoughtfully.

  The fortune teller selects a card from the deck. He places the Fool in the center of the table. The artwork of the card, a young dandy fop of androgynous gender walking straight off the ledge of a cliff while a dog bays at their heels. Their eyes are cast to the sky and they appear carefree, despite standing on the precipice.

  I frown a bit at him, even a complete stranger thinks I am an idiot. He takes the deck of cards, with the fool on top, facing upward, and taps the deck against the table three times, he removes the fool handing it to me.

  “Concentrate on this card, what it means to you.” He said, I take the fool and concentrate on it while he shuffles the cards three times. The incense wafts as he shuffles and the candlelight casts shadows. He hands the deck to me.

  “Shuffle three times.” He commands, and I clumsily riffle shuffle the cards three times, and hand them back.

  “You don't like the signifier card?” He asked softly.

  “Fools are idiots. I'd rather be represented by something positive-.” I said.

  “As a signifier The Fool is a neither positive nor negative sign. It has the value of zero because it is at the start of the journey. If it was to appear in the spread it would have different meanings though. For instance, had it appeared behind your signifier, thus, perhaps it would represent your past living irresponsibly, while-” He said.

  “Wait- did my friend talk to you about me?” I asked.

  “Merely telling you what the cards are telling me-” He said.

  “…” I started.

  “Nanush.” The fortuneteller interrupted.

  My hair stood on end, like the fretful porcupine.

  “Where was I- though if reversed it can take on the meaning of inertia, and procrastination- perhaps that might be more fitting...” He clears his throat and continues.

  “You choose whether you walk off the cliff. See here on the card, the symbolism is thus and thus.” He motions to the card art.

  “I don’t want to be the fool.” I said, crossing my arms.

  “Everyone is a fool in their own way. Myself a fool too, clinging to old ways while my life slips away. Shutting out the world to living like this- but I digress, back to the cards.” He nods knowingly.

  He draws another card from the deck.

  “Now then, this covers you.”

  The card is Death. The grim reaper, the true conqueror sits upon a white horse bearing a profane standard. Beneath death there lay the king, a maiden kneeling, a child weeping, a priest praying- all surrounded by corpses. In the background, the sun setting, or rising between two towers.

  “Death comes to everyone, pray, fight, flee, there is no escape.” The fortune teller said.

  I hold my soft brown bunny rabbit tight in my arms. Her spine is broken, her back legs are limp. I put her on the ground. I walk a few feet away and I call her over to me.

  “See? She will get better Dad.” I said.

  “Stop, please.” My dad said.

  She drags herself toward me, dead weight. I cradle her in my lap when she gets back to me. Her bottom is soiled in urine and poo and it gets all over me but I don't care. She looks up at me with big brown pained eyes and pants, tired and pained.

  “If you love your bunny, you won’t let her suffer.” He stood above me, he pauses, and walks to the house.

  “But…” I hold my poor bunny and start to cry.

  She is fluffy and lovable and loves to play and cuddle. Now she was going to die. I didn't want my bunny to die. I love my bunny and she loves me. I close my eyes and imagine this is all a bad dream. I pinch my arm but when I open my eyes I am still there in the barn yard, cradling my broken bunny rabbit. The tinny stench of blood and the acrid stink of repugnus. He returns; loading a shell into a .410 shotgun.
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  “This is a mercy.” He nodded with furrowed eyebrows.

  “Daddy, why can't a vet make her better?” I asked.

  “It would be too expensive.” He said.

  “Daddy please, But I could save up money and-” I cried.

  “This is how things are.” He said firmly.

  “Can't I say good-bye some more?” I hug my bunny tight with tears streaming down my cheeks.

  “You have been saying good-bye since this morning, she’s in pain-” He said.

  “She is getting better, look at her, her nose is wiggly, and her eyes are bright- see dad?” I interrupted brashly.

  I’m lying. My rabbit is broken, he spine snapped, her front half alive- wiggly nose, warm eyes, pained panting the back half was dead, limp, useless, and growing cold. She’s dying a slow painful death.

  I’m helpless.

  “You need to let her go.” He shakes his head.

  “But- I love her too much.” I cried.

  “I know.” He said, patting me on the back.

  We walk behind the old red chicken coop. I am still sniffling as I carry her. I give her one last hug tight, wish this wasn't happening. I set her down. I back away slowly and my bunny drags herself toward me.

  Futility.

  “It’s your rabbit.” He said and handed me the shotgun.

  I hug the gun tight against my shoulder, I release the safety, cock the hammer, leveled the iron sights, she crawled towards me for the last time. I squeeze the trigger- The gunshot is echoed with a Nightshriek, followed by my wailing. Oubliette.

  “The home wanted to know if you wanted to take her back.” She said, frustrated.

  “They don't allow pets.” My ear is getting wet against the hard phone receiver.

  “Your dog waits by the door all day expecting you to come home. Howling, whimpering, she loves you. You need to be responsible and come taker her.” She said.

  “I don't want her to go back to the pound. Can't you get her back and take care of her until I graduate?” I plead hopelessly.

  “She is old, and wants to be with you.” She said.

  “No, no pets and I don’t want to get evicted.” I said.

  “She is your dog-” She said.

  “I can’t drop out-” I said.

  “I didn't say drop out?” She said.

  “No. But I don’t know what to do.” I said.

  “Honey. Call me back.” She said.

  I don't. I sit down at my desk and choke back my tears. I pull out an old metal box where I keep my drugs. The paint on the box long chipped off or faded away. I pop the back of the lid off and look for something to cheer me up.

  Pride.

  Bitter pride.Good grades.

  Sickening pride. It would have wasted money.

  Sharks don't stop swimming. I keep treading water.

  Keep calm and carry on.

  I stare at myself behind the cocaine dust on the hand mirror.

  Fear and self-loathing.

  I take the cocaine dust onto my finger tip and rub it against my gums.

  Cry until I get my way. That is all I do.

  Death lingers in my presence.

  Flashes of life,

  Fireworks enter the abyss.

  Brief flickers of flame into oblivion.

  “Now, pumpkin, don’t cry.” I hear.

  “NO!” I screamed.

  “You avert your eyes, why pumpkin?” It said, flame sputtering.

  There is so much, death and suffering.

  Why?

  Recursion.Take me home. I’m tired.

  “No, can do pumpkin- deals a deal.” It said.

  A whaling ship;Lost at sea.

  The captainFollows their own lanterns

  In lieu of lighthouses during…The storm,

  The maelstrom, The gyre,

  To comfort their crew.

  They don't know where land is any better than their crew.

  But it comforts the crew.

  To Believe.The lie.

  My mom is inside watching television and I am playing in the front yard of the little yellow bungalow in suburbia that I grew up in. A rickety old man who smelled funny appeared on the sidewalk. His face is all puffy and gray; clothes are dirty, a fluffy white bear, and a baseball cap with a bird on it.

  “Have you been playing in the mud?” I asked.

  “Hey kiddo, C-can- I have a d-drink of water.” He said in a low weak voice.

  I am scared at first, but after he takes off his hat I can see he has white fluffy hair matches his fluffy white beard. He reminds me of Santa Claus and I smile. Anyone who looks like Santa is a good person. I get him the hose and turn on the water.

  “Thanks kiddo.” He drinks deep.

  The day is hot and he is pale.

  “You sure are thirsty.” I sit on the front steps and watch him drink from the hose.

  He takes the hose and splashes water all over himself, then drinks some more water.

  “I've had enough, you can turn it off now.” He stops drinking and smiles with rotted yellow teeth, I smile back.

  “Welcome.” I said as I shut off the water.

  “Kiddo. I need to close my eyes for a moment-..” The rickety old man mumbled softy, laid down, and closed his eyes.

  “I’ll sing you a lullaby.-” I said and I sang him every song I knew, even the ones with bad words.

  His breath was shallow for a few minutes-.. then he softly let out a long sigh and held his breath. I tried to hold my breath as long as he was, but I got dizzy.

  “You win.” I said, I made him a crown out of flowers as a prize.

  I played beside him with my toys, and I put my rabbit stuffy in his hand for when he wakes up so he can play too. I tell him all the names of the toys I play with and what each one is like. He is a good listener, he doesn’t say a thing, he lays still- listening to me. I talk all afternoon about everything that happens in my life; happy, sad, funny, and scary. He is my new favorite friend.

  My mother came outside before snack time and screamed.

  I never understood why.

  Chapter 11-

  “Cats are ground owls, owls are sky cats.”

  Tobias H. Charles

  The night was warm but I am February ice. A gentleman caller invites me over to his trailer on the north end of town with ugly flamingos and gaudy lawn gnomes. He meets me at the door, bland looking- shorter than me too. I hate short guys. He has a neatly trimmed goatee and a large nose that doesn't fit his face quite right. He would do for now. My gentleman caller ushers me into the trailer.

  “I forgot my mail. Be right back.” He smiled.

  I stand awkwardly waiting for my gentleman caller to return. A lion in with the lambs. His roommate sits at a table eating onion rings , god-awful mushroom cut, hobbled nose, fat to a fault.

  “Welcome.” His roommate tipped his fedora.

  “Hiya.” I said; “Fuck off” I thought.

  “How about this heat!” His roommate nodded.

  “Sure is.” I nodded, annoyed.

  “You must hate the heat with that hair.” He said, leering.

  “Some like it hot.” I said. “I tie it back.”

  “How long have been growing it.” He said, smiling.

  “Awhile.” I replied, laconic.

  “Obviously.” He nodded, smiling. “You look familiar.”

  “I sing at karaoke?” I said, shrugging.

  “That must be it. I never sing, I only go to eat.” He said.

  “How do you like it here?” I asked.

  “Trailer park kind of sucks, parties next door all the time, hard to sleep, long way to the university to drive- looking for a new place, but we can keep that between us.” He winked.

  “KMN.” I thought to myself.

  “Thanks.” I smiled.

  My gentleman caller returns and ushers the roommate out of the cramped trailer. We can be alone now. We sit down on his dingy brown U-shaped sofa and he sets up a chess board in the middle o
f the oval coffee table. I raise an eyebrow, he smiles. The mister right now, the stupid things that I do when I am bored- and horny.

  “You can tell a lot about people by how they play chess.” He declares trying to sound intellectual.

  “What if I want to play Go instead.” I tease him.

  “Go?” He said, puzzled.

  “...” I jest.

  “What?” He stares at me with a clueless expression.

  “Do you have anything to drink?” I asked.

  “Do you like red or white?” He goes to the gray cupboards.

  “Red.” I smiled.

  “Good, because that is all I have.” He said.

  “Why ask?” I asked.

  “I was being polite.” He shrugged.

  “Schrodinger’s wine cabinet.” I laughed to myself.

  “Huh?” He said.

  “Stupid science stuff.” I said.

  We play chess. Every time I lose a piece I drink. He is letting me win at first, then he starts to win. We drink a cheap Argentinian red wine with a picture of black cat on it.

  “A woman boards a bus with her baby. The bus driver says: Goddamn, that’s one ugly baby. The woman is stunned and furious, but not wanting to make a scene she walks to the back of the bus and sits down, then whispers to a man next to her: The driver insulted me as I got on the bus. The man says: Then go yell at him! Here, I’ll hold your pet monkey.” He said, I laugh at his terrible joke.

  “A man comes home to find his wife fucking some clown in their bed, he screams: what the fuck is going on here, one of you explain this right now! The clown says- “honk-honk” and blows a balloon animal.” I said, he laughs at my terrific joke.

  “Exxon’s CEO askes his son what he wanted for his birthday. His son said: A mickey mouse outfit daddy. So he bought Texaco.” He said, I laugh at his terrible joke.

  “Two assholes and Hitler walk into a bar. The first asshole orders: I want a shot of tequila and some lime juice. The second asshole orders: I want two shots of tequila and some lime juice. The bartender turns to Hitler and says: let me guess, three shots of tequila and some lime juice? Hitler frowns and says: Milk, please.” I said, he laughs at my terrific joke.