The Flammarion Syncope

by Garret Ford

  Breathe deep. Calm place. Blue skies, white sand, palm trees, azure sea that goes on forever. Two more ahead of me. Breathe deep. I stand quietly. If only all of life was this easy.

  “Walk, turn, smile, shake hands with the chancellor, wait for his words, then walk off stage.” She said, quietly.

  “I will.” I said, quieter.

  One more ahead of me. I did it. I've made it. All the years of work. They were all for this moment. The nights buried in textbooks. The days trudging to work and class. The ancient mountain and gazing downward I see new vistas. The clouds flee as the wind rises revealing an alien landscape of turquoise and gold. The glorious incandescent rays shine down on my soul. For a moment I am weightless. I rise up and feel as if I am flying. I can relax now. Zero.

  I step forward. I smile and shake the hand of the chancellor. His grip is mighty. The bulb flashes. I am blind for a moment. The chancellor leans forwards and whispers a single word.

  “Congratulations.”

  Foreign despite being familiar. A magical word, unknown to me. Abracadabra. I smile and walk down the stage and join those who have passed before me. That moment is frozen in amber. Appreciated and proud.

  The fortune teller turns over another card. I see an emblazoned image of the Sun. There is a child riding a white horse among sun flowers. An image of majestic bliss and righteous contentment.

  “This card represents what your ideal in this situation is, regardless of how you will arrive at it. Or if you will arrive at it at all. The sun? How interesting.” The fortune teller shrugged.

  “Is this good.” I said with great trepidation.

  “It means an ideal, you hold yourself to a perhaps impossible ideal, riding through sunflowers on a white steed. Bathed in glorious sunlight. Reality and dream are dangerous things to mix up. See through a glass darkly.” He said.

  The unjust death, the lost job, the break up, everything. In reality, life is not fair, nor is it unfair, life is, and while difficult to apply good and bad to those events were far more distressing than the actual events. The deaths were sad, but by comparing to the land of “what if” was where my suffering came from, not from the event itself. The “what is” was freeing; the “what if” kept me trapped. I was aware of this, I had to change it. Change meant loss, loss meant pain.

  “A journey may change a willing the traveler, if you return, you are not the person that left- home ceases to be home - but- an ass on a journey, will never come home a horse.” He said.

  “Meaning?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “Wherever you go, there you are.” He said.

  “Here we go, nihilism incoming.” I said.

  “Existentialism, learn the difference, it will save your life. All of humanity will go extinct, by our own hand or by the gods. All our works, both mighty and meek will be consigned to dust. The clod of dirt and water we call earth will be devoured by an expanding sun; the final reminders of our existence hurling through space will be burnt up in an alien atmosphere. All will be dust.” The fortune teller spoke with a calm demeanor of existential menace.

  “Point being...” I said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Live a meaningful life, or wail inconsolably.” He said.

  “How profound.” I sneered.

  “Anyone who tells you differently is trying to sell you a book, or convert you to a cult.” The fortune teller smiled.

  “You would make a terrible therapist.” I said.

  “Psychology is just voodoo nonsense.” He said, laughing sardonically. “Regardless, onto the next card. This is beneath you.”

  This card was strength. There was an image of a woman caressing a lion, or perhaps forcing the mouth shut. Above her head is an infinity symbol around her waist a wreath of flowers.

  “You have tremendous strength- The image of the ouroboros the infinity symbol, above her head indicates a connection to the divine or cosmos if you prefer. You can use this strength to reach your goals, though lately it seems you only muck about.” He said.

  Never getting over the past pains, despite the current pain, is easy because I knew who I was, and become someone new; change, even good change causes pain. A lazy creature, putting actual work in fills me with revulsion and dread.

  The music comes to an end. The carousel slows down, and stops. Everyone gets off the carousel and heads towards the exit. I give the dragon a hug to thank it for the wonderful ride.

  “How was the last ride.” The carnie asked me as I got off the merry-go-round.

  “I know what it is like to be every animal now!” I said and make some animal noises.

  “Congratulations.” The carnie laughed, then he held out a plush bunny doll.

  “For me?” I jumped up and down excited, and took the plush bunny doll from him.

  “I told the boss about you; she said that if you ended up riding all the animals you could have a stuffy.” The carnie laughed.

  I hugged his leg and cheered with joy.

  “Honey, it is time to go.” She called to me from beside the test your strength booth.

  “Look Mommy! Look what I got for riding all the animals.” I said, showing my mom the plush bunny rabbit.

  “What a nice prize, did you say thank you?” She asked.

  “Thank you!” I beamed smiling. “I won’t ever lose Bunbun!”

  “What a good name.” The carnie laughed.

  My mom and I walked away through the closing carnival. The lights blinked out from each of the booths one by one, I realize everyone else has left. There is only my mom and me now. She holds my hands and leads me to the parking lot.

  “Did you have a good day?” She said.

  “So much fun! Can we go tomorrow.” I asked.

  “This was the last day.” She laughed.

  “When will it come back?” I asked.

  “Who knows, carnies go and do what they want.” She said.

  “Must be nice to play all day.” I said, looking back as the last lights of the carnival shut down and we get into her car.

  “Yes, but they don’t belong anywhere.” She said.

  “But they play all day?” I said.

  “They have to watch while others play.” She said.

  “Sounds boring.” I said, my mom buckling me into my seat.

  “Thanks for the perfect day mommy.” I watch the carnival grow distant through the back window of the car. I hug bunbun and smile. Tired, I slowly drifted into sleep.

  My life is the painting.

  I am no poet. I am no bard.

  It is a collection of brushstrokes, creating a greater whole.

  Will you judge with the eye of heaven?This narrative of mine.

  Are you then god-Cast me unto flame.

  Fast in fires of purgatory until my wretched debauchery is erased.

  Soul rendered unto heaven.Is this hell?

  Perhaps hell.

  Hell is a fable.

  Hell is other people.

  Wages of sin.

  Splendid holocaust of my soul;

  Oh burn. Oh burn.

  Phoenix be reborn.

  Arise. Arise. Arise.

  Awaken. Light the candle.

  Bright flame.

  Dearest flame; I am thy love, I am thy dancer.

  Nothing else may quench thy flame.

  Except my life.

  Accept my life.

  I stand in the ancient gallery admiring an abstract painting, modern art if I had ever seen it. The painting is a mess of noise and anger- sadness- passion- denied lust? Or perhaps I was projecting.

  Alone with my thoughts, the painting called “Depth” - I am interrupted. A blur of movement, I notice a young woman in fashionable clothes with bright pink hair. She observes the painting.

  “What does it look like to you?” She whispers.

  “Colours.” I answered.

  “Cynicism and sarcasm. How original.” She said.

  “Sorry.” I said.

  “Why lie? You aren’t sorry.” She said.<
br />
  “Whatever, weirdo.” I said.

  “You should talk.” She said.

  “Lucid. Horror of horrors. What the hell is wrong with me. Who reacts like that- how did I become like this.” I think to myself.

  “No. I am sorry, for the sarcasm.” I said.

  “How’s sarcasm working for you?” She smirked.

  “Not well. I’m alone in an art gallery.” I said.

  “Well, I’m here. So, you aren’t alone.” She said.

  “No- but I’m a loser that didn’t come here with anyone.” I said.

  “Neither did I, does that make anyone who takes time for their own interests a loser?” She said. “If every lone artist, scientist, and hiker is a loser then I’m in good company.”

  “…” I stopped myself.

  “Good, stop saying that kind of shit.” She said.

  “I find it hard to communicate.” I said.

  “The best thing you can do if you find it hard to communicate is to shut up.” She said.

  “Ouch.” I said.

  “You say worse to yourself all the time I bet.” She said.

  I observe her, she turns and observes me.

  “Uncanny, one eye is blue, the other is green.” I said.

  “My eyes.” She said.

  “What?” I said.

  “Heterochromia.” She said.

  “Windows to the soul” I said.

  “Then why do you have such a vacant stare.” She said.

  “I sold my soul.” I laughed.

  “To who?” She asked.

  “The horned one.” I said.

  “The peacock angel?” She asked.

  “The same.” I said.

  “Get anything good?” She asked.

  “Wealth beyond wit, knowledge beyond reason, power beyond comprehension.” I replied.

  “Nice try, Faust. Does that make me god?” She said.

  “How would you be god?” I asked.

  “At the end of Faust, right before the devil drags Faust to hell, god appears, gives Faust one last chance to repent. I think me chastising you for your attitude might be parallel.” She said.

  “I don’t know about that.” I said.

  “Why not?” She said.

  “I don’t think they’d cast me as Faust.” I said.

  “You don’t?” She said, I gestured obviously.

  “No. Faust gets dragged to hell. I’m already in hell.” I said.

  “Pretty plush for hell.” She said.

  “A private hell.” I said.

  “Of excellent quality?” She smirked.

  “Maybe not.” I said.

  “The greatest betrayal in that play was not visited upon Faust by Mephistopheles, the devil, or even god. Faust ultimately and utterly betrayed Faust.” She said.

  “I’ll share Faust’s fate then?” I said, laughing.

  “Faust is a character.” She said. “Are you?”

  “I am trapped in a narrative that I have no control over- I had a chance at one point now my fate is set by god or the devil.” I said.

  “Or god trapped in their own masterpiece, you could warp reality to your whim, but you choose not to.” She said.

  “But I can’t.” I said.

  “You can, but you aren’t aware of it. Do you ever feel as if perspective and self is constantly shifting? That is the flow of consciousness. Cease watching passively and engage.” She said.

  “I feel like nothing makes sense, one minute I’m there the next I’m here. Never grounded in any spacetime.” I said.

  “That is because you aren’t, consciousness is flows throughout the quantum soup. The transference of energy between myriad particles too numerous to calculate, and so minute and delicate to observe them is to affect them.” She said.

  “What am I to do then?” I said.

  “There is nothing you need to do.” She said.

  “You know the song my soul sings...” I said, stunned.

  “I came to the ancient gallery alone to admire the art as well. Only projecting what I know of myself, onto you.” She said. “Freud was right about the ego defenses. You know?”

  “You are alone too?” I said, filled with doubt.

  “We are always alone, and in that aloneness, we are one.” She said smiling.

  We are nude watching the stars above the ocean. Chilly night air, our bodies still hot from passionate love, still we cling to each other on the large red blanket. Our bodies, our hearts, our love; all burn like the stars above. Flashes of light in dark eternity. Blessed sweet moments, that illuminate the darkness before fading. There in the darkness, fireflies buzz. We are the stars, surrounded by darkness, distant from one another, connected only by the light of our souls; precious because it is brief, not brief because it is precious.

  “Kids want super heroes not toy rabbits.” My boss said.

  “Yeah, but rabbits don’t hurt anyone.” I said.

  “Choose your fighter: superhero or rabbit?” My boss asked.

  “Neither. A clown.” I said.

  “A clown?” My boss laughed. “Nobody would fight a clown.”

  “Imagine how bad they would feel if they killed it.” I said.

  “If you kill a clown, you have to wear a red clown nose for three years, I read that somewhere.” My boss said.

  “Like an albatross.” I laughed.

  “But- Back to our sheep, if you wana waste that toy rabbit on some random kid you don’t even know- you go ahead...” They laughed and slapped me on the back.

  “Not a waste, the kid will never forget this rabbit.” I said.

  “Kids have terrible memories, don’t bet on it.” They said.

  Chapter 18.

  “Is irony claiming to have a vibrant imagination and then using a quote to illustrate it?”

  Lilia S. Delphia

  The fortune teller smiles at me softly in the weird way that he does. His teeth are yellow, stained from coffee and cigarettes.

  “Why are you smiling?” I asked.

  “Because, this is the end. The last card. If the cards have painted an inconvenient truth, you may to choose to cease here- however, the tenth and final card is-” The fortuneteller paused and licked his lips, hungering. “What will come?”

  “How is this card different from the ones before it?” I asked.

  “Inevitability- if you desire to have the future be mysterious- as the previous card implied. Then perhaps we had best to stop here.” The fortuneteller shrugged.

  “Aren't you supposed to want to tell the future?” I asked.

  “Aren't you supposed to want to live your life?” He crooned.

  “I've had a hard life.” I responded.

  “You are wasting what precious time you have left.” He said.

  “But I've got awful trauma and-.-” I pause.

  “Then seek help, if you are aware of something in yourself, it is your responsibility to change it.” The fortuneteller said.

  “Show me the next card.” I said.

  “Don’t like Santa Claus?” The fortuneteller laughed.

  “I want awareness.” I stated firmly.

  “As you wish it then, the tenth and final card is what will come.” The fortuneteller said as he turned over another card.

  “What are we doing down here again?” I ask and hug myself against the autumn chill.

  “Looking for guidance. We find an animal we ask about our problems to and they will give us guidance.” My friend replied.

  Cold autumn day, we are in the forest following a path. We came seeking guidance from the animals. Our footsteps crunch the carpet of fallen leaves on the ground; ruddy red, ochre orange, and jaundice yellow. Grass in the coulees is turning to a borrowed sweater brown, and the sky is a hungover gray.

  “I'll ask the first one we find, you?” I said, looking hopefully.

  “I want to ask an owl.” My friend said.

  “Hibou?” I said in a funny voice.

  “Oui, hibou! Hoot-hoot!” She re
sponded likewise.

  The trail grew thin, we walked in silence, leaves falling from the trees, the branches arcing above us, hands grasping into the sky. A cathedral, or a skeleton; our bodies vehicles or cocoons.

  “Look, deer!” I pointed to a herd of white-tailed deer.

  “Ask them before they run!” My friend said excitedly.

  “Great deer! I seek guidance. What I should do.” I asked, pitiful.

  The deer rose, turned, looked back at me, and bounded away.

  “Deer aren’t subtle animals.” My friend shrugged.

  “Amen.” I laughed a little.

  “I hope we can find an owl for you.” I said.

  “Me too.” She said.

  Further, through brush, the wind rose, I pulled my hood up.

  “The forecast said we might get snow already.” I said.

  “Cinematic- maybe a white Christmas this year?” She said.

  “It isn’t even Halloween yet?” I said grumbling slightly.

  “Stop being a Grinch.” She said and elbowed me.

  “Bah-humbug.” I groaned.

  “That’s Scrooge.” She said.

  “Let's find this fucking owl.” I said, determined.

  Deeper still into the woods; the brush got thicker and caught on my clothes like tiny bony fingertips. We wandered for an hour, taking old game trails and bike paths. The coulees were abandoned except for us that day. Time flickers forwards and back.

  I'm sitting beside her on a fallen log.

  “I can't believe we didn't see a single owl.” She said.

  “I wonder where all the owls are.” I said.

  “Playing poker in a hollowed-out tree.” She shrugged.

  “What do owls represent to you?” I asked.

  “Witches.” She said, laughing like a witch does.

  “No! Witches are scary.” I cling to her.

  “I wish we had found my owl together.” She said.

  “It’s all cool. Maybe next time.” I said.

  “Let’s go home.” She said, rising.