Scene I: The Witch
I was walking through
the snowy gardens of my dreams
when a witch—like the cliché,
Hollywood kind of witch:
puke-green face, long pointy
nose, face full of frightening
warts, and decaying teeth
rotting in their coffin suppressed
by her thin lips—said to me:
“Brewed and boiled
with your fears and turmoil
I extract from this black pot
a word so little that means a lot
you hide in the silhouette
until shadows surround you whole,
and when you meet the creature Death
that is when he’ll take your soul…
“If given the chance to end the
life of your lover, what would you
use: a fork, spoon, or knife?” The relentless
screech of her voice echoed in my mind,
vibrating the fear out of its depths, sending
it slivering through my bloodstream into my
pulsing heart. Beating. Like. Breakdowns.
Baffled by the belligerence
of the question, and terrified of her
grotesque presence before me, I screamed
(while bolting forward): “I would rather take
my own life before ending that of my lover.”
She smiled with a terrible grin from
ear to ear, and she stepped aside as I ran
into the scenery before me:
darkness, woods deep in pine
and oak, and the snow
stained with crimson.
Scene II: The Demon
Hours had passed by since
my encounter with the witch,
when I felt the darkness thicken
around my soul and the very presence
of something supernatural, something
dark and wicked—I could feel it.
There, before me was a demon. Black
wings, black eyes, red flesh, and sharp
razor-like talons—he smiled like the dead.
I shivered as he began to speak
with a low grumbling grunt:
“My fine young lad answer me
a question if you’d like to proceed
what has no color at all,
but yet is darker than greed?...
“If you’d like to proceed on with your life,
you must answer this question correctly, if you
do not I shall consume your flesh and steal your
soul and accompany it to the greatest pits of
Hell: if given the chance to end the
life of your lover, what would you use:
a fork, spoon, or knife?”
I looked at the demon,
with fear shading my eyes
a different tint, fretting for my life
and my soul, and I said persistently:
“Maybe anger will cloud my
better judgment and pierce with talons
at my true nature, but never will I end the life
of my lover. I would gladly take my own before
the thought even crossed my mind.”
The demon once destructive,
looked distraught and depressed; taking
in a heavy sigh, he moved aside as the scenery
unraveled itself before my blue eyes:
Scene III: Death
Mountains, smoking in the background. Snow at
the tips, but dry, barren land surrounding. A
desert with snow? Grey skies, forecast of rain
and thunder. The what-were plants, were now
rotting corpses—silhouettes of their former selves.
I walked forward following the path
knowing not where it would lead, but still
knowing where it would end up. I could feel it
near. The end. My heart was racing its final
lap, ticking the last minutes away.
And there he was, mountainous. A slender giant
towering above the mountains themselves. He
was hooded, clothed in a dark cloak with a giant
scythe held in his fleshless, bony hands. I gulped
a grimace and cowered before him. He leaned
over to match my height and whispered in a
loud, thundery voice:
“Some may die young and all
but it’s to those who die with no meaning at all
so this I say you, young lad
have you made meaning of your life you’ve had”
He stood up, towering again over me and
screamed as lightning bolted out around him
from the heavens: “THERE IS ONLY ONE
WAY OUT OF THIS, AND THAT IS IF YOU
END THE LIFE OF YOUR LOVER, SO I ASK
YOU THIS:
“If given the chance to end the life
of your lover, what would you use:
a fork, spoon, or knife?”
“Nothing,” I responded looking up with terror, “I
would rather die a thousand deaths than kill a
lover.”
“You blind fool. Once you awaken your destiny
will so too, but do not turn around and look at
your past, because you will turn to salt.” He
brought down the scythe
unto my neck and I fell into a darkness that felt
like years. Weeks. Months. Days.
Scene IV: Heaven and Hell
A path, the same one I had been walking all
along but more appealing, aligned with golden
bricks, leading to something bright, hidden
by fog and smoke and clouds. Something hidden
from my eyes, and my eyes alone.
I proceeded on, taking in the beauty around
me, and I noticed each golden brick had
a date and a phrase engraved upon it:
my name
and something I did
both dark and immoral,
both greedy and lustful,
and every heart I ever broke
every person I ever offended.
Names of people who I have
destroyed with my twisted tongue
and wicked ways.
And right there the beauty of
the bricks immediately died.
The scenery that was of golden rivers
and beautiful, brown trees with
emerald green leaves that dotted the
branches like stars in the sky, died. Burned.
Rotted. Turned to corpses. The sun faded behind
clouds, and fire ignited everything around me.
In the flames I saw flashes of my
past, scenes of my darkness be revealed:
Things I wanted to keep hidden from everyone.
From myself. From God. I stopped walking
and fell to my knees, cursing myself and lack of
individuality from the rest of the world,
lack of respect, lack of sanctification,
lack of love.
I noticed then that I was bare,
clothed in nothing but the bare flesh I was born
into. I felt vulnerable.
Scene V: GOD
A bright light hovered before
me with the silhouette of a man, and said with
the most beautiful and mighty voice:
“Do not be afraid.” But I was
afraid. I was ashamed—naked like Adam in the
Garden of Eden, but in the
garden of my own soul. And the voice said:
“I am God. Three in one. The Holy Trinity.
I created you.” I looked at Him,
His faceless beauty, still separated by the
silhouette, and could see both tears and a smile.
“My son,” He said, “if given the chance
to end the life of a lover, what would
you use: a fork, spoon, or knife?”
I sat there, moments trembling
through thoughts. All romantic, poetic,
and tragic, and smiled with quivering lips at
God, whom I’ve never truly seen.
“Death marks the beginning
of eternity,” I began, “but it is up to us
what eternity we choose for ourselves
to live. So God, I say this: for my
entire life my lover has not been some
concrete humanoid being, but rather the darkness
within humanity, within myself. I am married
to sin…” I could see the smile more clearly
now as I began to answer his question. He laid
out the utensils before me:
a fork, spoon, and knife.
“In order to find my true lover,
I must destroy my old lover. I must kill myself.
I choose all three. With the knife I will cut off
my tongue and my left hand, with the spoon I
will gouge out my eyes, and with the fork I
will dig out my ears.”
God watched as I did this as blood soaked the
golden path of my past with crimson. But it
wasn’t my blood. It was God’s. He was bleeding
onto my golden bricks, removing the writing
with his blood and tears.
Scene VI: Resurrection
I woke up the next morning at my house,
in my room, on my own soft bed. I had two ears.
Two eyes. Two hands. One Tongue. My legs
were sore, but everything was fine. Everything
was golden. Right next to my bed were three
golden objects: a fork, a spoon, and a knife.
