Fork, Spoon, or Knife?

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.