Scriptor Press - The ElectroLounge

24
“& I can’t write thinking I’m going at it wrong. This is the way I write now. I am
nearly 35 years old. It’s 1999. All is well. I’m who & where & how I should be. Time to
work harder & love better. Avoid stumbling half-intentionally into myself.”
“Yes! Ray, that’s it!”
“More. Look up at the TV.”
“The news from Littleton, Colorado tonight is grim. Many more questions tonight
than answers as to why these two teenagers systematically readied & executed a plan to
annihilate their fellow students—”
“Annihilation is the sinner’s last best hope!”
bellows Dr. Arnold T. Knickerbocker, blind drunk on near dozen coffees laced with whiskey.
“Dear lord, merciful & sober, crown thy
accomplishments in this fast-burning universe by
annihilating thine many despicable images here on
this purgatorial rock!
“We do not fear thy smiting hands, lord!
Nay—we shall welcome the tearing asunder of our
darkling race’s worn story. We neither beseech nor
implore thee—nay, we command thy ravaging host
of burning angels to leave us strewn like broken
shells across the heavens! Let us go, dear lord!
Annihilate your first children! Annihilate time
itself! We wish to smile & cease!”
Rebecca disengages herself from me & fills in all the borders around Dr.
Knickerbocker. She smiles child at him & grasps his hands. He cracks with tears.
“Child, I cannot die,” he moans.
“I don’t want you to, Mr. Knickerbocker. I want you to host my marriage. I want
you to marry Ray & me. Will you do that for me?”
“You’re going to marry?”
“I’m 18, Mr. Knickerbocker. & I love Ray. He’s the best.”
“He understands sin & remorse, I’ll grant him that virtue.”
“I want you around for a long time, Mr. Knickerbocker. I’ll take care of you. I
promise.”
“I didn’t see you for a long time.”
“I’m back. I’m right here. I’ll be around for you. I love you, Mr. Knickerbocker.”
Sparkles of love, love swishes untroubled by, we love because nothing else matters as
much. An old man loves a young girl because his face shines reflected in hers.
More & more. We seek it tho it eludes. It is so intense at times we court some new kind of
blindness. Getting more ragged year after year, disintegrating, still something deepwater,
something black & gold & no net something longgone a night of music & shiny packages hours
The Cenacle / 54 / April 2005