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Just What the Seed Shall Be

by Darren Campbell  

    IT WAS A DARK CARNIVAL OF SORTS; MYRIAD HALLS FILLED WITH FREAK REFLECTIONS, ELONGATED AND GRIMACING WITH DISTORTIONS OF BEING, AND VENDOR TABLES LINED WITH JARS OF ANTI-MATTER EVOLUTIONS, HARDENING IN VOID FOR THE REVOLT OF THE NUMB. WHILE CENTER STAGE, THE HOLLOW HORSES, CAST IN ENDLESS CIRCLES BY DARK INERTIA. BLED BACKWARD MYTHS FROM THEIR ILLUSIVE MOVEMENT, BEARING STILLBORN SOULS FROM A PLASTIC GAZE, TRANSFIXED IN HORRIFIC SURPRISE.

    LIAM WAS CONVERSING WITH FRESHLY CUT WILDFLOWERS THAT ADORNED HIS VIEW, AS THEY OCCUPIED A COBALT BLUE VASE ON THE GLASS TABLE BEFORE HIM. AT THIS LEVEL OF COMMUNICATION HIS SENSES SLOWLY ENTWINED LIKE TWO WEDDED LOVERS, DEEPLY HIDDEN IN ONE ANOTHER; THE VALUE OF LIGHT GIVEN AND WITHHELD AS COLOUR WAS HEARD AND TASTED THROUGH INTER-CHANGING  WAVES,  CAVERNOUS AND CEREBRAL BEYOND ANY FINITE PERCEPTION, EMITTING PERFUMES, ORGANIC AND FAMILIAR, BUT IN COMBINATIONS UNKNOWN UNTIL THIS PRESENT MOMENT.

A PARTICULAR POPPY WAS SOMEWHAT BRIGHTER IN ITS RELATIONAL SHINE, REVEALING TO HIM THE COLLECTIVE JOY RECEIVED IN GIVING THEMSELVES UP IN SIMPLE SURRENDER, FOR THE SAKE OF BEAUTY, BEING ONE OF MANY SOFT ICONS PROVIDED FOR CHILDREN OF THE CONSTANT, FASHIONED IN THE IMAGE THEREOF; IT STOOD LIKE A RADIANT RED SUN AMONGST A GALAXY OF QUEEN ANNE'S LACE AND LARKSPUR, TRANSMITTING LIFE FROM WITHIN ITS GOLDEN EYE CENTRE THAT PERPETUALLY REACHED OUT TOWARDS LIAM WITH ENTICING FINGERS OF FIRE. THIS WAS THE ESSENCE OF ALL HE LONGED TO KNOW, AND NOW IT WAS UNFOLDING LIKE HE HAD NEVER KNOWN BEFORE. THIS SUPRA-SENSORY DIALOGUE WENT ON FOR WHAT SEEMED LIKE HOURS; FLORAL LEGENDS AND HISTORY, BREATHING TALES OF THE GARDEN AND THEIR VARIOUS RELATIONS WITH BIRDS, BEES, AND OTHER

INSECTS TOO NUMEROUS TO RECALL. BUT EVERY ONCE IN AWHILE WHAT WAS BEING "SAID" WAS BROKEN INTO DISTURBING FRAGMENTS LIKE A CELLULAR PHONE CONVERSATION WHEN ONE PARTY IS OUT OF RANGE.  LIAM KNEW THIS WAS THE DISTANCE ITSELF, WORKING HARD AT INVADING AND DESTROYING ALL HARMONY OF THE WHOLE.

   GWYNDOL STOOD IN THE KITCHEN LIKE A PRECIOUS ECHO; A PERSISTENT RESONANCE HELD AS THE BEATING OF HIS HEART. LIAM LOVED HER DEEPLY, FOR THEY WERE ONE AND THE BEST OF FRIENDS. SHE WAS A SUNNY SMILE ON THE FACE OF QUIET DETERMINATION; BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL AS A GOLDEN FINCH, RISING FRESH FROM THE MARBLE BATH IN THE BELLY OF A GREEN YARD. TOGETHER THEY WERE A LUNAR GAZING BALL THAT REFLECTED THE  GRANDEUR OF THE MANSION FAR OFF. HER VOICE BROUGHT HIM FIRST PLAY OF THE  ABYSMAL SEVEN, A WHISPERED WORD TO COME. SHE APPEARED, AND THE SECOND BECAME FLESH. SHE MOVED FORWARD TO KISS HIM, AND THE THIRD WAS INFINITE ROMANCE, MANIFEST.

THE CONSTANT, THE IMMERSION, AND THE LIFE FLOW, WITH ALL THREE IN AGREEMENT; A RECOLLECTIVE DISPLAY OF THE PERFECT TRIAD.

GWYNDOL WAS A GIFT OF ELVIN CHARM AS SHE HELD OUT A MUG OF FRESHLY BREWED GREEN TEA. HER "GOOD MORNING" LINGERED LIKE CINNAMON ON THE TONGUE, MINGLED WITH WHISPERS FROM FOREIGN FIELDS THAT ASCENDED TOWARDS HIM IN FRAGRANT DANCES OF STEAM FROM THE EVER-INCREASING POOL OF RICH CARAMEL LIQUID HEAT. SUDDENLY THE CENTRE DEEPENED AND THE CIRCUMFERENCE EXPANDED, LEAVING THE RIM OF THE MUG A SPINNING WHEEL OF LIVING EYES, BEAST AND BIRD AND HUMAN ALIKE; CAT AND CATTLE, LAMB AND SPARROW, AND FAMILIAR FRIENDS OF MAN AND WOMANKIND. LIAM CAUGHT GWYNDOL IN THE REVOLUTIONS THAT TURNED THE TIME (SHE SMILED). LIKE AN INHALATION OF OCULAR MANDALAS, LIAM WAS FILLED WITH COUNTLESS WINDOWS OF EXPRESSION; SOME WERE BRIMMING WITH TEARS WHILE OTHERS WERE DILATED WITH NOCTURNAL ADRENALINE AS IF ENGAGED IN THE CONSUMING FURY OF BATTLE. AND YET THERE WERE OTHERS HELD IN STEADY AWE. THE WHEEL WAS QUICKENED  BY A GREAT WIND FROM WITHIN THAT BLEW LIAM'S HAIR BACK AS IT INTENSIFIED IN SPEED AND, AS A RESULT, THE MANY EYES BECAME AS ONE. THEN SOMETHING UNEXPECTED HAPPENED. IN AN INSTANT, THE ACCELERATION DROPPED DRASTICALLY IN MEASURE LIKE AN AMUSEMENT PARK CARROUSEL OCCUPIED WITH LAUGHING CHILDREN, BROUGHT PREMATURELY TO A REFOCUSED HALT. THE SINGULAR EYE BECAME A FLAMING CIRCLE. THE FLAMES BECAME A RING OF RUSHING WATERS. THE WATERS BECAME A FEATHERY ORB OF PUREST WHITE, SO PLEASING TO BEHOLD. THE CIRCUMFERENCE RETURNED UNTO THE CENTRE. THEN THE PLEASURE BECAME TWO EYES THAT LIAM KNEW SO WELL.

RE-ENTER GWYNDOL...

She spoke with tongues of fire and of thorn (and all the legion thereof), concerning the both of them; "Liam, we must exercise and perfect the gift of immanence given by the Apophae through Kataphae, here applied and kept by the Constant," she said in a voice that rang out with the solemn beauty of carillon, omen and herald alike. Their words of truth fell from her delicious mouth and impregnated his mind with a whirling hall of

knives, painting pictures of courage mingled with fear. He drew a heavy sigh and listened on. "The interruptions that you were perceiving were degrees of the Gnosill (anti-matter agent), manifesting on behalf of The Numb (Anti-Being), and Vexill is on the move, so we must be sharpened in surrender," she said, becoming more animated with every message projection. "And what of this Vexill?," inquired Liam, only partially wanting to know the answer for fear of what that would mean. "Watch closely, for I will show you," Gwyndol said with wide eyes and frozen face.

    In an instant, a haunted visage stood before him, running like a dirt country road invaded by heavy rains; Her cheekbones were a landslide of mud and hot tears, framing a pair of broken eyes suffering with shame. But below, the mouth betrayed the eyes with a sinister smile, pressing teeth together as if waiting for prey. The grinding pillars departed, leaving the mouth in an expression of mock awe. All sorts of creeping things fell from her tongue from  within, and all manner of sharp conversation accompanied each earthen creature thereof. Liam felt his own skin begin to shiver and crawl. The embodiment began to chuckle, then tilted its head back in insane laughter with eyes rolled to white. Liam cried out in defiance, and then all went black.

When Liam awoke, he found an asexual form, bent at the waist with hands on hips, peering down at him; That which hovered above him was a human form consisting entirely of polished glass. Wherever he looked, he saw nothing but his own reflection, and every feature about himself that he found to be displeasing at that. Mirrored negativity of his mind to follow him, keeping him prisoner in a self-conscious cell. The more he gazed upon his own image, the more he found himself exhausted from the dichotomy of vanity and loathing. He was sickened unto strangest sleep as he fell to the floor.

A sea of stars came to him like a candlelit room brought to life by the grand entrance of a warm summer breeze through an open window; they spoke as one to the weary subject: "Arise child, and prepare your limbs with silent strength." It was the Firethorn, sans Gwyndol this time. He flexed his legs to find a stance (or even to find his legs), and as he did, he found that he was lying down kicking covers.

   The new day gently filled the room with remnants of deepest sleep, bringing forth peaceable beginnings, with the concepts bearing the heart-scent of a newborn's skin. Liam awoke to behold Gwyndol's still smile of admiration. "Good morning, love. Were dreams kind to you in the hidden realm?," she said in a voice that held its own answers soon to

follow. "So that's all it was, a dream," Liam said in a voice marked with relieved resignation. "Ah, but remember my dear, dreams can be sacred symbols, and symbols not only stand for realities, but also participate in the very realities which they represent," she said, bringing a sober air to blankets of ether. He replied with a rainy day response, half-conscious that he just wanted her to exhaust the idea, and besides, he just loved to hear her talk. "Tillich, ... right?" He continued. "So how does that apply to my experience and the situation at hand? Caught between a dull headache and the sexual energy of early hours, he fought to focus, quietly awaiting her comeback. "Your dream was actually vision; The foreshadows of the Firethorn sent of Apophae and carried by the Constant, to hunt and haunt the children called of charity through the life flow of Kataphae.

True purpose to win the war, the river of victory running over the banks of humility."  "Benevolent tide, forever changing the face of the land," he added. The sound of her voice and the musk of her skin intertwined with images and textures of crushed crimson velvet and ornate cherry, cedar, and gold; He watched as earth fell deeper into arms of sky...

   They shared morning tea and entered into time, transforming space with their simple intimacy where conversation turned to charitable contemplation; an unconscious evocation of mystery. The mountain that bids the soul to climb towards its very apex, equipping the ordained pilgrim with love and reason, born of favor through belief with no merits to persuade. Only reason shall lose its footing upon meeting unfamiliar airs and faint back upon wings of love to ascend to endless heights of highest good, just as spoken word is lifted to move the listener when carried by the sheer wonder of music itself. The sweetest inebriations of spring penetrating the surrendered beauty of autumn's decadence; The river of light unto the eye of the still white rose.

                And so the moment moved in and around them

                As he serenaded her with a song beyond himself

                And they wept hard with shaking smiles and

                        small explosions of vulnerable laughter

                Taking small pools of petition from corners of

                                            their lips

                             with tongues too tied to talk

                          (at least for this treasured now)

                 And as she was taught, she tried to hide

                 And as he was, like an emotional fool

                                      gave it all away

                 To collide and to forgive

                 The living wind comes and goes as it will

                  For look upon this broken face

                 The tortuous wood it bleeds me still

                  And precious one, isn't that a valuable

                                             thing?

For you see, they were the living poetry of Apophae, above and beyond their most noble requests and conceptions. So let us continue...

   The carnival was coming soon, to fill and animate the clearing in the woods with multi-coloured legs of light and dizzying mechanical arms of speed. A mesmerizing caravan built to entertain curious children with temptations of strange sugars and self-induced sickness. Oh the attraction of the peculiar glow, fastened to the forest’s belly like a swarm of man-made fireflies, only brighter in their persuasive persistence. Like the gaud and glitz of any holiday when devoid of certain meaning. Not anything truly wrong with this kind of fun, mind you, but this band of gypsies possessed a different kind of magic.

    Liam’s headaches were intensifying and Gwyndol was suffering from a consistent dull knot of pain in her upper back. They were fighting to perfect Apophae’s gift of sight by habitually kneeling as one within the dim silence in which all lovers lose themselves, undressing their souls unto naked orison. This tension led them to the collapse of nervous exhaustion where emotions play relentless games with intellectual focus. They soon fell as weathered sacrifices upon the altar of sleep. With benevolence being acceptable over indirect-violence, by favor granted they held communion in the Constant through Kataphae, even in this passive state. To the land of night-sweats and small tremors once more…       

    The covers were drawn back by an unseen hand. Liam and Gwyndol were lifted to their feet as one entity to be fed with further vision. Enter “Lyndol”… Multiple alarms were sounding as Lyndol stood staring into an arc of trees feet wet with morning dew. There were no bed or clocks to be seen, only silent green. As a photographer hovers over empty paper, awaiting the imprinted imitation of the moment he sought to save, Lyndol incubated the scenery in mind, hoping to hatch familiarity. Memory came forth to cry, and Lyndol realized that this was the clearing in the woods to which the foretold carnival was soon to come. The present ambience ignited the forest with a living fire where a consuming sea of eyes peered out from within and behind branches and leaves, consisting of both man and beast; For the Firethorn were here, manifest as symbols and action of Apophae. They gave Lyndol no time to inquire of all this, but immediately spoke with movements of  many eyes. “Behold,” they said as they all looked down, inviting Lyndol’s to follow. Lyndol’s sight became filled with circles of carnage; Three descending in size, outer to inner, from deer to squirrel to bird, representing the Triad of the Six and their endeavors to dishonor the creative works of The Triad of the Seven in pre-ancient days, before legends and myths and stories were told, long before measures of time and space were set forth. For the Numb, Anti-Matter, and Vexill had continually sought to deface and (where possible) destroy all good works of the land (the deer), the trees (the squirrel), and the sky (the bird). And so the story unfolds…

  “But alas, look again, beloved child,” exclaimed the Firethorn, interrupting Lyndol’s morbid meditations with a singular voice too moving to resist, “See the strength that sows its seed in the virginal womb of weakness and draws the elect world back to the source of its very conception, through a revelation heard by all, but hidden to some, according to wisdom without creation; Filling all, sustaining all, yet transcending all! The mystery of life through one death that brings hope to countless dying of all ages!” With the last word spoken in power, shafts of purest light broke forth from a cloud of unknowing and pierced the ground before Lyndol with an energized symbol of interlocking circles, perpetually giving to the whole, complete within itself, dancing in its own design. Of this sight Lyndol needed no explanation, for they as one were filled with the significance of its reality.

    With their minds in one accord with this realization, all that was visual

    left Lyndol with only lessons of darkness from the singular voice of the

    Firethorn. “ Before you leave and return to your expressive selves, you

    you must be informed of the transmutation you must face.” Lyndol was

    unable to speak. “ You are to become familiar with the contours of

    deprivation and aridity; The desert of  The Great Negation in which the

    shrine of self shall be shattered and the reflections from the mirror of

    perception obscured. It will strongly appear that there will be no ready

    map to guide you. But remember , when this occurs ,you must draw the

    key from the door and hold it high.” Lyndol shook with an ominous fear

    and found the nerve to cry out. “ What key to what door?!” The fear gave

    birth to anger ( as it often does ) and speaking barged its way past

    thinking. “ Answer me ! When and where will this happen,

    and who or what  will cause the pain?! Come on , I can take it!”

    All at once  a vision invaded and filled all of Lyndol’s senses with an

    awful charity; the Four of the Seven appeared, seemingly everywhere

    ‘round about and consuming all with simultaneous faces of oxen, eagle,

     lion, and man, with all sharing the eyes of the Firethorn, the power

     and presence of the Constant. Each face had a word to be spoken, and

     every one uttered their word in line to form a sentence: “ Know…

     your…place…, beloved!” Then altogether (or so it seemed ). “ For you

     stand before the courts of royalty, and you shall discern the appointed

     will of Apophae, and that only; And so it is sufficient for you, dear child.

     All in all, do not let the pride of the Gnosill make you numb.” Exit             

     Lyndol…

        Liam and Gwyndol awoke to multi-coloured flecks of carpeting; They both were lying prostrate on the bedroom floor at the sides of the bed, lost in wonder and unable to stand. There they remained for a time, faces to the floor, listening to the sounds of their breathing and hearts beating. After awhile, they were given the strength to rise to their feet

one more. They looked deep into each others’ eyes , knowing that whatever should come in what they were called to do, the sacrifice made by Kataphae on their behalf would surely cover them. So they washed and dressed and, saying very little, headed off to meet the awaiting providence. That evening the town carnival would begin.

    When Liam and Gwyndol arrived, the carnival was in full swing. Mothers waved to children holding tightly to the steel bars, riding peaks and valleys of confectionary bliss while fathers balanced flimsy trays of hot dogs, fries, and soft drinks through crowds of unaware obstacles wrapped up in their own affairs. With all the lights of booths and rides, this particular corner of the nighttime world screamed like a fairytale game show party; Adventures offering over-stuffed spoils and other prizes that “could be yours.” But the tale lacked the promise of nobility that all the classics contain. Apart from these attractions there were all the old standbys of breathless entertainment; The ever-popular

giant sack-slide, the towering ferrous wheel with its slow and radiant cycles, the octopus and its twisting and spinning arms complete with bulb-tentacles, and the scrambler to tease and challenge the equilibrium. And then there was the freak show tent …

    Liam stood at the open entrance to the tent looking into the atmosphere of the unknown, hesitating like a child approaching the classroom door on his first day of school. “What’s the matter? Are you having second thoughts about your curiosity?” Gwyndol had already decided, this not being quite her thing, that she would venture out and check out the snack selection to see if there was anything she could find that would agree with her taste (and  stomach). Liam did not turn to address her question but

continued to stare into the darkness before him. He felt like a drafted soldier preparing to go to war, and he couldn’t understand why. He finally answered her. “I know it’s just a sideshow tent, but I’m getting the strangest feelings throughout my senses, and my head is pounding.” Her back and shoulders were stiff and throbbing too, but she did not want to go there at the moment. “You will better understand the valleys when you see the mountaintops, my love. Move forward in Kataphae’s care.” Liam knew this was true, whatever the problem to come.

    Gwyndol was off. Liam stepped into the black den with resolute caution and shaky courage. Now well inside, Liam saw rows of mirrors, long and narrow, occupying a temporary wall to his right; When he came close enough to see himself, he realized that something was very different about these mirrors, for they accentuated all the features that he found displeasing about himself (that which he thought about but did not talk). He found himself gazing at his distorted reflection, increasingly becoming attached to his loathing. The laugh-lines around his eyes became nothing more than wrinkled signs of aging, and he threw his thoughts into them like stones into a deep well. As he was falling further, he heard two voices speaking internally to him. The first voice was somewhat louder than the next, and spoke to him of ugliness and envy. “ Look at that face you were given. What a mistake!” “Wouldn’t you love to look like those handsome men of the silver screen and star magazines?” “Don’t you wish you were someone else?” And the voice that followed spoke to him from a still silence, meek yet confident. “You are beautiful, child. Fashioned with endless creativity and love. For it is no mistake you are who you are, particular in purpose and identity, bearing the imprint of The Perfect Triad, that which is of the Seven.” “Turn away from these transferred lies and your own deceptions.” He struggled for a moment with conflicting thoughts, and then turned from his mock reflection and continued on. Just up ahead, he heard a man shouting out an invitation to come and look upon a specific attraction. He felt by the tone of the voice that it must be something special, but something else captured his attention along the way…

    Gwyndol’s search for a decent snack was coming to an end; Everything was either deep-fried (which did not agree with her stomach), or everything that was advertised as fresh was really from a can. She decided to head back to the tent where she first left Liam. As she was returning to meet Liam, she became aware of some unusual behavior patterns that plagued random members of the passing crowds; One teenage girl for example was stumbling through the sea of faces, covering her eyes and crying out that she could not bear to see anymore and that she hated herself. Others were tripping blindly through, holding their heads in anguish. What bothered Gwyndol most was the fact that

no one was even stopping to ask them what the problem was, and when she tried to help, they would just rush past her, soon to be lost in the crowd.

    Liam stood before a table of jars filled with the infantile forms of bizarre potentiality, bearing the likeness of both child and beast. The eerie glow of the red lights offsetting the spectacle heightened their strange appearance and drew Liam in to take a closer look. He assumed that the creatures which he beheld were preserved in the fluid in which they were suspended, and this thought alone sickened him. But as he brought his face closer to one of the jars, he found his thoughts suspended in something like a numbing void, floating like the thing itself upon which he looked. He no longer thought about from where this offspring could have been obtained, nor that which could have altered its features so. The effect was similar to that of one watching the news continually, listening to and viewing story after story of terrible crimes until the people become no more than statistics , losing their value as living souls to become a sort of fearful entertainment, feeding a a vicious cycle of negativity while raising ratings. He was given to fascination at the expense of  losing compassion.

These were the collective correspondence of anti-matter evolutions, and they had him under their spell. The distanced intrigue soon begat a comfortable boredom which left Liam with an insatiable desire to see something that would excite the senses with violent stimulus. Another quick fix for jaded receptors. Because of this, the voice of invitation from somewhere nearby came in clear once again.

    Liam followed the voice to a center clearing in the tent where he beheld the man to whom the voice belonged; He was a short olive-skinned man with unkempt and greasy black hair that fell slightly above his hunched shoulders. He waved one hand in the air to gather in the masses, and as he did so he shouted out wide-eyed as if in a drunken rage: “Come one, come all! Behold my darling Valerie! She is the envy of every woman, and the fantasy of every man! Talented and voluptuous she is, my girl! Look upon her and know desire itself, …and you shall know all!” A curvaceous shadow stepped forward into the spotlight to reveal a most beautiful lady; Her stride brought the satin dress she was wearing to life with serpentine seductions. At that very moment, the still and quiet voice from within whispered thoughts of Gwyndol, and just how much her love meant to him. He knew it was the Constant. He delighted in Gwyndol mentally for a moment, and then turned his attention away from the woman’s bodily movements and onto her face alone to avoid lusting after her. Although a wise attempt, this opened up another door to brand new temptations…

     As Gwyndol attempted to return to the sideshow tent, she found herself tied up in the increasing traffic of the crowds, unable to make any real progress in every direction The more she tried to get back to Liam, the more the numb wanderers closed in on her. She then knew that Liam was in some sort of trouble, and she had to do all she could to come to his aid. Her arms were now pressed up against her ribs, and she was beginning to feel the light-headed nausea of panic. She remembered where her true strength lie as she went inside herself to commune with Apophae through the Constant within, and lifted up her desperate request through Kataphae’s effective name. 

“Please, part these turbulent waters and lead me out onto dry land! Liam needs my help!” She closed her eyes and waited. And soon, the crowds slowed enough in their movements to indirectly create a narrow passage for her to escape. She hunched slightly and moved out from the crowds towards her destination, thanking Apophae as she went.

    Liam moved in closer to look upon the one called, “Valerie.” He could not figure out whether or not it was the lighting or his mind was playing tricks on him, because with every blink of the eye her features changed completely; From brown-eyed pouting brunette, to blue-eyed blonde sporting a gorgeous smile, to a red-haired country girl with captivating green eyes, unto distinctions of physical beauty of all nationalities. How she could achieve this was an awesome wonder to him, and so he fell deeper into her visage. In the midst of an Asian variation, her head slowly started to turn from him, but it did not stop when turned to one side. The back of her now raven-haired head faced Liam. He could no longer hear any other voice in the tent with him, but because of shock could not turn to confirm his suspicions. With her back to him, she stepped towards him with short quick steps and then grabbed his head at the ears and held him fast. She opened her mouth on the other side and called out in the little man’s voice who introduced her, “Welcome Liam! Now enter the desert of your soul!” Then she spoke no more. A discomforting silence filled the moment with dread. She left her mouth wide-opened to become a cold snapshot of a scream. At this, a curtain before her tortured gaze fell to the floor to unveil a large carrousel that was already in motion. Yet these horses had human legs and were writhing in their circular prison as they spun counter-clockwise, with agonizing expressions comprising their rippling tissues. With their continued motion, the back of the woman’s head which faced Liam underwent a significant change; The shiny black hair slowly parted to reveal an oval looking glass possessing the reflection of

Liam’s face, but far from the standard reflection. This particular mirror reflected Liam’s face through all the years of his life thus far, showing him many different expressions adjoined to numerous situations, past to present time. Only these scenes contained all of his mistakes and various failures, and to look upon them crushed his spirit in such a way, that he questioned his very birth. Again he heard the voice of the olive-skinned man, only this time from inside his thoughts. “Liam, dear boy, how could you hurt all those people who you professed to love and care for? All those careless remarks and foolish deeds. How do you think you could ever be forgiven for such stupidity?” With this Liam entered the deeper waters of fear and regret. The voice continued. “How could you possibly be good for Gwyndol? She will probably stick around ‘till someone better comes along.” Liam began to drown in self-pity, doubting that which he perceived as real in his life.

What came next dealt the final blow. “Liam, remember when you were driving home from work that day? You know, that time when a squirrel ran out of  the trees to cross the road before you, only to meet its death when it hit the rear wheel of the car in front of you?” Liam nodded in affirmation. “The people did not notice, and so they did not care. But you carried all of the pain, didn’t you? Well, you say you trust Apophae with your very life, right?” Again he nodded, tears welling-up in his eyes. “Then see how your perfect hope will leave you in the end, …what care , what tenderness!” The tears now ran rivers down his quivering face as he began to question the Source of all meaning and purpose. He let his body fall limp like a dead man, empty of all fight, with his precious gift now forgotten.

    Gwyndol reached the tent and quickly ran inside to find Liam. No one else was around, and all she could hear was the sound of her voice calling her beloved. “Liam!…Liam, where are you?!” The other sectors that Liam knew: the wall of mirrors and the table of anti-matter evolutions were now gone, mere trappings to prepare him for the Vexill, which he now knew too well. When Gwyndol finally reached Liam, he was dangling from its hands like a lamb from the jaws of  a wolf. The sight of this caused Gwyndol to cry out in righteous defiance. “Let go of him, you deceiver! This one you hold has been chosen, called, and kept by Apophae’s Love. You can dishonor him, but you shall never separate him from that Love,…never! For Kataphae gave up his very own life flow for him, and many others, and as a result, is now seated in the place of highest honor!” The creature’s arms started to shake violently. “Do you hear the eternal sound of your destination ringing in your ears, the weeping torment of the damned?!” This word of truth penetrated Vexill with the presence of an unknown power , full of purity that it did not know. This shot the creature through with an  unfamiliar charge, leaving the face on the other side withered with old age. It let out a high-pitched shrill and stumbled toward the spinning carousel. Liam fell in- sleep to the ground. With its arms stretched out towards them both and its sunken face toward the mutant horses, the creature stumbled blindly into the accelerating wheel; And as it did, one of the writhing human legs of the twisted horses came down and crushed its head like a terra cotta pot, leaving a twitching body on the platform below with a small mound of dust where its head used to be. The maddening cycle continued faster and faster, until the entire carrousel with all its members, imploded.

.                             .                               .                             .                            .

    It was the perfect day for a picnic; The cloudless sky offset the lush green grass with a majestic blue. The sunshine blessed the air with a fragrant warmth that bathed the skin with simple smiles of being alive.

Many came out to the clearing in the woods to enjoy one another’s company

and bask in the good pleasures that man and nature had to offer.

Gwyndol laughed to herself as she shook out her blanket to add to all the others there on the ground, delighted by this picture of togetherness. Her head was turned by a rustling in the woods nearby. There amongst the tall trees stood a precious doe, looking out at her with gentle curiosity. She paused in effect and pondered the wonders of creation, and quietly celebrated within. She then thought of Liam, wanting him to share in this special moment.  So , she set out to find him.

       She found Liam sitting on the grass at the edge of the wood nearby a neighboring field. He was looking intently at a beautiful red poppy, moving his mouth but saying nothing. She stood directly behind him and said, “Liam, honey, come with me. I want to show you something.” He continued to stare at the poppy and did not move. “Liam, did you hear me? Come quickly or you’ll miss it.” In a moment his mouth stopped moving and, slowly, he turned to face her. On his face he wore the inquisitive expression of a child. He opened his mouth to speak. “Gwyndol, …what’s a Vexill?”

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