"Now, at last, no more hasty resolutions," he said. "I will choose a new spouse with neither impossible fussiness, nor unseemly haste." But by now the prince was middle-aged. And every woman remembered the time years before when he had rejected her, or her mother.
"Why would you want to marry me, with my overly-large ears?" they asked him sarcastically, and a thousand variations besides.
He went from woman to woman, but every one turned him away. At last he had been rejected by every woman in the land. He had no hope. And so he again climbed the highest mountain. There he joined the blind, crippled god in waiting for the other gods to return. And unless he has died, he must be there still.
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The Exchange
I was the best writer in my school. He was an exchange student, as exotic and familiar as someone on TV, foreign and glamorous.
I was in the middle of a long story about a girl who falls in love with a terminally ill boy. The male character became a foreign exchange student. For a while he was a vampire, but an exchange student seemed more realistic.
The boy in the story wrote passionate poems to his love. In real life, unable to think of a rhyme for "amazing long eyelashes", I wrote his name on my pencil case. I looked at him in class. If he looked back, it was never at the same time.
I imagined him returning to his home country, and I waiting the rest of my life for him. He'd want to come back, but something would stop him. Perhaps he'd get a disease and die. Perhaps his plane would crash on the way back to me. I'd be eighteen, and able to wear all black no matter what my parents said.
---
At a party celebrating the end of school I looked at him, and this time he looked back. A song was playing. I'd heard it before, but it had never sounded as profound and tender. I gathered my courage, and took his hand.
---
Afterward I turned to him.
"It's so sad that we only got together now. You'll be going home in a few days."
"What do you mean?" he replied. "I'm here for another six months."
He smiled. His hand around my shoulder felt clumsy, unwelcome. I wanted to cover myself.
"Oh," I said. I looked down at my hands. "Oh."
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Mourning Has Broken
The first time I saw him was at the funeral for a guy called Winston Peterson. I was doing my usual thing: standing near the back, speaking when spoken to, agreeing that it was a sad loss, and not eating too many of the little triangle sandwiches. He, on the other hand...well, it was like he wanted to attract attention. He went over to this lady who was crying and comforted her, and he was saying things like, "Yes, he was a very caring man,"--making it obvious that he knew him.
Anyway after the eulogy I started to stand up, when I notice he's talking to the preacher. Then the preacher says
"Mister Harris would like to say a few words." Of course there's the noise from the crowd, like in a play when everyone's saying 'rhubarb rhubarb rhubarb'. He stands up and he gives this big speech about how he met 'Winnie', and they were secret gay lovers for twenty years. Then he walks out, smiling like an angel, to absolute silence.
Two weeks later I saw him again. Two weeks! He didn't even wear different clothes. This time the funeral is for some doctor I think--I can't remember his name. Anyway at the end of the service, same thing: he talks to the preacher, the preacher introduces him (he was Mister Morris this time), and he does this speech about being secret gay lovers for twenty years.
After the funeral I got on the phone to Kyle straight away. Kyle's a good guy. He does 'I'm the long-lost son by another woman'.
"Listen, I gotta check my schedule here. I had the idea I had Our Lady of Peace for the whole month. Can you check that's me?" Of course Kyle says it is, and asks what's the problem. So I tell him about the guy.
"OK, well, maybe it's just some joker from a radio station or someone making a film or something. But you should have called in the first time."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"If it happens again you call straight away, all right?" So I said I would.
So of course I've missed two in a row now, and I'm getting edgy, reading the death notices in the paper twice a day, you know. Anyway the very next funeral, there's this guy again! I can't stand it. I have to run out of the church. Luckily a few other people are crying and such too, so I didn't get noticed.
So I ring again. This time Laura's on. She does 'long-time mistress'. Not that original, but it gets the job done. Anyway, Laura tells me to tail the guy and warn him off. Well, as you can imagine I'm so keyed up now I didn't need telling twice. So I follow this guy to his house (actually it was one of those units, but whatever). I ring the buzzer.
"Yes?"
"I need to talk to you urgently Mister Hall." The name's next to the little button.
"All right. What's this about?" I know he's not going to let me in, and to be honest I'm just about bursting with stress. I lean down so no one can hear me, and I let him have it.
"Listen here you, I saw what you did at that funeral, and you've got some god-damn nerve my friend!"
"I'm so sorry. It must have come as a great shock to you. I thought about not coming, but in the end I thought, for his sake, that to let him be buried without the truth being known-"
"Don't you give me that crap. I know you made it up."
"I'm sorry, I don't understand-"
"Listen, I don't know how they do this wherever you're from, but around here we share. Do you know I've missed three funerals in a row because of you?"
He doesn't say anything, so I go on.
"Look, we're not unreasonable people here. I got the Catholics this month, but the Wiccans are free." There's a silence, so I say "I know, it's not the same. But listen, next month the Episcopalians are free. C'mon, the Episcopalians. I can't guarantee it, but if you play ball I'll put in a good word for you." Which is horseshit. If it was up to me this guy'd get the Hare Krishnas if he was lucky, but that's what I said.
Then he goes 'uhhh', like he's not sure which way to go. But in the end he says
"I'm sorry, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I understand your hurt, and I understand that you blame me, but I will not be threatened-"
"OK, OK, I'm going. You're making a mistake my friend."
Well, we had an emergency meeting right that night. Me, Laura, Kyle, Tran (he does 'he left my mother in Vietnam'), Ben ('he took my identity when he thought I was dead in the war'), and Morty (he dresses up as a woman and does 'he got me pregnant when I was fifteen and in twenty years he's never seen his son.' I swear, you can't tell. Morty's a good guy, so you can see I ain't one of them gay-bashers). So I tell everyone what's happened.
Next week there's an announcement in the death notices. I actually wrote most of it. Maybe it was because I didn't have the usual outlet, but man...I shouldn't say it, but I did a great job. This guy, he was a successful businessman, a lay preacher (ha ha, lay preacher. You see what I did there?), veteran, survived by Betty, his wife of forty years, and six children, including Warrant Officer Calvin DeWitt- I'll stop there because I'll quote the whole thing otherwise. We had to have a closed casket of course, but other than that, wow! Oh, oh, and no wreaths, please donate to Veteran's Help instead. Well, if this guy could stay away from that, he had a lot more willpower than me.
So the day comes. I'm disguised as one of the undertakers just in case the guy's seen me. Almost everyone else is there as a mourner.
We baited the hook, and the fish bit--oh man, the guy actually turned up half an hour early. Anyway Sherrie was the priest (Sherrie does 'he murdered my father.' You should go to one of her funerals some time. It's very moving). She reads the eulogy, and at the end she says,
"Now I will ask if anyone wants to share their memories of Rupert." She's kind of looking at this guy, and I think,
"Don't blow it Sherrie". But this guy jumps up and walks down the front. He does his thing, an
d then Sherrie takes the microphone.
"Well thank you sir. That was very interesting. But I'd like to add something. You weren't his lover, you didn't even know him!"
He kind of looks at her, and then says,
"I realise this must come as a great shock to you all-"
"No, it does not come as a shock. You pull this crap all the time!" Sherrie's pointing at him. His mouth kind of drops open. "You go around to funerals and you ruin them with stupid lies! What kind of sick bastard does that?" Then everyone in the audience--we worked this out beforehand--starts all talking over each other, saying "How does he live with himself?" and "What kind of asshole--" and all that kind of stuff. The guy goes bright red, and he runs out of the church.
Man, the little triangle sandwiches tasted extra good that day. I hadn't spoiled anyone's funeral in a month, but you know what? I felt like I'd spoiled a king's funeral. The funeral parlor even gave us a discount because they heard what happened and they felt so sorry for us! Nobody ever saw that guy again, and a week later when I went around to his place he was gone. But I gotta wonder what kind of idiot--nah, there's no point trying to make sense of someone like that. Some people aren't like you and me. They've just got no morals.
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Temptation
In a far corner of the Roman Empire a sorcerer raised a demon.
The demon appeared as an old man of great dignity and wisdom. Despite the sorcerer's youth, he saw much of himself in the demon's appearance. The sorcerer well knew that it was the way of demons to appear, not in the image of those who raised them, but as those who raised them wished to appear, or as they believed they appeared.
"Tempt me, O demon," the sorcerer commanded, "for I grow weary of the world, and there are no more secrets."
"As you command, O eminence of mages," the demon replied.
"Strange," the sorcerer thought, "that I can recognize flattery for what it is, yet I am still pleased by it. I cannot choose not to feel pleasure, just as when I am slapped I cannot choose not to feel pain. Is vanity a reflex of the body rather than an action of the mind or soul? If so, perhaps the priests err who call it a sin." It was testament to his despair that he did not immediately write this thought down for later investigation.
The demon opened an ornate scroll case, and began to read from the scroll within.
"An appearance of unfading youth and beauty can be yours."
"If I desired this would I work with skin-staining powders and inks, in an atmosphere of pestilent alchemic vapors?"
"Indeed not. That is why I am also prepared to offer uncountable wealth."
"Uncountable using Roman numerals, or uncountable using the numeric system of the Arabs, which has no upper limit?"
"Well, ah, I'm not...but what if I threw in the praise of the whole world, in whatever field of endeavor you nominate?"
"If I desired fame, would I not be in Rome? Not to mention that 'occult' means 'hide, or keep secret', and refers both to the subject of study and to the student themselves. Such a field is unlikely to attract those who--"
"Your reasoning is clear," the demon snapped, and replaced the scroll in its case.
The demon reached into its robe, replacing the scroll case and drawing forth another. This case was even more elaborately ornamented than the first. It was also far larger. The sorcerer was surprised that the demon could fit it inside his robe.
"Though, of course," said the sorcerer to himself, "there is no clear distinction between demon, scroll, and robe, since I gaze upon an illusory projection, while the real creature remains in the infernal realm." His mind still gathered facts and speculated upon them, though the joy of doing so had long departed. He was like one whose head has been severed but who still eats, chewing and swallowing food to deliver it to a non-existent stomach.
The demon read from the new scroll.
"A release from suffering and the material world, and attainment of a state of blissful nonexistence."
"I do not have enough, and you offer to take away even that which I have?"
"Then, to live forever in a beautiful garden, wherein are a score of virgins, each eternally renewing--"
"I remember my first awkward fumblings, O demon. To reenact them forever would be hell, not heaven. Is the trick here that most people remember their first such experiences through a haze of nostalgia?"
"I'm not here to entertain some bloody--" the demon's eyes and mouth were white with a flame beyond all flames. Just as quickly, it regained its composure.
"One more. This is all I have. You will die. But first you will be the follower of a great sage, and afterwards your name shall live forever. You know what? 'Forever' in this case means 'a guaranteed two thousand years'. You were going to ask that weren't you?"
"Indeed I was. But, well, two thousand years is quite a long time. Becoming a follower would not involve any degrading or excruciating initiation? No mutilation of my body? No exploitation of my labor?"
"No. There's a list of conditions here, but no."
"I am tempted, O demon. You may tell me where to find this sage."
The demon smiled.
"Very well, O Judas."
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Local News
SYRACUSE, N.Y. -- Police announced an arrest today related to a string of burglaries that have plagued the area.
Local resident Time stands accused of the theft of the hair of several local men.
Friends and acquaintances were quick to defend Time.
"He helped me get over a terrible breakup," Marissa Richardson, 28, told reporters.
"I am shocked to hear of the charges against Time. I have enjoyed working with him in the past, and remain optimistic that I will continue to reap the benefit of his patience and thoroughness in the future," said colleague Death in a statement.
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untitled
I punched somebody in Liverpool.
They called me a lout and a stupid fool.
I shot someone in Afghanistan.
They said, "Good job. Well done that man."
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Charon
Based on the story of the same name by Lord Dunsany.
In the caverns of the dead
where the living cannot tread
lay the still and stagnant water called the Styx.
Deeper than all human arts
colder than a jackal's heart
and as dirty and as foul as politics.
Silent, callous, unafraid
ancient Charon rowed the shades
that were once the souls of living mortal folk.
Though they pleaded and they bribed
Charon did as was prescribed
and for eon after eon never spoke.
If they blessed or cursed his name
Charon rowed them just the same.
It was naught to him if he was loved or hated.
Once they reached the farther shore
Charon thought of them no more
and he knew no more than they of what awaited.
For a time the wailing ghosts
grew into a teeming host.
There were thousands where there might have once been ten.
But he had no call to care.
Shades have no more weight than air.
Charon rowed across the Styx and back again.
For a time he knew excess
then the dead grew less and less
less than in the days of Solomon or Saul.
For a time he dimly knew
they had never been so few
and at last, he found no waiting shades at all.
After decades in the dark
Charon saw the vital spark
of a single shade that shivered on the bank
so he took her, as of old
to the unknown dark and cold
and the shade hel
d out her hand and offered thanks.
Down the centuries and miles
none had ever made him smile
though he saw the best and worst of every caste.
Yet he grinned as wide as Death
then he sobbed till out of breath
when the pallid phantom said, "I was the last."
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Useable under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial License
see http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/3.0
The font used on the cover is IM Fell Pro. The Fell Types are digitally reproduced by Igino Marini. See http://www.iginomarini.com
Contact me via my blog:
http://www.apolitical.info/teleleli
Please let me know if you find an error in this ebook, and I'll fix it.
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The New Death and others Page 14