fizziwig02

[fizziwig02]

The weight of darkness

It’s funny how you remember the strange things in moments like this, but the important things seem to slip your mind. Did you know bees are legally considered fish? I can’t remember if today is Monday or Tuesday. There was no other way to come down. Tim got stuck and his mum will kill us both if anyone finds out. I told him not to go down the tunnel. He’s like a magpie, or maybe a moth. There was a light at the end and he had to find out what it was. I was scared. That tunnel was tiny. It went through the big hill in the forest. We’ve been playing in these woods for a long time. We became big kids in these woods. But we never saw this hole before. Tim is bigger than me. I can reach him and get us out. When I turned 10 my dad told me that being a man meant helping anyone you can, no matter how hard it is.

I think I’ve been crawling for hours, or maybe days, could even be years. Or maybe it’s been a few minutes. I can’t turn my head to see the entrance. I can see Tim’s shadow. Not shadow. A different word, the one we learnt in school. It’s like a shadow but it’s you. It’s a big word. I’ll remember it later. I can see him. Soldiers crawl under spiked wires through mud like this to train. It always looked so cool. They were men. It’s hurting my elbows but I’m a man now. I’m starting to feel the edge of the tunnel on my shoulders. Is it getting smaller? Or am I crawling too big. I want to stop. I want to go home. I’m tired and I’m hungry. I wonder what mum is cooking. I like how she makes potatoes. Dad can make fish but he has work today. My tummy is echoing in this tunnel. I can feel a spider crawling on me. When I was 9 I was scared of spiders but I’m 10 now. I’m not scared of anything. It is a little scary so I have to move quickly. Oh god I can feel it crawling. Tim isn’t talking. I’m getting closer. The tunnel is tugging on my t shirt. There’s rocks in my top.

I want to call out to him. But I can’t breathe. I can feel the dirt finding its way into my mouth. I can’t breathe. My heart is pounding. It’s thudding against the ground. I can feel it in my head. Echoing through my body. I want to give up. I want to turn back. I want to leave. Please, I want to go. I can’t move. Please, I just want to go home. I can’t move back. I’m trying so hard. I promise I am.

I can’t turn back. Tim needs me. My dad made me a man. He is proud of me. I can’t let him down. I can move my hand. If I can grab Tim maybe I can get him out. I’m pushing myself as far as I can go. I’m almost there. I can feel his shoe. A bit further. I’m almost there. I can feel his trousers.

My stomach is cold. It is wet. But the floor is dry. There’s no rain. It has never been this hot. Oh no, my tummy hurts, no, please, it hurts so much, something has ripped my shirt. Please don’t tell my dad I’m crying. I can’t help it. It’s getting too much. I can’t take it. I can’t. I’m not strong enough. I’m not a man. Please Tim. Help me.

I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s wider now. The sky is orange. Maybe it hasn’t been minutes. It’s been hours, days, weeks. Have I been here for a year? Please Tim. Talk to me. Don’t let me be alone.

Maybe I can push him out. Every push hurts so much. I have to do it. I can pull my other arm forward. One hard push. Ignore the pain. I have to. My dad would. I gave it everything I had. I felt him move a little. But then it moved me. I can’t push him forward. He’s pushing me back.

New plan. Plan B. Let’s pull him out. I can still do this. I grip his trouser leg hard. My nails hurt. One strong pull. I’m a strong boy. I can do this. Oh my god my tummy hurts too much. I can’t pull him. I’m only pulling myself closer to him. The sun is setting. I can see it lining up with the tunnel. It doesn’t hurt my eyes. I like looking at the sun. My mum said to be home by sundown. It’s almost bedtime. I’m never tired at bed time. But I can’t keep my eyes open.

I love my mum and dad. They always dance in the living room. I love the music they play. The way the saxophone sounds. I told my mum I want to play music. I didn’t tell my dad. I need a manly dream. But I’m telling him now. He says he knows. He’s handing me a saxophone and now I’m playing it. My mum and dad are dancing to my music. They love me. I love them so much. If only you could see them. The way they look into each other’s eyes. My dad told me that I’ll understand one day. But I think I understand it right now. I want no one else. Only my mum. Only my dad. They’re coming to hug me now. Because they love me. Because I love them. Their arms are reaching out to me. I’m running into their arms.

Oh. It was a dream. Are my eyes open? I’m pushing my eyelids as far as I can. Why can’t I see? What’s wrong with my bed? What’s wrong with my room? Oh that’s right. I forgot. The pain in my tummy is better. But I can feel it coming back. The floor is definitely wet now. Can I tell you a secret? I know I said I’m not scared of anything but I’m still scared of the dark. It’s so dark. I’m so scared. Please. I wish you could save me. Just do something. Save me.

I know you would if you could. I don’t know what to do anymore. I can’t leave Tim. But I can’t save him. I’m still tired. I’m so tired. Maybe if I close my eyes for just a moment I won’t be scared. The only dark I’ll see are my eyes. Just for five minutes.

Tim is my best friend. I’m older than Tim by 2 years. But Tim eats more than me. That’s what mum says. She tells me I should eat just like him. So that I can be big and strong like Tim. I love playing with Tim. We’re playing pirates right now. I’m Peter Pan and he’s Captain Hook. He’s the bad guy because it’s my game and I’m older so I know more. I’m just like Peter Pan. I have a green shirt and a green hat. It’s called a beanie so it’s not the right hat. But it counts. I just wish I could fly. I keep running around but I can’t fly like Peter. Wait a minute. I can’t feel the floor. I can fly! And so can Tim! We can go anywhere we want. I’m going as far as I can. As high as I can. And Tim is following me. I can see the sun. The light. It’s blinding. I’m chasing it.

Oh yeah. Now I remember. Silhouette.

[fizziwig02]

The king in red

I am no longer Prince Avis, son of King Taurus, heir to the kingdom of the free. I am now King Avis. This is the king’s journal. This is my final chapter. I am king.

Smeared in oil and cleansed. Dressed in the red cloak of kings. I won the war. My father did not. I wore the crown of thorns. I bathed in my blood and in the blood of enemies. They were not my enemies. I know not what they did. But my father began the war. He called them demons and hunted them down. I carried the final sword. And now I must carry the crown of gold.

Ornate with jewels of enemy lands. Made with the metal of my people and the mettle of my people.

My father’s father and his father before him raised this kingdom out of slaves. They created our freedom and our peace. I razed the world around us. I protected our freedom and peace.

My father joined the final battle. He was an old bitter man. My mother died in the battle of my birth. My father died in the battle of my ascension. I am told she was beautiful. That I gain my grace from her. I wonder if it is lies. There is no beauty in the waters I reflect in. Nor in the steel plates of my unworn armour. My war torn armour is dirt and blood. That’s all I can see.

I am guided down my paths by the same men of God that advised my father. The final remnants of the child slaves. These old men avoided war. They cursed my father for acting against God, but never wavered in being his council.

My favourite story as a child was that of the saviour. When God created the stars he created the angels to be in charge of every aspect. He gave them free will to see what they’d do with it and the angels created humans. We were created to build monuments to the angels. We were beings of free will bound in chains as slaves of the powerful. But one angel opposed this notion. He fought for our freedom and broke our chains. He lost his power as we gained new life.

I am told that this story inspired my fore fathers to liberate our people. He became our guardian, our angel. I’d often tell myself this story on the battlefield. When I hid to nurse my injuries, or when my legs were too battered to hold me. I wanted to be the angel that killed the enemies of peace. My skin is screaming. The holy rain burns. It burns out my unworthy sins. What will be left of me? The battle field stole me. It remade me. I am the angel. I saved my people from my father’s war. I slay slavers.

I stand on red floors. The kingless kingdom stands ready for my ascension. Will they accept me? They will accept me. I have fought and battled. I bled and cried. I stood on the hill of bodies. My soldiers fell at my feet. My enemies fell at my sword. I stood on bloody floors.

The old men chant their song. Their poetry and religion are their weapons. The knives are hurting me. It hurts. Please stop. My cloak is stained. It has blood. Mine. They’ve weakened me. Will I fall? I can’t stand anymore. The war needed an angel. Have I failed? They push the crown upon me. I pushed a blade into a demon.

I am an angel. I am King Avis.