Magpie ~ Liiga Smilshkalne
Kali perched in the hot rim of the corrugated iron water tank and watched the villagers below as they readied themselves for the new arrival.
The bells on the their ankles tinkled faintly as they swept the clearing between the rows of huts and returned from the forest with wood for the kitchen and for the night fire in the centre beside the big tree.
He watched the fishing party return from the beach to deliver their catch to the kitchen.
Kali clacked his tongue and flapped his black wings in disapproval, watching as Dr. Morose bustled about, filling the square with phoney good cheer.
Anyone would think it’s Christmas, he thought – not that these zombies would remember Christmas.
Kali remembered hating everything about Christmas - back when he had legs and arms; back before they’d arrived here; before the power had corrupted their dreams. He remembered all those grim-faced shoppers in a fruitless search for commercial fulfilment – something to replace the emptiness that comes with the death of culture.
Emptiness…huh… unlike the herd down below, Kali still had his memories, both of the island and of before. Before, when they had been a triangle – Jane, Grace and Kali – all in the same racket; taking on the world.
He remembered them together, remembered the moment of sublime pleasure when it had all began to fall apart. Memories: a double-edged sword for a magpie with a human mind.
He flapped hard to dispel the memories, rising sharply into the air, and circling the village once, flew off upward toward the god’s hut on the top of the mountain, his duties to perform. In the distance he could hear the hungry howl of the Judiciary – somebody would be in trouble soon.
The bells on the their ankles tinkled faintly as they swept the clearing between the rows of huts and returned from the forest with wood for the kitchen and for the night fire in the centre beside the big tree.
He watched the fishing party return from the beach to deliver their catch to the kitchen.
Kali clacked his tongue and flapped his black wings in disapproval, watching as Dr. Morose bustled about, filling the square with phoney good cheer.
Anyone would think it’s Christmas, he thought – not that these zombies would remember Christmas.
Kali remembered hating everything about Christmas - back when he had legs and arms; back before they’d arrived here; before the power had corrupted their dreams. He remembered all those grim-faced shoppers in a fruitless search for commercial fulfilment – something to replace the emptiness that comes with the death of culture.
Emptiness…huh… unlike the herd down below, Kali still had his memories, both of the island and of before. Before, when they had been a triangle – Jane, Grace and Kali – all in the same racket; taking on the world.
He remembered them together, remembered the moment of sublime pleasure when it had all began to fall apart. Memories: a double-edged sword for a magpie with a human mind.
He flapped hard to dispel the memories, rising sharply into the air, and circling the village once, flew off upward toward the god’s hut on the top of the mountain, his duties to perform. In the distance he could hear the hungry howl of the Judiciary – somebody would be in trouble soon.
6 comments:
The "death of culture", indeed. With a world in the grip of the disease known as "consumerism", all that has come before it, is just about lost. Few can remember...is it not so?
Interesting choice of names for this demon.
Subby: You said it!
Walking Man: This was written some years ago now, I populated the island with archetypes ;]
This American be back yonder fer' a proper readin'
;)
Jeff: Never mind American, you're the only person doing any reading here at The Far Queue - I seem to have been abandoned :(
Blog readers are a fickle bunch.
You should come back to 10thDoM. Bring some of this prose with you.
Was gonna hit up part 3, but now I'm thinking I better get to sleep. Weekend reading, then.
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