The Seven Kingdoms (7)
The Fifth Kingdom - Part I
Reading time: 9 minutes
Image: Pexels
She was right. Or rather, they were. Despite chivalrous heroism being pretty much on the bottom of the traits he’d assign to himself, he had in fact listened to the advice of a moth, booked a trip with a completely untraceable, and hence mysterious, travel agency, to go on a trip with an unknown destination. What on Earth had possessed him into this course of action?
He would have preferred a fatal blow from a sledgehammer over the images which, in answer to his question, now entered his mind. Severe abdominal cramps prevented him from breathing as he collapsed to the floor, and after a few minutes of what looked like an epileptic seizure with jerking arms and legs, the sounds escaping from his mouth eerily resembled those of a humpback whale’s death cries.
It had been almost four years since the one message he had never wanted to have received, was conveyed via a phone call by his then mother-in-law.
Marilyn had been the light of his life. She had been his support, confidant, shoulder to cry on, buddy to laugh with, partner to make plans with, and soulmate to grow old with. Moreover, he had kept his cockiness in check whenever it had reared its head.
In time, he had come to realise that such behaviour had been an automatic reaction to the pushing of his anxiety buttons, and how empty and lonely it left him when he allowed himself to wallow in it. Because instead of connecting with others, it caused, without fail, the exact opposite effect.
Her face appeared as vivid as if she was actually there. An oh so well-known jasmine fragrance entered his nostrils, while her smile bared shining, white teeth, and simultaneously allowed magical dimples to appear in auburn cheeks.
Wearing a light, white summer dress covered in a flower print, she danced barefoot on the meadows behind their Victorian house in Cicero, NY, not far from Oneida Lake. He laughingly joined in, grabbing her hands and spinning her around and around, causing her long, brown curls to wave like the ocean. They were fully aware of the blessings of the earth upholding them, heaven embracing them, the sun warming them, and the abundance of nature all around them.
Never, however, had they taken their fortune for granted. They had both been aware of their shortcomings, and, as in every marriage, misunderstandings and fights had definitely been part of the occasion. But, for some strange reason, even though their outbursts could sometimes have caused measurable seismic activity, their symbiosis was of a kind that enabled a willingness to learn the art of loving, both for themselves, and for each other.
Their dream had lasted eleven years. One drunk driver was all it took to shatter it to pieces.
The first couple of months had been like a giant blur. From the arranging of the funeral, to the handing out of memorabilia from the house to parents and siblings, and then into establishing some new kind of ‘normal’ daily schedule, Andy could hardly remember any of it.
Less than a year later he had sold the house and moved to Manhattan. By then a tidal wave of lethargy had taken hold of him, even though he had convinced himself of the contrary. He took a well-paid position at Goldman Flex, visited clubs, went on dates, and used every other distraction in the book to convince himself that he was moving on.
What he had not done, however, was to acknowledge and feel his deep sorrow for her loss, and with that begin to process it.
Until now. A violent rage emerged like a volcano on the verge of erupting. When it finally did, he spewed out a combination of profound language and hellish howls, screeches, and wails, as he finally could not escape the inevitable reality that she would never return, and he was, once again, alone.
He crawled onto his hands and knees while trying to supress a strong urge to vomit, while tears streamed down his cheeks.
When he finally opened his eyes, all he saw was an empty, barren wasteland, a perfect representation of his emotional state, which was filled with intense fury on the injustice inflicted upon him, combined with an insatiable hate against the drunk driver – who had even had the audacity to kill himself in the process – but even more so to himself, unable to have saved her from her fate, and himself from the unbearable guilt which accompanied his perceived failure.
Like a werewolf emerging from a kneeling, crouched position, he slowly arose by first extending his knees, before his near-limp drooped body slowly unfolded towards an erect posture. Steam rising from his dermis resembled that of a body which hadn’t seen a shower in months, and the mixture of saliva and tears running down his face gave him the sense of swallowing seawater, but he didn’t care. With hands cramped info claws, a downward pointing face and upward looking eyes, there emerged a defiance and impudence which hadn’t seen the light of day since his first date with Marilyn.
Having been born and raised in a typical American suburban neighbourhood, all he ever saw was everyone trying to keep up with the Joneses. The religious message of that lifestyle promised a goose with golden eggs at the end of the rainbow, though no one ever knew where exactly the rainbow ended – or when.
He went into the lifestyle head first from the moment he earned a small fortune with the development of an app, in which students could see their class schedule at one glance, instead of having to go through their own school’s systems, which resembled, in every way possible, the Minotaur labyrinth.
With his knack for IT, particularly computer languages and the implementation of systems theory on different operating systems, he soon was a much sought-after employee who quickly could determine his own salary and benefits. Alongside the money arose female interest, accompanied with his cockiness and rock star lifestyle.
Combining his relentless work schedule with a boatload of social and amorous obligations, however, took a toll on his energy supply, and soon he resorted to chemical stimulants to keep himself going. Yet those stimulants not only increased his cockiness, but also evoked a sense of paranoia that others were out to get his fortune. So whenever he had a faint feeling of someone being out to get him, no matter how long it took, he’d make sure to get even, whether he was right or not.
Qualities like trust and faith had never been part of his life curriculum.
The promised happiness of his relentless lifestyle, however, never came, and only after he had met Marilyn did he come to realize that in order to believe The American Dream, you’d have to be asleep. Never had he felt so alive, so whole, as when they were together, rendering all else almost redundant.
The wasteland resembled Death Valley on a starless night. It was also a cloudless night. The darkness wasn’t so much deep as vague, while the moon was completely absent. Strong, poisonous green smelling winds were howling, while faint rumblings stroked faraway horizons with a memory of some kind of life. Thus, he was harshly reminded, that it was life that caused the suffering and pain that was unbearable for any human being to endure.
He wanted it to end. Looking actively around for an object to carry out his plan, he found the wasteland to be as devoid of things as he was currently devoid of love.
“Just my hellish luck.”
“What is?”
“Oh, just leave me alone you two.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“What?”
When he turned around, a little girl looked straight into his eyes – at his eye level.
The girl, certainly not older than ten, eleven years old, floated in the air less than two yards away from him. Devoid of colour, she appeared to consist wholly of bright, luminous light. Her body was fully covered in long, waving, colourless drapes, and Andy could not establish where her long, waving hair ended and the drapes began.
“What are you mad about?” the child asked.
“None of your business.”
He turned around and, steam still exiting his ears, headed off in the opposite direction.
“Ouch!”
The viscous fluid coming out of his nose tasted eerily of blood. Yet, the voice remained open and amiable, like when kids can sometimes point to some particular nothingness and, being completely mesmerized by it, ask in their characteristic innocent tone of voice: ‘what’s that?’
“You do not speak to me like that, nor do you turn your back on me, and when I ask a question, I expect an answer. What are you mad about?”
Holding his nose, he wondered if he had just received a Mike Tyson-like punch from this child.
“I don’t owe you anything. Leave me alone!”
The blow left his right ear ringing for the next half hour, while the missing stars from the sky now appeared in a vortex around him. Keeping himself barely upright, he uttered a growl while trying to throw a punch in her direction with the hand that wasn’t trying to cover his nose and ear simultaneously. He missed, but the kick against his left knee unmistakingly didn’t, knocking him to his knees.
Her voice was as angelic as it had been when she had first addressed him. Not a single trace of agitation, or even mere distraction, could be distinguished.
“What are you mad about, Andy?”
“Who are you? How do you know my name?”
She hovered and stared at him so blank, that she could have been thinking about which part of him to break next, or if she turned off the stove before going out. Finally she said:
“I will make a deal with you. First I ask a question, then you, and so we take turns. What do you say?”
He rubbed his ear and knee, spit on the floor, exhaled hard through his nose to make sure it was still in one piece, and coughed up enough mucus to fill an inflatable swimming pool.
“Okay.”
“So, what are you mad about?”
“Injustice. Who are you?”
“I am the Queen of this realm called ‘Vishudda’, but you can call me Milady. Injustice about what?”
As Marilyn’s face appeared before his eyes, he broke down, opening the floodgates, and releasing a deluge of tears of biblical proportions. Deep, raw, and unacknowledged emotions arose to the surface of his consciousness, some known, while others from such depths, that it made the universe feel young by comparison. And as he was emotionally turned upside-down and inside-out, the child-Queen hovered benignly in the air in front of his face.
“It’s just not fair! Why her, of all people? She was Goodness with a capital G, she wouldn’t hurt a fly. It doesn’t make any sense!”
“Who are you referring to, Andy?”
“How do you know my name?!” he snapped at her.
“Hahaha, you’re right, it was your turn.” Even her laugh sounded angelic. “Nevertheless, since this is my realm, and since you didn’t refer to me in the way I told you to, I can change the rules as I please. So, tell me who, Andy.”
Realizing the futility of his resistance, he tried to utter her name. Yet every time the first syllable reached his glottis, it felt as if a finger poked violently at his uvula, creating new outbursts of sweat which covered his entire body. The more he tried, the angrier he became, and the angrier he became, the harder and more uncomfortable his gagging reflexes.
“I can’t,” he growled eventually.
“Yes, I see. What do you want?”
Through his tears, he looked up at her.
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I say, Andy. What is the thing that you really want, right here, now, in this place?”
Could he think the unthinkable? Could the impossible become possible? He suddenly remembered the legend of Oedipus, and a glimmer of hope, albeit ever so slight, appeared to light up in his heart – while, for convenience’s sake, he evaded the last part of that Greek myth altogether. Even the image of Cerberus, the three-headed hellhound, couldn’t dim the glimmer. His voice trembled.
“I…I want my Marilyn back. I want her back! I want her to be alive, and by my side!”
“Follow me.” the child-Queen said, turned around, and hovered away.
Hardly were they on their way, when the landscape underwent a dramatic metamorphoses. The vague darkness was replaced with a radiant light, while low, lush, green vegetation spread itself out like a carpet in front of them. Not much farther, he saw trees in the distance, and flowers began to emerge through the low vegetation as they travelled. Eventually they passed large barley fields.
After about half an hour’s walk, they arrived at a mud-walled town.
“There is a visitor in the village. Go to him and tell him what you want.”
“And then?”
“Go and find out.”
End of part I
Will he lift his emotional blockage? Will a renewed sense of purpose and meaning emerge? Find out in part eight of The Seven Kingdoms (not yet published).
Jolly greetings,
Erik Stout
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