2005-01-21
City of Adonis: Entry for Pen Women Competition
City of Adonis
There is a red-chemical sunset, which, dissolves into the clouds, and we see nothing past this horizon, save dust and the obfuscated haze of lead. What an old and dusty city this is! It rose from the underground�from the shadows, and only a faint light penetrates the splotchy glass windows and shattered thoughts. Only light can cut through brown liquid inside white, enamel mugs�it parts it like waves, like wet hair combed slick from behind.
And upon setting foot on the soil, Lazarus decreed:
Red City �created from the dust and as dust your essence shall remain.
Some time ago, we were children�we ran along corridors whose only voices came from echoes. We picnicked in the garden�the Rose Garden�where the dusks came silent as tombs, whilst black crows lacerated through the deadened clouds above. And the old, decrepit stranger came then, dressed in red, and proud, and said:
I have learned enough to teach you�see? I can read the message from Lazarus.
But poor Judas, who did not understand, had us stay behind in the rose garden, and under the statue. White and glistening, marble and polished�and from this stone an angel�s body was carved�painted white by the acid rain�and it stood drowned by the echoes of the courtyard, where flowers once bloomed, and ghosts came to picnic.
Summers always came, but met their deaths in the late of winter, and no flower had time to whither, and no root had time to clutch onto the dusty remains of the debris brushing past our feet.
Here stood the gray, stone wall�said Judas.
And passersby all awe at the invisible entrance to the garden of weeds, from whence the brown stream once flowed.
Now, see him standing there? There stands a man in black, but, he has a white soul�see him? Old Sampson: faithful, meticulous, and of great use�our Ferry Man , but no doubt chattered about. In old cafes, the ladies who chat about dead art also chat about Sampson�he'll point the way and show you which path to follow (though he will warn you of the thorns that grow from the red flowers ) to find the treasure. He stands there now and Judas points to him; Sampson remains warm within the cool shadows of the Tree of Fate. Go under the tree with him.
Long since, we've lived in this dusty city and made our journey towards the Tree of Fate. This old, dusty city has but one escape...found within the fog of night and morning shadows. And feeding the roots of majestic trees are the secrets, which have lain buried like aging corpses.
Lazarus arose, and his frightening gaze meets mine, but I did not get his message�
In this City of Shadows and Regret Lazarus� voice is never heard when we walk through lamp lighted streets�the soles of our shoes form a nocturnal tune, grating with the cobblestones. No one hears us in this city, save the ghosts of memory.
But as if an electric torch lit Judas�s eyes, he scrambled up to Lazarus and asked:
What is this land, where the grey stone does not sigh and weep? This land which remains unfertile and comfort is found within shadows? Plaintive is this land, where one meets Lazarus in lamp lighted streets, fed by dark, muddied waters, and olive-green fog lingers still in raw air.
And Lazarus spoke:
You have reached the end of the end to the path with the sign with the message that points the direction toward the Tree of Fate. Feet slide along the punishing roads and they move silently among the shadows�invisible to the night�in waves, like quilts�human souls are stitched together to form a thick blanket�they move like solitary phantoms.
After 1,000 years, we reached Old Sampson, and the gleam of his empty, white eyes sliced through velvet darkness, and the pure gleam lead the way through pearled-black waters. And we stood upon the boat, and looked back, but, saw nothing save darkness now�the land remained dark.
The past is always swallowed by time, said Judas, buttoning his red sweater.
Now, we only looked towards the white, light, and toward the iron gates. We then saw the entrance to the other city�the City of Adonis .