《He-Thing and the Cabal of the Cosmos》The Laser Tears of Zolantos
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Zolantos,
Merciless Cripple,
was lost in a dark forest.
A dense host of trees
surrounded him,
swaying,
dwarfing him
a hundred times
with their height
and their age.
Shadows undulated
beneath the branches.
Faerie lights lingered,
curious,
in the brush.
A maze with no walls.
Zolantos turned in a circle.
All directions were available to him.
He forgot
he was in a dream.
Zolantos
moved through the forest.
It was not soundless;
animals shuffled in the brush,
birds called in fleeting rhythms,
and winds teased
the branches overhead.
What eyes watched him?
The forest was sacred,
horrifying in its magnitude,
boundless in its meanings.
He heard something
wooden wheels
rolling
in grumpy resignation.
Out of the woods
appeared
a short old man
leading a decrepit donkey,
who pulled a small cart
rattling with merchandise.
“How do you do, sir?”
the old man asked.
His voice was throaty, froggish.
“Good,” said Zolantos.
“How do you do?”
“Can’t complain, can’t complain.
But do you need anything, sir?”
“I... I don’t have any money,”
said Zolantos,
not knowing if he did or not.
“Oh, you’re all paid up, sir,”
the old man told him.
“What?”
“Someone has already paid for you, sir.”
“Who? For what?”
“I’m not at liberty to say, sir.”
“You just need to choose, sir,”
said the old merchant.
“Choose what?”
“Well, sir,” the merchant croaked,
going to the back of his cart.
He lifted a leather flap,
revealing
three items:
a feather quill with paper,
a knife,
and a plump red apple.
Zolantos looked down at them.
He asked,
“How can one choose
between things so disparate?”
“Be that as it may, sir,”
said the old man,
“You must choose.
You are already paid for
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in full.”
“I choose the knife,” said Zolantos.
“Of course, sir,” said the toadish man.
“But...
wouldn’t you like to try
something different, sir?”
“I have to be able
to defend myself,”
Zolantos responded.
“Yes, sir,” agreed the merchant,
“But does the Scroll not say,
Mercy is the most beautiful name
of God?”
Yes, that is what the Scroll says,
thought Zolantos.
“I can choose nothing else,”
he told the merchant.
“Of course, sir.”
The merchant lifted the knife
in his gnarled fingers,
and handed it to Zolantos.
As Zolantos took the knife
into his hands,
he felt an intolerable
burning sensation
in his eye sockets.
They welled up with
star-hot liquid fire,
until flaming pink
tears
spilled down his cheeks,
searing his face
before falling
to the moist forest floor.
Zolantos looked to the
merchant
for answers.
The old man grimaced
with his wide lips.
“Laser tears,”
he explained.
“You’ve chosen this path before, sir.”
to be continued...
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