The exercise:
Write about: the complex.
Had my usual post work morning of rest today and, as is often the case, it was not nearly long enough. Felt a little more productive than other mornings though.
Spent the afternoon with Miles while Max hung out with Kat's parents. Our youngest seems to be in the process of giving up his afternoon nap. It'll be nice in the end I'm sure, but this in between period of will he or won't he today is not great.
Big day tomorrow. Should get some sleep.
Mine:
"Honey, you look worried. What's on your mind?"
"It's Lester..."
"Again? What now?"
"Have you watched him playing with the other kids at the park lately?"
"Watched is probably too strong a word. More like glanced at in between sips of coffee and checking ou... uh... checking my phone."
"Can't you see it in the way he interacts with them?"
"See what?"
"He's developing an inferiority complex!"
"Well, they're a bunch of three and four year olds - he is inferior."
"You're not helping!"
"He's still not even one!"
3 comments:
I think I know what you mean: at the moment I wake up on Friday feeling like I've done a full week already, and no matter how easily I take Saturday it doesn't feel like I've recovered and the weekend has started till Sunday. I know it's just effectively overload -- too many different things all needing attention -- and that it will get better as each little thing is dealt with, but... Friday morning's are tough :)
I'm still with the worried parent over Lester here. He's nearly one, his interactions should be better defined and more assertive. If he loses ground now he may never make it up again later on! (Is the checking your phone and drinking your coffee a memory of days when it was easier to look after the boys?)
Complex
My chain tries to strangle me as the blazing white light of the unclothed Seraph streams into Joachim's timeless meeting room and Joachim is no help at all. As the metal somehow contracts and bites into my skin and flesh, blood vessels beneath being squeezed shut and my windpipe closing despite my gulping efforts to keep it open, he stands back and a faint smile crosses his lips.
"That shouldn't be possible in here," he says. My eyes would bulge in astonishment if they weren't already starting to bulge from the pressure. My throat feels hot and it's spreading up my head to my jaw and cheeks. My fingers clutch at my throat but I can't get any purchase on it, they slide over its smooth surface and my skin is folding over the edges already.
"I think it's trying to decapitate you," says Joachim in the same tone of voice that I'd tell someone that peanuts are bad for you if you have an allergy. I'd love to answer him but I can only make odd, high-pitched squeaks and they're getting quieter fast. My vision is starting to shrink now: there's a central spot with fading colours and a dark tunnel all around it and it feels like there's ridiculous pressure in my head. It all hurts.
The Schedim reaches out from the doorway and its as though there's a silvery net between him and me that wasn't visible until he touched it. Little squares, maybe two centimetres on each side, spiritual chickenwire encircling me. I look up, and though it's hard to see, ensphereing me seems like a better description. I feel, but can't see, an exercise of power, and the silvery net peels apart where the Schedim is touching it. He walks over to me and places his hands around my throat in the traditional strangler's grip (don't ask how I know, the paperwork you have to sign is horrific). He squeezes... and the chain falls apart.
He steps away again and as my flesh recovers little bits of chain start to drop out of it and they tinkle lightly on the floor.
The Seraph steps into the room and Joachim closes the door behind it, and the sense of timelessness resumes.
"Why were you wearing that chain?" asks the Seraph.
[Tempted as I am to leave you with that cliff-hanger, I'll double-post instead :)]
"I don't know," I say, or rather, I start to stay, cough like I've got the plague for at least thirty seconds, and then sort of croak. Joachim produces a glass of water from somewhere, and I drink, cough/splutter, drink some more and realise how much my throat hurts.
"It would be rather better if you did," says the Seraph, and so I slowly, with the help of more water, explain my circumstances waking up this morning. The Seraph tones down the blaze as I explain, and by the end there's what might be an athletic woman or a very pretty man stood in front of me. They remind me of Tilda Swinton.
"Interesting," says the Seraph. The Shedim, who's standing next to it, echoes the word. I look at them both, and when neither say anything else I look at Joachim, who shrugs. I look back at the Seraph, but it's the Shedim who speaks.
"That was an angel's death curse," he says. This is news to me, but it makes immediate sense, and I can feel my face relax as I understand. "You don't understand," he continues, and I assume it's to make me look stupid. The Shedim love their games and powerplays, I suspect it makes up a big part of their interest in humanity as a whole. "It wasn't the death curse of the angel you killed in Rio." My face goes back to puzzled again, and I sip more water and wince at the pain in my throat.
"The Seraphim do not die easily," says the Seraph. The Shedim elbows it, and it continues, "and nor do the Shedim. The Nephalim are a little easier to kill, and the timeless ones...," it looks over at Joachim, "may already be dead." Joachim grins pleasantly and shrugs his shoulders. "When a Seraph dies a death curse is created, always for a specific purpose. The angel you killed... its death curse has, as is traditional, been used to add to the defences of Ba'alach." I stiffen at the mention of that fortress, and the Shedim smiles. His teeth are sparklingly white, but there's a spotting of blood on his lips.
When the Seraph seems disinclined to continue the Shedim speaks. His voice is like the rotting of meat in water: thickly liquid with odd, almost solid hiccups. "We can only hope that your explanation of why you killed an angel will shed light on why some other angel was willing to die to try and kill you here and now."
"Because we don't need you for the conjunction," says Joachim casually. "You are just a messenger after all."
Greg - I hope that things settle down for you at work sooner than later, though I feel like I've said that before. Several times. Over the course of a few years...
The drinking the coffee, yes. The checking out other moms/phone? Nah. Never really been able to look at my phone much with these guys :P
This is another fantastic entry into this series. Utterly captivated by what is going on with your narrator. I look forward to even more!
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