And the Moral of the Story is… Trista DiGiuseppi Copyright 2011 by Trista DiGiuseppi “I give the world credit for trying.” -Trista DiGiuseppi Boredom The Art of Chaos is best crafted through the Technique of Boredom. Cheat Everything starts out innocently, doesn’t it? He wants to love you now so you had better reciprocate. Though, if you do not reciprocate then he will feign his understanding. You will feel guilty and immediately retract your doubts about him. He wins. Thereafter, he will bring you into his life and abandon you there. For a time, he may stick around, but now that his little bird has adjusted to her cage, he is reassured when leaving her alone for extended periods of time. You grow comfortable with the loneliness and he grows attached to the detachment. Life ends here. Unless, of course, you find your way out. Perhaps through the liquor cabinet, or through the embrace of another man. You are both being cheated. Your lives are slipping away. Father Father was unpredictable. Once he grabbed me by the back of the neck and shoved my face into the shit-filled water of the toilet bowl. He was angry because I forgot to flush. He screamed, “Look at that! Don’t do that again!” He rubbed my face in it like I was a dog. Taste When you take a taste of hard drugs, they bleed your brain dry, even if you aren’t a chronic user. Bombs People dropping knowledge bombs need to know that the rest of the world isn’t taking shelter... Tech Technology has given us the gift of Wasted Days. A Black Hole of flickering lights and buttons - each propelling us further toward zombification. The World may as well be addicted to Drugs. Brain Our brains are encased in a heavy, plastic shell keeping old thoughts in, it restricts our movement. The shell provides us with false images, information overload, and fear-mongering stories of a Far Away Doom creeping closer to our beds as we sleep through the night. Murder They tell me that murder is the only way to control nature. Death I often think of Death as a lazy, self-obsessed sellout; like a man professing his love to a lamp post because he thinks he is too good for solitude. I think of Death as the ultimate Quitter – annoyed by the strenuousness of Life. Death is an emo song, littered with piss-poor lyrics about a girl as marginal as a slice of white bread. Death is the ultimate mainstream. The great surrender of Being. The engagement ring sold in every shopping mall. Death wears name brands, denoting ambiguous generality. Death is insincere and tries too hard to convince you that he cares. Death does not care about your feelings, your culture, or your status. Never trust him to give you special treatment. Death will not pass you up… Man "This isn't where we should be," said the Demon.  His name was Orn. With him was the Angel, Micah.  "Then what would you have me do? Would you have me traipse back to the Kingdom of Sorrows and ask Him for a new map? You tore it up. I blame you, Orn, for this mess. Make no mistake of it. I hate you, Demon. You are a reckless blemish - unfit for my company," said the Angel. "Silence!" barked the Demon. "You are as rude as they come, Micah. I tore up the map because it slowed us down. It was a pebble in my shoe - as are you. Your prayers slow me down. My father will not punish me if I deny your accusations. And regardless, I am not afraid of his punishments. Not like you." Quietly, the Angel and Demon waited behind the tall, green grass. Though it was dark all around, they were able to see in the night. They waited amidst the bushes and nightshade, crouching deep within the fauna. Then, a tiger approached, slinking between the shadows exposed by a moonlit sky. It did not sense them. "That is a creature of ours," warned Micah. "Demon, I forbid you to kill it for your exploit." Orn did not listen. He leapt from the foliage and attacked the animal, slashing its throat clean open with his black, sharp nails. The poor beast moaned and fell to the ground.  "Micah," said the Demon, "I will use the beast as my suit. Now...you, too, must choose a form." Orn's body dissipated into the air, moving like graceful smoke. His essence wafted through the nasal passages of the dead tiger, filling the body with something that flexed its limbs and opened its eyes. Orn was now the tiger, animating the creature with his own spirit. The tiger stood to its feet and shook off the disorientation of possession. At that moment, the Angel emerged from the foliage and stepped into the moonlight. Orn waited for Micah. "Very well,” said Micah. "You have murdered one of my beasts, thus I will choose one of your beasts." With that said, Micah reached overhead into a tree. His hand wrestled with a python sleeping in the branches. Micah snapped the serpent's neck and took its shape. The Demon chuckled, "Micah it suits you. You belong no higher than the reach of my ankle. Insufferable Angel..." "Your Father was once an Angel," reminded Micah.  Orn growled at him and the two continued to argue. They bickered until the moon faded as the sun rose. It wasn't before long that they realized just how much time had been wasted. It was dangerous to be seen by Man. "Quick!" said Micah. "We must hide or a human will see us." "And why should I hide from humans? I am more powerful than them!" Orn grumbled.  "But we do not want to expose ourselves prematurely," warned Micah. "We must find Him. We are sent by your Father to retrieve his soul." "I find it interesting that an Angel is doing my Father's busywork. What sort of debt do you owe him, coward?" asked Orn. "I…I refuse to discuss that with you. It is my own matter. And this is my punishment." "Foolish Angel!" laughed Orn. Micah hissed at the tiger through his green, scaly mouth.  "The hunters will be out this morning," said Micah. "We must hide before He sees us. He is a Hunter." It was in that moment that the two creatures heard Him coming. His footprints were quiet yet they steadily approached. Orn and Micah hid in the grass. As they peeked out, they saw Him. It was Man. Man stepped into a clearing. He thought He heard talking, but glanced around and found no one else. As He dismissed the idea of eavesdroppers, Man knelt to the ground and began to pray. He prayed to a God that was long forgotten; a God that Orn and Micah had never known. This God existed longer than the combined ages of Micah's Almighty and Orn's Dark Father. It lacked a true name. According to the Angel and Demon, Man’s prayer contained these words: I address you, my sole Ancient, I ask thee for power and strength. On my hunt, I seek the will, the heavy determination, to kill swiftly. I do not need sport. I do not need meat. I do not need trade nor fur. I need the Skill. The Skill of the Hunt. So that I may track, and stalk, and kill. So that I may break away from my brothers, paint mud across my face, sprawl naked in the grass, and call unto you  my Father,  my Mother,  my Salvation,  my Death. I shall disappear in the rock and melt into the wood. All that is civil in me, Shall die and drift to sea. My venom is all that is raw and real, and it is mine to deal amongst the Chaos of Earth. I will hunt in the wild,  as something that is Wild, I will shed my skin, sharpen my claws, and howl on the nights  of the fullest moon. The Angel and Demon heard His prayer, though it was directed to an old, faceless God. And because of this, they let Man be. They did not bring him to Orn's Father. A human brimming with such vitality deserved no sacrifice. Both Micah and Orn agreed it would have been shameful to waste his life on self-indulgent requests from Below. To rob the Earth of Him, would have been more blasphemous than the outcry of a thousand souls writhing at the feet of Damnation. The Angel and Demon resigned themselves to their inevitable punishments. …They did not kill Man that day. Sun Sunshine is beautiful. It is pure and comforting. Never mind the slander against it provided by years of medical research. Sunlight is the beauty that washes across the dirt, making dim things radiant. It is the breath of luminosity, the intake of warmth after an ice storm. It is the opiate in times of anger - calming and drug-like.  The Sun has been the center of attention for centuries, in both myth and religion. Spiritualists and medicine men have danced to its call, naming it's brethren with the logos of constellations. The Sun has given depth to Christ-Gods, ego-maniacal pharaohs, creatures of Nordic lore, and the Temples of the Tropics. The Sun will be the final chapter in our Book, for it is our Author, our Ancestor, our Death. Heart A heart is an organ. Its shape is confusing to the average eye. Yet a heart is also a shape. Simple. Symmetrical. Easy to understand at first glance. The complexity of the organ's structure mimics the complexity of the simple shape's meaning.  The heart-organ has many parts: aorta, valves, vena cava, atrium, ventricles and the like. They work together to keep a body functioning.  The heart-shape has no function but that of symbolism. It implies an emotion; love or lust. Little is done to complicate the shape itself, but its symbolism is as confusing as the cardiovascular process.  A heart is a heart; it has no symbolism - just function.  A heart is a heart; it has no function - just symbolism.  Which bears stronger meaning? The heart in your chest? Or the feelings that you imagine to be there? Dragon A dragon is not real, yet there are lizards called "dragons." Thus dragons are real. They're just boring. Gods I convinced myself the gods wouldn’t mind if I took some Kit Blossoms from their garden. They never noticed when one or two went missing. Where was the harm? But the Primrose minded. She caught me, early in the dawn, naked to my waist, picking Kit Blossoms in the garden. "This is murderous!" said the little Flower. She ruffled her petals and stuck out her tongue.  I ignored her tiny voice, as obnoxious as she was, and I stuffed the Blossoms into my satchel.  "Not just murderous but thieving!" she hissed.  "Calm yourself, Primrose," I warned, "Shall I yank you from the ground too?" She eyed me questionably and asked, "Just what do you plan to do with those Kit Blossoms, eh? Are you going to smoke them? You are such a dope!" A laugh escaped my lips, and I immediately muffled it with my hand. I giggled behind my fingers. Stupid little Flower. Primrose's eyes grew wide. "You are! You are nothing but a horrible, drunken, sprite!" she yelled. "I am no sprite!" I barked at her, gesturing to my hooves and furry legs.  "Satyr, then." Primrose corrected her slur. "A knobby-kneed beast-man. Or panboy rather. Pan. Pansy. That’s it. You are a Pansy." "My name is Garret," I said. Then, I bounded away from Primrose. I leapt through the garden like a fawn rushing toward its den. I wanted to escape safely without being caught. I can't say much for prying Flowers, the nosy little shits they are, but heavier punishment would ensue if a god caught me. Wouldn't it be nice if Flowers didn't speak? "Stop!" ordered a low voice. "State your business." Great. Trees. It's always a Tree, isn't it? They wake up after decades of slumber and want answers. The old bastards don't even know the time of day. I hate Trees. They want to be kept up to speed the moment they wake up. And given that there are literally thousands of them around, the second one drifts off to sleep not a minute passes before the next one awakens! "I haven't time," I told the Oak.  "Oh..." said Oak, sadly."But I'm so very bored and lonely." "My business is my own, Oak. And I am in a hurry." Oak winced at me and said, "You sound like you are up to no good." He then rustled his branches, slowly, trying to get to me. It was rather pathetic. "The only way to catch me, Oak, is to get your roots up from the ground and move your ass a little!" I yelled as I bounded off. He gasped, insulted. No matter. Leaving the garden, I found the woods. The woods were the same as the garden, but bigger and without Kit Blossoms. Speaking of Kit Blossoms, I searched for a quiet place to smoke them. But I had to be careful. Sprites and Nymphs wandered this area, pesky things really. I mean, Nymphs are splendid to look at but when they open their mouths, well, I don’t have enough Kit Blossoms to numb myself to that sort of babble. And worst of all, both Sprite and Nymph annoy me to no end by wanting to share my Kit Blossoms. Such leeches, they are. So, I hurried to a small cove beneath a few vines and branches, and there I packed my pipe. "This is the gods’ secret ingredient," I said, pulling the Kit Blossoms from my satchel. "This is what they put in their ambrosia. If ambrosia didn't have this, then all you’re left with is the taste and it tastes like slop." I puffed away on my pipe. Also, I was very pleased that no one was around to bother me. I laid back and allowed the Kit Blossom to take its effect. As the plant began to work its magic, I realized that it was in that exact, hazy moment that I witnessed obnoxious things; things I was not meant to see.  For, at that moment, Loki passed through the woods. His looked worried while holding a small crystal in his hand. He wasn't one of our gods, so I didn't fear him too much. But the last thing I wanted to get involved with was him. In fact, none of us woodland creatures looked forward to Loki’s visits. Unfortunately, the moron never remained in the North like he was supposed to. Nope. He always brought his shit down here. The bulk of Loki’s escapades typically involved some woman or another. At times a goddess was involved too. But more often than not, usually a love triangle ensued. Those gods sure loved their love triangles. And Loki always wrapped himself up in some ridiculous, stupid woman. So, there he stood gripping the crystal, peering into it with what I regarded as “Panic.” Then he threw it to the ground and fled.  Jackass. Next, I heard footsteps racing after Loki. There went another god! He was angrily chasing Loki, of course. Then, the god stopped at the crystal and picked it up, looking over it. I had a better look at him now. Hades. I recognize that beard anywhere. And he looked furious. Hades threw down the crystal and tore off into the woods. I thought Loki had better run fast. Naturally by this point I had resurrected myself from the tantalizing hallucination of ginger snaps and autumn rain, the only things one can see and smell under this influence. I wrestled myself up from the ground and waltzed over to the crystal. Picking it up, I cursed my dreadful curiosity. As drool oozed from my scraggly mouth, I blinked at the crystal, laughing at how stupid my nose appeared in its spherical reflection.  "What are you doing, boy!?"  The voice startled me and I dropped the magical ball. Where did it come from? "Down here!" it yelled.  I looked down at the crystal, realizing that it spoke to me.  And it was a woman's voice... I picked it back up and looked harder. There she was. I found her face. It reflected out from the edges of the ball.  "Where is Hades?" she demanded. "He..." I stammered, "...erhm....went with Loki. Yep." "Loki!" she hollered. "That little weasel!" "Yep," I said.  Then she spoke some more but I have to admit I stopped listening to her. I began to think of this centaur I met the other day, his name was Piper Jaffray, yes stupid name, I know. But, I always wanted to share a bag of Kit Blossoms with him. He seemed like good company, one that would carry on conversation no matter what the direction. I remember the place we met was not far from the mountain of the gods and the water there sparkled with the essence of Helen – and oh how it smelled absolutely miraculous! Oh, and the lilies that grew there, you could live off those for a week. Just be careful of the water snakes, because those things can bite you when you try to wade through. I mean I don't have a problem because my legs are covered in a thick fur, but this one time a maiden tried it and the snake ate off her entire leg! However, once a snake managed to bite me on the wrist, which is not such a protected part of my body, and the illness I endured for days after was insufferable. I wasn't even able to move, let alone speak. It sort of paralyzed me, you know? But it was great because this Nymph from the creek brought me food and flowers everyday and that was nice, it really was - except when she talked. By the gods, did she ever talk. At length. But I didn't mind as long as she fed me and looked as pretty as could be. I had to shut her out a few times by pretending to take a nap but she was so dumb that she never figured out that I was faking. But this one time -  "HEY!" yelled the woman inside of the magical ball.  "Hm?" I asked, snapping back to reality. "Are you listening?" "Eh..." "I said - can you do me a favor?"  She was very frustrated. "Uh..." "Deliver me to Zeus. Now. I must speak with him." "Look lady..." I said, "I am very tired right now. I do not want to get all mixed up in your pointless he-said, she-said. But hey! I can put you back where I found you and maybe Hades will come back and find you. Alright?" “Don’t you dare you little runt!” The angry woman yelled at me, for quite some time. But that's alright, women always yell at me. Before she ran out of breath, I tossed the crystal to the ground. Naturally, the woman yelled even more, but I casually walked away. Why? Because, let me explain something. If ever there was something to be learned from my story, learn this; ignore the bidding of gods. They are selfish and ego-driven. Being caught up in their pettiness will result in dealing with Illogical Things. Yes. It's best to avoid any demands of any gods. And from time to time... have a smoke. If you enjoy Trista’s short stories and would like to discover more of her work, please visit: WordPress Page: https://sixletterpress.wordpress.com/ Facebook Page: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Trista-DiGiuseppi-Author/203019423081063