Death Transfigured

February 4, 2018February 9, 2018 ~ Piece, of the Sky

Pythagoras

The small clay die rolled in the dust. Three of them. One of them almost lost in the long, decaying grass. Simon watched the die intently; he would resell this fraying cloak for a few more denarii than the stingy pickings he could pull from old, crooked Zachariah.

One clay cube landed on seven, the other on three, the last on two. “Twelve,” Zachariah said, with a laugh, “You only get five pence, instead of seven.”

“You cheapskate!” Elias burst out, “How can you live with yourself!”

Unfazed, Zachariah gazed steadily at him, “No one will cry any tears for a drunken thief.”

“Why, you!” Elias rose up, as if to grab the dull dagger always hidden in the inside of his right boot (he was left handed), but Timothy restrained him, grabbing his shoulder, “Cut the drama, Elias. This is business, not theater.”

No one got up. Zachariah stared defiantly around the circle, at the edge of a morphing, undulating crowd, ever-moving, ever-changing, people picking their way up the mountain, through the shrubbery, the sleeping rocks, the sharp blades of prickly desert plants, the loud calls, the gasps of onlookers, the jeers of uniformed guards, their silver helmets flashing in the afternoon sun – that was quickly being arrested by an oncoming gloom, black clouds of the incoming rain, the still air, the dry day. A few last rays. A sudden wind blows from the east to the west. Simon sighed, “I’m never going to get my money.” Two robbers and a charismatic preacher hung on the three crosses.

end of an age

See also: “The Robe,” a 1953 film.

Related: A Falsifiable Life

Flash Freeze

February 2, 2018April 5, 2018 ~ Piece, of the Sky

sea

Alli hadn’t been back there in half a decade. The sun was setting, making its slow, crepuscular descent. Alli sat on the park bench facing the water’s edge

The sea approached and receded. Alli sat, buttoned up in her winter coat, battling the January wind.

New Year’s Day.

They had spent New Year’s Day together. They had held mittened hands. Walked by Chinese groceries, with crustaceans hung up by their tails, fish markets that left the sidewalks slippery.

Now, Alli had no idea where she was. Dallas had disappeared into the lengthy line of Facebook friends.

Alli pulled up her collar against the chill. Summer days. December snow. “But here I am again,” Alli thought. The wind pushed the water. And endless cycle of oncoming waves.

The sun touched the horizon, bathing the bench and asphalt in a rough, red-orange glow. Dallas had never returned from Australia. Got lost somewhere along the way in Louisiana. Chasing new espers. Jan had been right.

The wind began to cut and Alli pulled further into her coat. Her cellphone rang; it was Dani, “Are you coming to the game?”

“I went to the store,” Alli said.

“Come by my house. Aspen just got here with beer.” Dani said.

“OK,” Alli replied. She ended the call, swiping the virtual red icon on the screen. She stared out over the vista, as the sky went from yellow to gray. Night was coming. The frigid wind picked up, pulling Big Gulp cups across the sidewalk.

Alli walked up and leaned on the railing. On the other side of the world, the sun was rising.

back home