The Wasserspeier (6/18/2020). -M.Weisgerber (500 words x2)

“The Wasserspeier”

There was someone coming, climbing up fast along the length of fire escape.  I did my best to hide, unsure what to expect, feeling slow, stupid from hunger.  The hot days of early June had given way to that particular Seattle dark, where the whole world seems painted, a fake canvas.  The crowds below continued to scream, the nearby trashcans continued all ablaze. 

In the confusion I neared from behind, ready.  The kid jumped.

“Holy Gods, you scared me!” 

“Sorry about that – I didn’t expect anyone else to be up here.”  I slunk back into the shadows, listening now as the pair squared off.  I hadn’t seen the woman in the gloom, hadn’t heard as a door or hatch somewhere must have opened.  The cravings were making me careless.  I neared anyways. 

“It’s just a good place to take a smoke is all.  Relax.” 

“There’s no roof deck or catwalk here or anything?”

“Nope.  Why?”

“I’m looking for a place to hang a banner – join the fight.”

“You don’t live in the building?”

“There’s a ladder.  I needed to get away for a bit.” I circled them wearily as they gabbed, knowing four eyes always saw more than two – best to wait?  Oh, but the gnashing, the need...

“From what?”

“Haven’t you seen?  The city is burning.” 

 “Is that what it is?”

“Yea, it’s the protests.  Same old, same old.” 

“Eh, cities were built to be burnt.  Not my problem.”

I advanced again, reaching out, unable to contain myself.  Instead of soft flesh I merely nicked the humans pocket.  Something fell to the roof deck; I gobbled it greedily.  Chocolate?

“Gods it’s cold up here.”

“It is, but it’s the best view of the City.”  A pause.  “Hey, it looks like you have something flapping from your rear-is that a hole in your pants?” 

“Strange.  Must have caught it on something.  Do you mind though?”  I twitched.  He merely held the painted canvas taunt.

“As long as you don’t plan on tagging anything, or going all Stephen Paddock.”  I stooped behind a chimney, contemplating, judging distance in my mind.  Could I distract with a brick?  No, I could not wait any longer.  The need, the greed - I would pounce, would bite them, rip them, tear their guts to shreds! 

“OH CRAP!”  I stopped, startled again.

“My car!  I have to go…I have cans and grub in the back.  Thanks for the understanding though.”

“No problem.  Stop by any time.”  Her face was alight with soft color, with vapor.  I inched closer – the moment was at hand!

“With friends?”  I paused as this new word, curious. 

“Yea, it’s not my building.  Bring whoever you want; just as long as you don’t mind that there’s a gruesome gargoyle over in the corner.  That thing always gives me the creeps.” 

I sunk back, delighted, waiting as the boy left, preparing my next move. 

There would be other prey then, and soon - my patience thus continued. 

For a little while, anyways.  

 “The Gargolye”

The cold days, the rain - oh how they thus gave way to the fury that is May.  Seattle town, this city all ablaze.  Dead men down, a knee to the back (higher still - do not talk about it so soon!) 

The crowd; they see me up here, call now for my name. 

“It’s a lady!” yells one.

“It’s a tramp.”

“Whatever it is, it should be a man,” speaks a fellow from State TV near the back. 

A gargoyle-that is me.  Climbed six stories, downtown just visible past this nose of stone.  Gazing down, lifting hands as if the spirit had taken me, moved me, shifted power to the streets.  Call me black, call me lives, call me queen.  Call me love, call me trans, call me a spoken word made of dreams.  For its a step, then the clap; all faces turn now back to me. 

“Speak!”  yells the one.

“Peace!” cries part, then the whole crowd - yet certainly not for me? 

“Leap!” say others quieter, sneering.  For I remain black, remain proud, remain as they see. 

Yet how best to get my story out?  None of them see the real, just watch as our city go up in flames. 

“Hello!”  I say, their eyes all turn alight.  But once the pause hits, their eyes thus turn to fright.  I can hear the whisper, can here the dregs of day.   Face of stone, all of tears.

“A doccione that is me, do not fear!  I have seen the communards out in Paris, have dined mighty in the world of Rome, yet this American wasteland?  It for now remains my home.  So free, yet without a guide, rudder, listlessly roam.  So I climbed, up above where the world still tried to make sense.”  Yet up here is only the breeze, the graffiti far away from the Movement.  Why oh why, just can’t they see me? 

Oh the hoots, the hollers they come up alongside with the flames.  Oh the stress it spills out, around – I think I’ve forgotten my own name.  The disappointment grows as I sit back down, the sadness it to builds.  Call me black, call me lives, call me queen. 

Call me love, call me trans, make me matter, call me everything in between.  For its a step, then its clap; a subtle movement, then can be a splat.  Oh please, oh please, can’t someone just call aloud for me?

In the crowd I saw a girl just like me.  In her face the future – consideration of another possibility.  She is me, I once her, my fear takes hold, I cannot stir.  I cannot wave, can only do little but shame.So for now I merely sit here, all in tears.  Unmovable as Tahoma rising.  Banner in my hand – I hope it is enough.  A modern day Antoinette, chopping block at the ready.  Let them all flutter in the wind - for now, that statute that is me. 

Maybe a smoke for later. 

The Night Ride (6/08/2020). -M.Weisgerber (1500 words)

It was full dark by the time I had reached that intersection, a dreary mess of so much sheared concrete and refuse as to be confused for a garbage pit.  No distant voices returned my hello’s, no gleam or shadows showed small eyes peering from the gloom. It was a place of emptiness, merely seeming to exist by which to swallow my form.  I checked my surroundings before the approach, yet could not help but think of tombstone assemblages rising high.  My crucifix clinked above my heart. 

As for me: I had received an envelope under my chamber door only a week prior, which had summoned me here at this near time upon this given date.  The necessary, secret code of my people lay thick upon its parchment, calling for a chance meeting to both ponder and receive a form of patronage.  Inquiries and luck had eventually led me to a map, whose supple lines had shown me to this place.  Curiosity had done the rest.

But now to this corner: what to make of it?  Everything seemed to wait in expectant pausure.  The clock ticked nearer.  A sole crow cawed.  Suddenly I was afraid, though I knew not why.

When the events actually transpired, they happened suddenly and without warning.  Out of the darkness to my left came a vehicle of an indiscernible shape, moving so quick as to yank the very breath from my quaking lungs.  The object was fast, damndably fast, veering so close as to nearly take off the tips of my toes foolishly left protruding from the sidewalk.  The thing before me was also quite tall: smooth, larger than a cab, yet certainly much longer than a hansom.  Its fuselage bore no markings of guild or trade, and had glided up beside me as quietly as a monk.  Unaccustomed to the direction of such phasing’s, I merely stood gaping. 

But upon regaining my composure, greater surprises remained!  A hole, a crack of sorts had appeared upon the vehicle’s side, the supple scent of lilac drifting from within.  This new fissure too had appeared as quiet as the cart itself, expanding fast alongside a frame that had seemed as solid as the foundation of the Pyramids. I was tempted to reach for the revolver concealed in my breast pocket, but doubted if sweaty fingers could now cooperate, or else betray me.  I once again stood stock, likely gaping anew. 

 “Enter, my good B_____”, said a voice from deep within.  Surely I must have been half mad, or else still under the opiates strong lull to be lured by the sounds that flowed from that machine.  Yet instead of quick death or sobering reminders of growing doom, a match was struck somewhere within revealing another figure sitting opposite.  A sly smirk stood ready on his face while a known symbol of my people was held deftly in his hand.  I remained uncertain of a proper greeting or hello, merely standing in an idiots wonder.  At last I merely bowed.

“My pardon at such an arrival.” said the man, introducing himself as I sat.  “My driver and I both enjoy our forms of chagrin, of theatre.”  The cab started on, making me jump.  In short order it was tearing through side streets both familiar and unknown.  Nearby there seemed now a slow clap of meandering footsteps, of voices, even as the shadows beside continued to remain fixed.  Was that a human shade growing beyond just the lampglow? 

“Yes,” said I, “It was you called me here it seems.  Though for what purpose?”  Monsignor answered with a simple name, leaving my heart to pause.

“Do not worry, sai.  We seek only passage, and a quick discussion I assure you.” 

“A selection, perhaps?”

“Mayhap.”

“An apology?”

Being deep in the metropolis at this point, we quickly passed beneath layered stone, beside many undulating windows.  The edges of the view began to glow in greens and purples, as around us the murmuring voices grew more steadily.  I swore that I could see eyes in the distance. 

“We leave the city so that like the knights of old you, we even, can go on a quest.  To regain your honor.  For the time has now come to gain a few relics for your retribution.  You insulted my daughters judgment, her character, more; for that you owe penance.  But first you get to decide a different fate.”  The Monsignor now held the Tarot in his hand.  My feet went limp beneath the lacings. 

 “Look upon these figures, their features - for they are significant.  As you can see, three stops are needed tonight. 

“First for the lychee vendor, which is to be your heart.  Some have eaten well of it, and have claimed it was good.

“Next will be for the wicker man, a pause for straw, to be your body.  We will lay down mighty barrels of substrate to burn, then will breathe in the remaining smoke.

“The third stop will be for…,” I leaned closer, struggling to catch his words.  He went on, nonplussed. “…that which symbolizes your mind, prepares us for the full harvest.”  Turning quick, I was just in time to see a shadow slink back from the roadside.  My shock increased along with the mental thrum. 

 “Then we make a fourth stop for…”  At this, I stopped him shakily. 

 “Your daughter used me, Monsignor, do you not see?”  He paused now, shaken. 

 “You have to choose,” he merely exclaimed. 

 “No.  I shall choose none of these things, you terror.  You fiend!”

“Then you’ve made your choice.”  The cab had begun to slow then, footsteps and voices approaching fast.  Outside, I saw a man nearing; he was all eyes, outlines.  The carriage was suddenly betwixt an army of walking shapes! 

“Will you join?”  I heard a voice, uncertain if it was from the growing crowd, or my own throat.    

No, I screamed, over and over again.  

“NO!   Stop.”

“Stop the cart, Gusseppi; let him have his wish.”

“Please!   Anything but that!!”  Slower , slower still till I was shrieking madly for some form of composure.  I could see the faces, the many hands now at the window!  Fingers reaching above lip, stick sucker like upon the glass.  I looked to my host for guidance, but he too was gone, another etching beheld within the crowd.  I fell back with fresh horror - a fate worse than obliteration!  To become the mob, to be part of their rending clutch!!  I could feel their palms already finding the hard turns of my neck.  Nails upon the back of my hair. 

The far door began to open… 

“Anything but this!”  I gasped, screaming aloud again [I may have been even trying to clutch my face].  Beyond, limbs, arms began to pry their way into the cab.  Dead eyes, red orbs began to fill the void.  They were all about me now, entering as a shifting tide, I merely waited for my own face to join that maddening pall. 

THE REVOLVER!  I grabbed it, held it, likely kissed it twice before I began to blast at anything that moved. The shapes seemed to drop off one by one, gunsmoke pervading the air.  Deafening roars rose all around. 

Yet the mob still advanced!  They clutched, they grasped. 

Was I now outside? 

In a last despair, I turned the device to my temple, a sudden coward seeking quick exit.  I called my goodbyes to this earth in quick earnest, screamed aloud again as the fatal click of steel landed on an empty chamber.  Or mayhap it was the brained bullet, striking the back of the chair behind me?  I knew not, only stood screeching. 

“It appears he has made his choice.”

“Yes, fascinating.  Remove him” 

Then, all at once, I was falling.  With a hard thud I landed, bounced along onto skittering feet, tearing at my flesh, my hands, lids all around opening in fear.  Was I dead? 

No: the claws had only been the wind.  Somehow, the cab had stopped at the same corner from whence we began, still empty, utterly quiet.  The cracked signs glared ominously above us, as the missile beside stood smoothly idling. 

Once more, a match was struck from deep within, if to only to again showcase that toothy grin. 

“Bon-swa, dear sir, we shall see you again soon”. 

With that Monsignor began to laugh, a terrible cackle that joined with unseen multitudes flowing all around.  Perhaps this was in my head, perhaps it was only the roar of the engine unseen.  Then they were gone, lost to the ages, leaving me only to gape. 

That night was long ago.  But when the east wind rattles, I can still feel the flavor of many hands descend upon a gaping chest.  Of the foolish grab for the gun, rather than the cross that had hung nimbly round my neck.

It is in those moments that I can only wonder for the future of my immortal soul.  To pray.   

----Fin.----