Content Warning: violence

Evander Lang – Everlasting Peace

     On the TV near your head the movie’s ending. You take no notice; you are sleeping. Insects scream in the near places. The land burns, but by now you’re used to that. Deep beneath the earth a foul heat rises.

     You wake up queasy. Your clothes stick to your body. The room you’re in is not the one you went to sleep in.

     The room you’re in is not the one you went to sleep in. You study its dimensions: broad and ivy-covered, doorless, roofless. You don’t see how a place like this could even have electricity.

     When they find you, you’ll be drunk on the wine you’ll find secreted by the ivy. They’ll ask you how you got here, if you know who owns this place, if you’re one of them yourself or know someone who is. You won’t understand their questions. They will hurt you.

     In your pockets there’s money you don’t recognize. On the coins there’s a goat with bat’s wings. On the paper money there’s a message scribbled in a language you can’t read.

      By now the movie’s over. You don’t see how a place like this could even have electricity. The walls are too high for you to climb in your condition. You sleep some more.

      Deep beneath the earth a foul heat rises. It will take on human shape but that will never be its nature. You will not learn its name. You will know it by its consequences: no one will ever again be loved as you were loved, no one protected as you have been protected.

      You wake up knowing where the door is. You’re too drunk to move; you try to write it down. You fail. You sleep some more.

      Policemen comb the fields. You dream of rescue. On the TV near your head the movie’s playing.

      Deep beneath the earth a foul heat rises. Your strength is gone, your powers failing. Policemen comb the fields. You hear them panting.

       You wake up panting. By now the movie’s over. The ivy’s overrun you. You can’t move.

       The love you’ve known came at a price you were not told of. It was paid out in the pain of other people. The cost was great and the effort wasted. There is nothing here for you to reconcile.

      You wake the last day knowing where the door is. The ivy’s brittle and what’s left of you can break what’s left of it. On the TV near your head the movie’s starting. You watch a little. You forget what you were doing.

     Policemen comb the fields and finally find you. You don’t understand their questions.

      You hand them the coins, but it isn’t enough. You hand them the paper and they read what it says.

      They look up at you. They look you in the eyes.