The Inaugural
Percy Neanderthal
River Niger – 400,000 Years Ago
In some form of words, either gibberish or whatever we spoke then, I said, “I love you”. Not because I loved her, rather it felt necessary. I had been breathing for far too many lunar cycles; knew time would send for me soon. Just not when. So, I confused her even more and pressed lips to cheek. We weren’t gentle with our touch, she knew this. We only laid one tucked into another came spring. Fornicating near rutting wolves, sweaty and heaving, we were beasts. Hairless, but mammal, sex came instinctually. So, of age I claimed her. Took her dirty on clay, against leadwood, beneath night sky; all she knew was darkness. Yet this night, she lay untouched. Crinkled her eyes at my behavior; strange it seemed – my kindness – and looked away. She would have no last words for me. What could she possibly say to a nightmare? Burn.
Absent from her well wishes and undoubtedly a soon forgotten memory of our offspring, I leave. Retracing steps I walk every night I follow darkness into darkest. As one black hole to another there was a deficit of life in these plains. Not a whimper or howl to be heard; only wind, a rustling, then stillness. I knew nights like these. Saw white shatterings in the distance, a color so bright it must have been god. I imagine whatever it struck was instantly purified, made white hot, then dissipated. God-like things don’t stay here; they linger, they go, and they return. But in their wake loom shadows, translucent clouds, wandering upwards from their causation. Absent-mindedly I trail them to their source, “all things start somewhere”, I think, “but what?”
Stumbling across dried roots, the cloud grows engulfing the entire area in a haziness. Intangible, I pass right through it, but somehow it chokes me. Holds fast my tongue and enables me from swallowing. Struggling to breathe I clench my throat and claw into my chest. Nails deep in the epidermis I collapse onto the ground in ire. “Pretty things shouldn’t hurt,” I growl, “she didn’t”. Weak, I shift onto my side. Somehow it feels easier down here, less hazy. Blinking, I stare into the sky. It was blue, but tonight it seemed … orange. “Had the sun risen?” I glance towards the sky and shake my head in disagreement. “No,” but it did waver. Going back and forth, and back and forth from blue to blueish and orange. Averting my eyes, I see it in my peripheral. A sliver of sun, shier than its mother yet as warm. I wonder, “Was this God’s gift? A white hot become orange. Had he delivered beast a godly possession; had he given me a godly possession?” Rubbing clean my wounds, I turn to my front and drag myself towards the light. So, orange and bight, flicking in and out of existence. I needed to catch it before it disappeared. It was mine to have and I would get it. Stumbling to my knees, I waddle towards the warmth. The closer I come, the warmer it seems. Leaning forward, I swipe my hand at wavering orange. “Min-,” and searing pain. The smell of charred flesh and burning. A sound of bubbling and darkness – eventually it finds us all.
The Igniter
Percie W.
1191 Wedgewood Dr. – 1995
Without God, an insist voice forcing me from my bed, I would have died. At first, I said no. I was tired, and regardless of the festivities happening beyond these walls, I would rest. My youngest was away, and my eldest god knows where, but not here. The house was empty, and I was without work. Ignoring the dirty dishes, kicking aside forgotten trash, I amble my way across the home into the den. Even messier here than elsewhere, I let it go. Being the only room with air conditioning it would temporarily satisfy my needs. Four months into a drought with everyday being ninety-two degrees, even ice cubes felt privileged.
Sliding into bed, I lean over the night stand, and flick on the AC. Sixty-eight degrees of bliss, I fall onto cushion against fresh linin. Inhaling, I flex my fingers and curl my spine. Slowly pushing every vertebra forward forcing an arch to form. Ribs baring into flesh, lungs tense with staling air, I heave “, -sweet release”.
Lazily, the corners of my lips lift upwards into the ghost of a smile. A faint feeling of euphoria clouds my mind. Hazy, “g—up”, I hear. As if static but clearer, “g-t up”, it continues. Eventually letters form sounds and become words, “get up”. Rising, I survey the area. “Who…,” I question as I find nothing near me. The home was empty, I had checked. “I’m hearing things,” I muse before slipping into place. The shades are drawn and my eye roll backwards. Finally, rest-, “Get Up”, it yells forcibly. Shooting forward, I realize witlessly, “I am hearing thing”. Swinging myself onto the floor, I run to the rotary phone and dial my friend.
“Hey, Percie. Ho-,” I cut him off. “Ernes, have you left yet,” confused he replies, “Yeah”. Damn, I think. I need to get out off here-, “but I’m not that far out. I could turn back now if you still wanna tag along.” Thank God.
“Yes, please”, I plea.
“No need to whimper. I’m already headed back,” he teases.
Shoving my shoes on, I forget to lace them. There’s no time. I leave without a look back. Should have known it was goodbye.
Ernes was a bastard; I knew that. A rolling stone, he had nowhere to be. Neither did I, just anywhere but that house. So, traversing the streets we lost ourselves in the city. I was happy I left. With the windows down and the breeze blowing against us, it was better than AC.
It was hours until we found our way back home. But home wasn’t home. Blazing past 1191 Wedgewood Dr. I couldn’t even discern her ash from dirt. Where I once lay hours ago begging for rest, stood nothing. My home had been tarnish. Blue wooden gone up in orange flame. Not even her metal lining survived. Just the shadow.
The Incarnate
Percie T.
H0me? – Present
I knew fire first, as any of my linage would tell you. I knew it burned, knew it raged, knew it destroyed. I knew homes had been taken and fathers decimated in its flames. I knew caution in my grandmother’s eyes. Knew she wielded candle like loaded pistoled – held its ignition with bated breath before firing. These things I knew, never learned, just knew. Like new born bare to this world absent of everything but survival. Like lungs combustible. Like Led Zeppelin never had cover art – 12x12x1 paper flesh flammable. I knew disaster; just never knew better.
Like moths to self-destruct, I seared fingers above open flame. Tested tolerance to pain; I was scientist. Mother knew not of my experiments, just of the smells lingering. Of plastics and wood and hair; Of straw and cloth and paper. Everything burned.
I knew fire like me. Like mirror with reflection my shadow sheltered smoke. Matchstick in the making, I held potential.