Path to Lethe – Short Story #8

With exception to the moon, it was dark. Walking among the giants they in silence wept. Where they were going no one knew. But there we’re going. That counts for something. Doesn’t it? I don’t know. They didn’t know, either. They were going where no one knew in darkness walking, with exception to the moon.

Five of them were here. Or maybe more. I’d call Jim, Sam, Fin, Kate, Kip, Marie, Chloe, and another, if I could, but I can’t. Though sometimes not always. Not speaking, not making noise, breathing deadly, solemnly, of respect for our departed. Went now going. Onward. Inward. Towards nothing, towards what? no one knew.

Kim was the first to break. Speaking stasta shudders fffirstly. Beginning, “If if if wasn’t it this I’d be alone.” Ending, “Won’t you agree as much with it Will?” Will now, following careful deliberation, joined in breaking. “Aye.” And further, much time further thinking, came again, “’tis.” Presiding in insolence and pundit nonsense the comrades strutted towards the running rivers of Liffey and Lethe. Beginning with Tom, they all one by one announced to the cosmos their positional distaste in its afflictions to which the universe obliged in their pity, as rain began to rumble. Faster now, applicably for whomever capable of the tempo. Allegro moderato. 

Pit pat peeped Pat, pitted patted peeping Pat peeped patted and pitted thrice and thrice again. Faster. Knees up, gents. On. Way to sky. Guided Bill. “Way to where?” Peeped up with pep Pete. But Bill brilliantly became innocent by deceit. Silently, now faster. Knees up, lads. Participating in the precipitations meditation, onward, inward. They ran, with exception to the moon.

Tim tripped. Liz laughed. Hern hurried. They, unanimously without now the mood for time-wasting, continued adamantly. Thinking, I was, about the whole situation itself. They didn’t know where they were, what they were doing where they didn’t know, and why, most troubling of all, they were together rather than alone, and for what purpose they were in the dark, with exception to the moon, which knew where he was, where he was going, and dauntingly why he was alone. Returning. They ran onward, inward. Stumbling merely every moment imaginable, there having been about seven of them by my estimation. Or maybe more. Mike knows the answer. Where did he go? I don’t know. Who Mike was they had collectively forgotten. How convenient of them. Now we may never know who Alex was. Anna lied, said she knew, but that’s her speciality.

They fell upon a tree which brought the joyful impediment of their archaic acquaintance, the moon. It was dark. Coal for eyes. Without a sound. Noiseless. Finding no thought. empty. And no go. No go. Without why. Without who. Without where. Without time. They were alone. There was probably about two of them by now. Abe and Mol. They had doubled their percentage. Well now. A sound arrested their ears, all of the sudden. Quickly, melodically, swooshing it went and came twice. Again. More, louder. Was it that? Phil wondered. Perhaps. Kim thought in reply. Perhaps.

It was. Or they didn’t really remember. All of them lost that. That was the point. Memory misplacement. What fun. Jumping head-first, feet-first, belly-up, sideways, upside down, inside out, in a ball, backflipping, failing, flailing, they jumped. He jumped. Into Lethe. Overcome. Dying. Rising. Again. New. Like a babe born, he burst forth. Dripping wet. Cold. Alone.

It was daylight. He forgot his name. Or any of the why or how or where or whence or towards. With exception to the moon, it was light. The moon, the moon, alone forever. Poor moon. Stagnated and sterile. Forgotten until dark again. Dark again. Moon, moon. Remembers. Always remembers. What Lethe forgot, moon remembered. Always.

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