SERAPHIM

BY MARVIN DARKWA

REFRAIN, FROM ESSENCE. Beyond the Solaris time flows. An embrace captured; for journeys unknown… Makala twisted; the rough ebony strands of her hair with white flower-dress in check. She did this as the teacher droned on-and-on. With an eternal-cool she stared at the figure next to her. There it was… That eternal crux, that forgotten truth, that euphoric gaze. “She” was all that this world promised its crazed youth (and more) … As the sands of time moved forward, she would be closer to that heavenly embrace. “Who are they to judge?” Makala stated. Her usual sweet demeanor being undercut by impulse; as if Goliath gave way to David. “Patience Kayla,” she always said that. Makala adored even more for saying it the way did just then. With an earnest-civility. They sat, hand in hand amidst the blanket of awkward gazes in the class. Bathed in, omnipresent light from a supposed eternal-ruler they traded thoughts. “Think it’ll hurt,” Makala asked. The girl turned back; her milky skin seemed to flow beneath the stainedglass windows. “Doesn’t, matter either way… Passion, Pain, and Pleasure are just different words for each other. Whether it ‘hurts’ or not really shouldn’t be an issue.” She slid back into her seat; draped in the eternal glow of the heavens, the rustic carpentry of the church, and the students behind them preparing for communion. “Patience Kayla.” And because she said so Makala believed it. “Come on, let’s bounce,” stated an energized Makala, her white flowerdress lingering on the floor. They walked amidst the ever-so-coy stares and the mad-intrigue from the priesthood whose eyes darted at them as they sauntered out of the church.

They walked. The curious students parting through them in the center of the hallway like Moses and the red sea. Their chatter continued. They dismissed them. Their words rang out. They dismissed them. They pelted insults. They dismissed them all. Once more Makala stated with a happy-apathy “who are they to judge?” “She” turned around almost-

immediately at the sound of those words. Like fallen nectar from her afro lips.

And why wouldn’t “they” stare… (Back then) her heart palpitated, raced, and screamed forevermore. At her lowestlow her eyes locked and fused with the forgotten twilight of a gutter alley. Her worst human impulses sang out then. She “used,” “popped,” and “scraped” needles amidst bounded flesh…. all in a bid to get that tragic-euphoria. “She” saved her that day, and for that she would always be thankful. What seemed like a million “men of the cloth” pierced the surrounding structure then. A coliseum made human simply by their presence. “She” appeared at that time. Mute. Masking. Marauding.

Water swelled then; the harpies cried their vulture screeches… and the world was made black. Makala walked among those ink spotted visions. Dueling identities raptured her. As she walked amid the priesthood, she began to float (ever so casually). Black roses rained down from, a clearing in the structure and flooded the crumbling building as the priest screamed in the distance. Makala continued walking, nay, floating (nonchalantly); ever-happy to be a slave to this new reality. As she glided, she passed faceless students (giggling). She stopped. The cries from the religious being drowned out by a new will. A vision of an all-to-forgotten “Black Jesus” descended down on Makala just then. His pupils dilated, while his “ashy” charcoal skin popped in the pitch-black sky. His charcoal dreadlocks stretched eternally into the night-mimicking realm. Just then, his voice beckoned to Makala. “If you want better; do better.” After that, the world around her drowned itself with a blackened-clarity. “She” appeared then. Like magic. Her guardian. Her protector. Her sentinel.

Makala arose after a death lasting 4 seconds. She got up from her druginduced trance, her beaded-braids beckoning to the clergy members in the mighty vestibule. Her head surrendered to sleep just then, and she dunked her head into the nearby pool of water and squirmed about (breathless…). A rouge glare carpeted Makala’s vision, and she liked it. “She” muttered something intensely-gentle in Latin. They immediately backed off of trying to secure Makala. “She” walked up to Makala shortly after. She poked Makala with a brown ruler a couple of times (probably forgotten by a nun; from a class), and smiled. She stared that dazed-smirk that

Makala was all too proud of and said: “You won’t have to be alone anymore.” Those angelic words gave Makala strength then and always.

They walked into the atrium of the school’s church; in a trance with hand-in-hand. “She” inhaled burning smoke from her blunt. Makala turned; her eyes reddening from the vapors. “Now?” Makala asked her with a mature innocence. “Patience Kayla,” she said, then gave an empty grin back. They strolled to the top of the clergy, religious graffiti eyeing them as they did. They stopped then took a gaze at the empty pews. Each one of them filling the silence with vacant-laughter. “She” looked at Kayla with those blue-eyes; and yelped “alright now.” And with that, Makala slid a ring onto “her” finger; and all the sad-magic of their tortured realities seemed to melt away. They stripped down just then; nubile goddesses who were exploring each other’s tenderness and preparing to take flight. They took a gaze at the pews below them. Dreamscapes and ecstasy flowing through them now. They continued on like that, blood sprayed onto a remnant Makala’ white flower dress (not yet off). “She” took a match and studied Kayla’s eyes. An approving glare depositing from them. “She” set the floor ablaze; the brightdarkness enveloping their happy cries.

They devoured each other then. Consumed by the eternal flame of emotion denied. “Good things, truly do come to those that wait,” Kayla stated, muttering something-sweet inside “her” ear. All while that continued, the dying light of ancient structures cleansed themselves in fire ravaging the church. At this moment, Makala couldn’t be swallowed by more bliss. And maybe because it was like “she” said; you have to have “patience.”