Resurgam
“
Whether or not a concept is understood is irrelevant, and so too is the nature of a concept’s impact on a human being. We live not as a society of scholars, but as a society of workers, destined to always perform a robotic dance that ensures the survival of the colony. In this world, there are no original ideas, no interesting concepts, and no meaningful art; it is all just the same bleak toil and trouble, no change in the way the cauldron bakes, no hope for the eye of wonder and toe of love, certainly no hope for the charm of powerful trouble. In this world, we survive and exist for years and years, but we are never allowed the privilege of life.” The Reader closed the small paperback and placed it carefully inside the vest pocket of his oversized coat, hugging it against himself to protect it from the outside world that had already damaged it so much. “What did you think?” He asked as he looked up with eager eyes at a tall figure dressed in a bright yellow raincoat that was staring out of a broken window into a fiery sunset. The Reader had been practicing that line for the better part of two days, trying not to let the big words stick in his mouth like taffy messing up the flow of the sentences. He desperately wanted to read like the Figure in the Raincoat, fast and sure as a frosty wind, and smooth as freshwater, but, whenever he tried, his mouth would inevitably trip over itself, leaving him feeling like his tongue was made entirely out of lead. But this time was different. This time his practice had paid off and the words flew out of him smoother than ever before. It wasn’t near the accuracy and beauty of Raincoat’s intonation, but it was a start, and he sure was proud. “Did you just read that all by yourself?” The Figure in the
40
Raincoat asked, taking a brief break from their diligent gaze at the distant horizon to regard the Reader. Their face was hidden entirely by a gas mask that rasped loudly every time they took a breath, but the Reader knew that the face underneath that mask was one of shocked pride. “Yeah! I’ve been practicing a lot. I’m trying to do it as you do,” the Reader beamed with bright confidence. “Well, don’t practice too hard. Soon enough you’ll outshine me, and we wouldn’t want that now would we?” The Figure said. He walked over and pulled the Reader onto their lap so that they could face the sunset together. “Whaaaat? Why?” The Reader whined, pulling a frown. “Because then I won’t have a niche in the group anymore. I’m a fantastic storyteller, that’s why everyone keeps me around. If you turn out to be a storyteller 1,000,000 times better than I am, as I suspect you are well on your way to becoming one, then what use would they have for me? They’d throw me out faster than you could say: “Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble.” The Figure huffed. The Reader made to move even closer to the figure in the raincoat, snuggling up towards their chest, “I wouldn’t let that happen. Never ever, ever, ever, ever, never.” He threw his arms around the figure in the raincoat’s neck. “Thank you, dearest,” the Figure in the Raincoat replied, patting the reader on the head, and the two stared out at the slowly setting fireball. Some time passed with the two sitting in peaceful silence. The land below them was cloaked in a
scarlet shadow. The Reader gazed out over the sunset, happy that he had gotten to catch his favorite part of the day. He observed that, under the scarlet shadow, the broken buildings, the scarred cars, the littered roads, and the flora climbing over them all, seemingly rejoicing in their opportunity to take back their native lands, all seemed to come together as one. In the light of the setting sun, the Reader observed, there were a blissful few minutes in which everything and everyone came together to simply breathe and rejoice at the end of the day. As the sun began to set, leaving only an afterglow as proof it was ever there at all, the Figure in the Raincoat posed a question, “Did you happen to understand the meaning of the words you read?” Their tone had the undertone of a joke. Like they knew the answer to a riddle and were holding it just above the head of a frustrated Oedipus. “Yes,” the Reader said too quickly, avoiding eye contact with the glass circles of the gas mask. “Oh really?” The Figure teased. “Mhmm,” The Reader replied firmly.
“I’m a fantastic story teller, that’s why everyone keeps me around.” “Well then educate me, dear reader,” the Figure said in a sly tone. There was a long beat of silence between the two, punctured only by the occasional squirming of the Reader on the figure’s lap. “Give up?” He prompted. “Yes,” the Reader sighed dejectedly. In truth, he had no idea what most of the words in the line meant; he was only trying to sound them out. The Figure in the Raincoat chuckled and ruffled the Reader’s hair affectionately, “In your quest to sound out the words, you have forgotten to read.” He made note of the discouraging way that the
