Saturday, April 10, 2010

The Inexplicable Survival Of The Knives

It is a month after the deluge--

Stevens and I are the only humans left.

The rest have passed through the Brita filter of God's wrath, and into the next world.

It is up to me, now, to be the mother of mankind's future;

This means, of course, rapid extinction.

"Have a strawberry," urges Stevens. He thinks it will improve my snappish morning moods. It won't, but as a gesture I have agreed to leave my collection of ceremonial daggers locked in their gleaming glass cases until at least nine each day.

They were a gift from a former girlfriend, and I have kept them; even the one or two she kissed my bones with, by way of goodbye.

Nice.

Stevens is now huddled like a fetus up in the useless guard tower, watching old black and white movies.

He would like it if I loved him.

I do not.



In the evening, the sun sets into Stevens' tea cup, lighting his boyish face as if he were some outlet store saint.

I have to admit, he looks appealing at such times,

But all of my favorite dresses got ruined, my jewelry is gone, and I am prone to moody tears at the drop of a hat.

Charming.

All of this prevents me from going to him, wrapping my fingers around his sensibilities, and growling in his ear, "Planting time in the garden, Country."

Wouldn't he just love it if I did.

Wouldn't our Eden be lush and green, with happy babies in my arms and underfoot, as numerous as pebbles.

The truth is, though, that I wish Stevens were a woman.

He is not.



It is a month after the deluge--

Stevens and I are the only humans left.

When I get lonely enough, I let Stevens wear my black top hat and pitch the knives at me;

It reminds me of my true love's touch,

And if it grows dark enough,

He almost looks like her, except that his shoulders are too broad and he does not wish to kill me.

"Why are we the ones still here?" I scream at him in sudden desperate misery.

"What kind of crazy joke is this?"

I would like it if he would answer me,

But now he, too, is gone.

_______

20 comments:

Mojo said...

Oh what a cruel joker is fate, hai na?

I love this. Especially: "He almost looks like her, except that his shoulders are too broad and he does not wish to kill me."

Brilliant. More! More!

ellen abbott said...

Ah, there is no logic behind the curse.

Secretia said...

No more planting.....

Mama Zen said...

I love this!

mac said...

Poor Stevens should realize that to love someone because there's no one else, is not love at all.

That's why the joke is so crazy!


Good poem, Shay :-)

Ily said...

"The truth is, though, that I wish Stevens were a woman.

He is not."

This part made me laugh and think, there she goes again...writing brilliantly, like some kind of poet. ;)

Poor Stevens. He should've offered her chocolate instead of strawberries.

Riot Kitty said...

Wow, dark side is serious. I like it though.

TALON said...

"...the Brita filter of God's wrath..." - pure Shay brilliance! :)

Shadow said...

well here's the answer to that 'if i were the last man on earth...' question i've been asked before, normally by and idiot, heee heee heeee.

cinderkeys said...

"Why are we the ones still here?" I scream at him in sudden desperate misery.

God gets such a kick out of free will. He's making bets (with whom, I don't know) about whether humanity will repopulate itself under this particular set of circumstances. Even he doesn't know how it will turn out.

Gabriella Moonlight said...

Wow this is dark,but I LOVE it...I think that dark is good for our souls and our lives...and this is amazing and I think too that it's so true that this would be in some manner the truth of our fates...as usual I thank you and am sorry I missed this earlier.

love you
g

hedgewitch said...

This is completely chilling and out-twilights the Twilight Zone,and also reminds me of one of the few dirty movies I ever saw, The Devil in Miss Jones, where hell is a perverted, horribly horny woman locked into a cell with an impotent, insane semi-catatonic man can't get it on, for all eternity...only this has more substance, and more grue.

signed...bkm said...

Glad you reposted this Shay, I did not know you in April...enjoy the thoughts...wishing he was a woman, and the word play of him huddled like a fetus and mankinds destiny sitting on motherhood....nice writing ...bkm

Kim Nelson said...

Oh my... he should have gotten rid of the knives...

Susannah said...

So many wonderful lines!

'The rest have passed through the Brita filter of God's wrath'

'In the evening, the sun sets into Stevens' tea cup, lighting his boyish face as if he were some outlet store saint.'

Love it. :-)

flaubert said...

Wow, now that is creepy. If he was
smart, getting rid of the knives would have been an excellent idea.

Pamela

Sherry Blue Sky said...

This is entirely and completely wonderful and vastly enjoyable, from the title to the very last period. (which WOULD be the very last period, come to think of it!!) A GREAT and highly satisfying read. You so rock!

Jane Doe said...

This is a fantabulolus piece from beginning to end. Fate can be so cruel. I love the bit about agreeing to leave the ceremonial daggers locked up until 9 each day.

Nunee said...

You are a wonderful storyteller I did not want this to end...

Old Ollie said...

Gret story - so easy to visualize...and linger images of water and flying knives.