---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue... Down in the Dirt magazine (v088) (the November 2010 Issue)		Order this issue from our printer as an ISSN# paperback book: or as the ISBN# book “Lines of Intensity”:

Order this writing in the 2010 collection book of July-December prose from “Down in the Dirt”:		click on the book cover for an author & poem listing, order the 5.5" x 8.5" ISSN# book order the 6" x 9" ISBN# book

Reality

Matthew Theberge

    Darkness pressed in on me at all sides, as if I were sitting at the bottom of a big black lake. I sat in the darkness calmly planning my escape from this prison. As I plotted I waited silently for the Keeper to come and wake me as she did every morning. The timekeeper read 7:17 AM in a bright neon green light. It was Black Magic, but it was useful. In thirteen minutes I knew the Keeper would walk into my room, summon light, and proceed to dress me for the day. But until then my room was my own. And so in darkness I sat.
    My room was pitch black; heavy curtains blocked the Black Magic of the outside world from entering into my room because it kept me up late when I saw the outside lights for they appeared as if they were the eyes of the Devil himself. The air was heavy without access to the outside. It was stuffy, hot, and humid, but to me it was comfortable. In the darkness I couldn‗t really see but by the magical light of the timekeeper. At the periphery of my room everything looked black, but I could see vague shapes: objects silhouetted against the lighter black of the walls. I distinguished the shape of my big bookshelf from the other objects against the wall. I loved it ever so much because it kept everything that was important to me. It housed great novels and even greater authors. Jane Austin, JRR Tolkien, Stephen King, Shakespeare, Emerson, and many books like The Once and Future King, Beowulf, The Iliad, and Anthem just to name a few. Of course I haven‗t read all of them, but I was well on my way, already completing my Arthurian books. I ventured a glance at the timekeeper and, lost in thought, time had left me; it now read 7:28 AM.
    Damn, I thought, dreading what was to come in a mere two minutes. The Keeper had been there ever since I could remember. She was relatively young, probably no older than thirty. She had light brown hair, matching my own, but hers fell down just below her slender shoulders. We shared the same chocolate brown eyes but hers were lighter than mine. She had always been slender, but she was strong, much more than I. At first, when she began sending me to what she termed “school,” I fought hard against her, but she was just too much for me and I grew to understand my efforts were fruitless. The magical timekeeper shone 7:30 AM and instantly the door to my room exploded open and the Keeper burst in, flipping on the contraption to summon light that flooded my room.
    “Goodness, Jamie, it‗s like an oven in here!” She exclaimed, strutting over to my chest of drawers and rummaged through my clothes.
    “This will look so dashing!” She said winking, pulling out one of my white tunics.
    I grunted in sullen agreement. I was never sure why she tried to converse with me so, but perhaps I could learn of some sort of weakness to exploit to gain my freedom. She stood me up and pulled off my long nightshirt. She looked at my near naked body and demanded, “when was the last time you changed your underwear?”
    Miss, I wanted so badly to say, I keep myself clean. I bathe regularly and every evening I change my undergarments.
    However, “mmh,” was the only thing I could form, shrugging my shoulders.
    “Okay.” She said, tugging the tunic over my head, grabbing my arms and thrusting them through the armholes. After that she held out a pair of denim pants. I stepped into them with my left leg, then right and as soon as I had done so she pulled up violently, lifting me from the ground. She then went back to my chest of drawers and acquired a pair “socks.” They covered only my feet and didn‗t even reach past my knees. She stuck out a sock and I stuck my left foot out. She covered it and we repeated with the right foot. That had been the ritual every morning for the past two years.
    “Now, go to the bathroom, comb your hair, and brush your teeth.” The Keeper ordered, floating over to my curtains, thrusting them apart and opening the window. A gentle breeze flowed through my room yet the air seemed much more chill than early September should be.
    “Mmh.” I grunted, bowing out of my own room and heading down the hall to the washroom. There was a small white stepping stool in the corner that, though I hate to admit it, I needed. I dragged it over to the water basin. It made a loud, screechy noise as I got it into place. It was made of plastic, it was unnatural, it was evil.
    I stood on it and stared into the looking glass that was behind the water basin. I studied my eight-year-old body closely. My hair fell around my eyes and covered my ears. My chocolate brown eyes, so much darker than the Keeper‗s, shone behind my curtain of hair. My fair skin shone dully in the reflection of the looking glass. But what astounded me most about the image before me was that such intellect could be hidden in such a young and immature body.
    I had always been reading. Reading everything, beginning with Doctor Seuss, Curious George, See Spot Run, anything that had colorful pictures and little text. I didn‗t remember it, but I was told that the first real book I read was Ayn Rand‗s Anthem; a book that I read at least once a month now. I knew I was special considering all of my peers were just beginning with Doctor Seuss.
    I picked up a comb that sat next to the water basin and began to drag it through my thicket of hair. It got caught the first time I dragged it through, and after a quick yank the snag was conquered and I was victorious. I loved being victorious. I was a knight after all. I came to this conclusion when I reached my seventh year. After I read The Once and Future King by T.H. White I knew that I had to have been of some sort of noble birth. I couldn‗t be a wizard, because one of Merlin‗s parents was a demon, neither of mine could be. I just knew my parents were either royalty, or perhaps a Lord and Lady of some quiet land. The one that watched over me was so unlike myself. She was dumb. I was smart. Logically, we couldn‗t be of the same lineage. She was just my Keeper.
    After I had finished with the last stroke of the comb I turned my attention to the toothbrush. I squirted the paste onto it and began brushing my teeth. Circles. Just how I was taught. But I couldn‗t help but to wonder why I was incarcerated in such a horrid place. The Keeper was nice enough, but she kept me locked in her dwelling. I couldn‗t stay locked up. It was my duty as a knight to protect the innocent. How could I accomplish this if I were to stay locked up? And then just last year she decided it was time for me to start “school.” It was just another thing to steal time away from me; time better used slaying dragons or rescuing damsels in distress.
    “Come now, Jamie, don‗t dilly. You‗ll make yourself late for school again.” The Keeper said, suddenly appearing in the doorway of the washroom.
    I grunted, mouth full of the minty foam of the paste, in acknowledgement. I spat out the foam and got down from the white plastic stool. I dragged it back to its corner, making the same screechy noise as before and exited the washroom. I walked down the steps and into the dinning hall. There was one circular table surrounded by four wooden chairs. I walked over to one of the chairs, a mammoth compared to me, and climbed up on it. A plate sat in front of me and on it was a single fluffy disk cake. I touched it with my open palm and felt that it was cold. This was another reason that I couldn‗t be related to her: everything she did for me was mediocre. I always understood that parents went the extra mile for their children. Then again, if that was the case, why was I still imprisoned here? Shouldn‗t my parents have found me already? Or perhaps there was some great evil stopping them from reaching me. But who would care about a young knight like myself? Then again, I was special.
    I finished the disk cake and took the plate to the kitchen and placed it in a large water basin. I heard it clang with other plates and some silverware. The Keeper was just so unsatisfactory. She didn‗t even keep the place in good condition.
    “Jamie, come on! The bus is just down the street, hurry, or it will pass.” The Keeper yelled from the entrance hall where the stairs led and to which there was an opening to the dining hall. I quickly grabbed my pack from the dining hall and walked out into the entrance hall and out of the front door. I took a few steps on the path, turned and bowed low to the keeper.
    I didn‗t say a word; I just turned again and walked to the main road to where the BOS would stop. The BOS came down the road, slowly, roaring loudly as it approached, a giant behemoth. It screeched to a stop, red lightning flashing: an ominous sign. An opening appeared on the BOS, beaconing me into it like a friendly hand, reaching out. I entered the BOS reluctantly, but I entered it nonetheless. Long brown leather seats lined the inside of the behemoth. An odd stench of feet and puke filled the interior of the BOS. A man controlled the monster behind a great wheel. There was a skinny aisle separating the two rows of seats and toward the front of the BOS was a completely empty seat. It was my seat. It always had been, and for some reason I figured it always would be. No one ever sat with me, but that was my own doing. The rest of the BOS was filled with creatures my own size, but not of the same species. They were goblins. They were small, ugly, stinky and evil. If only I had my sword I would slay them all. Of course, I wouldn‗t enjoy it. But they were evil creatures, terrorizing the world...and me. All because I was special.
    The BOS came to another screeching halt and the opening appeared again. I remember once I tried to run out of it while it was still open. But that didn‗t work. The door closed on me and knocked me to the belly of the BOS. It was then that I figured out what BOS stood for. Bearer Of Servitude. The only thing that the BOS did was send us to something akin to a prison. The Keeper tried to convince me that it was an institution of some sort, but I quickly learned how wrong she was. The ones who kept the ‘institution‗ used us only for slave labor. Without the work of the goblins (and myself) how would the world survive without all of the paper cut outs we have been forced to do?
    The labor didn‗t bother me that much. I was used to it after a few years of it. There were only two things that really bothered me about the institution. First was my new Slave-Master. Her name was Ms. Garrett and it only took me one day to figure out that she was an evil witch. The Slave-Master last year was much kinder than Ms. Garrett, and to be truthful she was one of the few things that made the institution enjoyable at all. I had no companions to converse with and the goblins in class taunted me when I pulled out a book that I was in the process of reading.
    The second thing that bothered me was the goblin king. His name was Pence. He was a year older than everyone else but we were in the same workshop. I, myself, being two years older than everybody else. I learned that one could progress through the years at the institution until they ‘graduated‗ and until then we would have to make countless paper cut outs. Pence, however, failed to get passed the year I was in currently, and so they did not let him progress with the others. But he didn‗t seem to mind because once that happened he became the eldest and strongest of the goblins (aside from me), and so they named him their king. He was the cruelest of them all. He beat defenseless young goblins in the year below us, he kicked sand into the faces of young goblin lasses, and he ruled the land outside of the institute as a tyrant. Goblins hated and loved him at the same time. It was sickening. But everything turned personal the time Pence stole my copy of JRR Tolkien‗s The Hobbit and burned it outside of the institute. I shouldn‗t have let it bother me so, but I could not help it, I may have been a knight, but I was still young.
    The BOS stopped again coming to a screeching halt and the goblins, so loud before, got louder as movement added to the plethora of noise already in existence. Goblins nearly trampled each other to exit the BOS, now with its opening again present. I sat patiently waiting for the last goblin, a young first year to stumble down the steps before I calmly stood and exited. As I exited the BOS I could hear the goblins screaming from the land outside the institute, dubbed the “playground.”
    A loud clanking filled the air as the bell for classes sounded. The master of the BOS was a good enough man, slave to the beast, but he was not very good at getting the goblins and myself to the institute in a timely manner. I hurried into the halls of the institute. They were unnaturally white and they were not made of stone, like buildings should be. The floor was so polished it reflected the little goblins, however soon it would be covered over by scuffmarks. That was just the natural progression of the day; the natural in the unnatural.
    With a manner of dignity, I carried myself to my classroom, where Ms. Garrett ruled. Other Slave-Masters wandered the halls of the institution, yelling at the goblins to stop running or fighting. I walked in and found my seat. I choose to sit in the darkest corner of the classroom, where I didn‗t have to view the outside world. The desks were laid out in a rectangular fashion, all facing one direction, where Ms. Garrett normally stood and watched us as we did paper cut outs. I wasn‗t sure how to describe the things we cut out. Sometimes we cut out squares, other times circles. One time I remember we actually got to cut out a human figure. None of the goblins succeeded in this, only I did well. When I was finished, one could actually tell that mine was supposed to be a human. I was special though, much more than any of the goblins were.
    Ms. Garrett sat behind her desk that occupied the exact opposite corner of the classroom as me. She sat tall and had a fake smile plastered on her face. It was colored oddly, with blues and reds that shouldn‗t be on a human face. Her hair was kept up in an incredibly tight bun; I was surprised that her face wasn‗t stretched out by the way her hair was kept. Her nose was rather long, and it hooked at the end. Her clothes were unnaturally pristine, never had I seen wrinkles, or any blemish of any kind upon them. This sort of perfection was simply impossible for any normal human being. And that was how I came to the completely logical conclusion that she was, in fact, not a human, but rather a witch. A real-life witch.
    Another bell sounded as class officially began.
    “Good morning, class.” She began, and in response, as the class did every morning, they chanted, “Good morning, Ms. Garrett.”
    “Let‗s jump right in and start with math! All of you should have your multiplication charts in your desks. Please get them out, we‗ll be beginning with multiples of two!” she said unnaturally cheery. I sighed in disappointment. I was rather hoping that we would get to begin with free reading time. I even brought my copy of The Mists of Avalon by Marion Bradley just for it. I was already quite familiar with multiplication. In fact, I could probably do more than Ms. Garrett, but I didn‗t really want to test this theory. Then again, if I was learning integrals on my own, then multiplying things by two should have been quite doable. I pulled out my book anyway and opened it to where my bookmark was.
    “Jamie, please put the book away and get out your multiplication table.” Ms. Garrett ordered from the front of the classroom. I sighed in frustration.
    I opened my desk and grabbed my multiplication chart. But instead of putting the book in my desk, I sneakily stowed it on my lap, away from her line of vision, then all I had to do was not look suspicious during class.
    “Thank you, Jamie” she said, turning to the white board and started to write a problem on the white board. “Multiplying by two isn‗t too hard,” she began, when I stopped listening. I opened the book carefully in my lap and scooted the multiplication chart closer to myself on the desk, to make it look like I was looking at something on the chart instead of reading.
    “Ms. Garrett! Ms. Garrett! Jamie‗s still reading the book in his lap, and it‗s distracting me!” Pence yelled out from a few seats aside me. I shot a sharp glare at him as I heard Ms. Garrett‗s pointed heels click toward my seat in the corner. He looked at me with such sadistic happiness. He was a pudgy child, with a round face, but he also contained a bulk of muscle that shouldn‗t belong to a seven year old.
    “The book, Jamie.” Ms. Garrett demanded, her hand out in front of me. I could smell the sweetness of her perfume. It was too sweet, quite sickening. I handed the book out toward her. She snatched it away and looked at the cover.
    “The Mists of Avalon?” she began, “isn‗t this a little much for someone of your age? Oh, no, I get it, you‗re trying to show off for the class.” She said as the rest of the class snickered.
    Excuse me, Ms. Garrett, but I must beg your pardon. I‗ve a reading comprehension higher than an average college student. I‗m not pretending to be anything, and why would I waste my time with this lot of ignoramus dumb-asses? I thought angrily but all I could say was “Give it back!”
    “That‗s quite enough, Jamie. We‗ll have to have a little chat before recess. And a punishment is coming.” She threatened, turning around and marching to her desk.
    “We‗ll continue with multiplication, if you don‗t mind, Jamie.” She said as she walked over the white board again.
    I grunted angrily. She was an evil witch; there was no doubt about that. Witches were the only things that could really control me. They had powers that I couldn‗t even fathom; it was very clever to put them in the institute. They seemed to have powers over the goblins, and also myself. I was impressed and angry about her abilities.
    I stared longingly at my book the entire lesson. All I wanted to do was read, why was that so bad? But my book was ever so far away, and I suddenly felt like the king after his best knight took away the queen. Admittedly there were some differences, for I was no king, and she was by no means my best knight, and that book was not my lover, but the pain felt the same.
    “Okay, class, free reading time until recess.” Ms. Garrett announced as the classroom filled with loud groans from the goblins, “now, now. Go choose a book from the shelf and read it. When you‗re done with that, put it back and get another.” She said, finishing the instructions she always gave for free reading time. I got up and slowly walked towards her, now seated behind the desk of where my book was held captive.
    I looked at her sweetly, as women, even evil witches, love children. I pointed to the book longingly and smiled as sweetly as possible.
    “No.” she said bluntly. No? NO? That was my book; she had no right to take my book. She had stolen from me. She had stolen my Guinevere. “Now, I think it‗d be a better idea if you choose a book from the shelf. There are many great books there.”
    All I wanted was my book back...so I took it. I snatched it from her desk, spun around and sprinted for the door. I passed into the pristine white hall and made the decision to go left. Right led to the front of the school, passing the offices and to the locked front doors. Left led to the playground where I might be able to hide and read my book in peace. I heard Ms. Garrett call my name with frustration as I sprinted to the doors to the playground. I slammed against the door and, for a panicked moment, thought it was locked. I felt dumb as I reached for the silver bar that kept it shut, pushed it and it swung open with a screech that filled the entire hall, perhaps the entire school.
    I ventured a glance behind me, as I stepped out into the unnaturally cold September day and saw Ms. Garrett just then stepping out of the doorway, looking toward me in anger and disgust. I saw in that moment that she was mumbling under her breath. It must have been some sort of incantation. I panicked, I was nothing compared to the magic of a witch. I needed to find a place to hide. As I looked toward the playground itself I saw a few potentials, perhaps the tree, but that would be obvious, so that would be my last option. The basketball courts, between myself and the playground were completely barren of any hiding places, and so were the areas directly to my left and right, and the stair case on which I stood was a simple block-type construct with no place to hide underneath, but I needed to get going, before Ms. Garrett trapped me in whatever spell she was weaving.
    I started down the steps, skipping two with every bound. And in a split decision, really just the trusting of my instincts, I turned right. It was an area devoid of hiding places, but if I kept running perhaps I could get to the fence and over it and to freedom. The ground was dark with absorbed water from rain that apparently came during the math lesson, and as I ran I saw clouds, dark and threatening, hanging in the sky ready to pour more water onto the earth at any moment. While I looked at the sky I felt the ground give way beneath me, or rather, I felt that my foot should be on the ground, but was not. I felt the ground met me and I felt warm pain on my arms and legs. My clothes became moist, as I fell into a puddle. The pain was nothing compared to the sense of crushing defeat. She had won, and whatever spell she wove had worked. My eyelids, closed to the twin pains, thrust open, my yearning eyes eager to find some means of escape. And to my immense surprise, there was a hole in the wall, a perfect hole, just big enough for me to fit in and hide from Ms. Garrett. As I began to crawl in I heard the loud creaking of the door to the institution. I wasn‗t completely in the hole, and I just knew that she saw me, I just knew it.
    “Jamie!” I heard her yell to the near empty playground.
    “Jamie, come out, NOW!” she yelled again. Did she know where I was? If so, why didn‗t she come straight to the hole? If she was yelling for me, did she not know? Did I get in in time? I peered out from the hole, to find Ms. Garrett pacing back and forth on the basketball courts, searching the playground with her eyes, even glancing to the kickball field next to the playground. She didn‗t know where I was. I had won. I was victorious!
    “Jamie, wherever you are, don‗t move! I‗m getting Mr. Lysle. We‗re going to find you.” She threatened as she turned and walked back up the stairs and into the institution. For a moment I sighed in relief. The panic was gone. Mr. Lysle was a big man, but I was faster. If they found me, I had the option of slipping away and running. Running was always an option.
    ...But not for a knight. I sighed. Knights never ran away. They fought until the very end. But they had many things I did not. They had swords, they had horses, they had castles. I didn‗t have any of those. Unless...
    I looked out from my hiding place and saw the big steel complex on the wood chipped playground. It had plenty of hiding places for me. And besides, recess should begin at any moment. I peeked out of the hole and at the door. With one last huge breath, I leapt from the hole and sprinted to the playground to the steel complex. I could feel the change in my running as it switched from the hard blackness to the softer terrain of the wet wood chips. I got to the steel complex and swung around to the back of the complex. I climbed up the ladder quickly and got to the very top of the complex. I looked out to the basketball courts, out to my left where the kickball field was. Closer to me, a wood chipped area housed play structures and swing sets. A single giant tree sprouted from the middle of the wood chipped area. As I stared out over the real world it slowly morphed into my kingdom. The Basketball courts, black with yellow lines painted on the surface and giant silver poles jutting from the surface became a large black water harbor. Ships were docked there and gently they rose and fell with the imaginary tide. The Kickball field slowly spread far and crops sprouted up. That was now my country‗s farmland; I‗d make sure my people were fed with that. The wood chipped area became a sprawling city in front of me. And just at the fringe of my city the giant tree multiplied into a giant forest that we would farm and we would be renowned for our wood, like the ancient Macedonians.
    As I stared out over my kingdom, I heard a faint sound. It was the sharp metal clanking of a faraway land. Suddenly hordes of goblins swam across the black sea, some of them drowning, to my immense pleasure. Some goblins overtook my crop fields, destroying them with their evil red fireballs bouncing around the fields. Others still, lead by the goblin king, launched an invasion against my forest. They limbed upon it, harming it. I cried out in horror, and that was when the goblin king noticed me. He looked at me, and evil sneer on his face. I wasn‗t sure what I was going to do. I couldn‗t run any more. Knights don‗t run. He came at me, up my turrets with inhuman speed.
    “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” He goaded, reaching my highest tower.
    “Away! You horrid monster!” The words came clearly. I had always known the words, I just never used them. I yelled them at him I then ran at him, charging him, intending to push him off my castle.
    “Hey! Watch it!” He yelled, pushing me to the floor of the castle, stopping my attack. Even from the floor, I could see other goblins flying to the castle, to help their king.
    “What are you playing today, Jamie?” He asked, his voice full of malice.
    “You have taken my land.” I yelled. I knew then what I needed to do.
    “Your land? No, no, no. This is my land. It‗s always been my land, and it always will be.” He sneered at me, pulling me up to my feet from my tunic alone. I spun around, he wasn‗t expecting it, and I had the upper hand. I didn‗t think. I just acted. With all the force my body could muster, I pushed him.
    He fell.
    I saw his eyes. They were wide with shock. They were wide with fear.
    I expected to hear a thud when he hit the ground, but I didn‗t, instead I heard a loud crack. I looked down from the tower. Wood chips coated his body like the sprinkles on a child‗s birthday cake. He didn‗t move. He probably couldn‗t move. I heard some of the goblins cry in fear. Cry in agony. Ms. Garrett and a few other Slave-Masters rushed to him. I saw her bend down and touch the goblin king‗s neck. She started sobbing as she looked at Mr. Lysle.
    “He‗s dead.” She cried. But that didn‗t matter. They were evil creatures, all of them. They all deserved to die. I started to laugh then, something I hadn‗t done in years. I was victorious.
    I defeated the goblin king.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...