"Room at the End of the Hall"

 Thought it might be about time to drop a bit of post-Halloween micro fiction on you,  just because. . .Enjoy!


“Room at the End of the Hall”

by

James Patrick Lockett

 

            I walk to the end of the hallway each morning to feed the man that is my charge. I set the tray down, in order to unlock the seven bolts that secure the door. Careful not to cross or disturb the ring of salt that encircles the room.  Upon my entrance, he moves to the back of the circle, as he’s been instructed, so that I may place the tray inside the circle. Gently.

            Each morning I bring him a stone cup of fresh goat’s milk, a variety of fruit and sweetmeats, and bread. A fresh candle and a small silver tray of brimstone.  Then I step back, a safe distance, and sit in the open doorway to observe him, or simply keep him company.

            Watching him eat is the most sensual experience I’ve ever had. The pleasure he derives from each bite, raising them to his lips, before it disappears into his mouth. Or, the drop of milk that escapes his lip, to slide down his chin.  It makes me long for the touch of a woman, or a man for that matter. That is his greatest power.

            Watching him light the candle, with a soft and gentle breath was magic.  That was him, as he invented magic. Somedays he sings to me, sweet touching refrains of mornings; beautiful songs of the angels – or, the sirens – contingent on his desire, I suspect.  Today, he did not sing, he merely sat across from me and set the candle upon the floor in front of him.

            As his fingertips slowly rubbed the ground brimstone, sprinkling it over the flame, he looked up at me – his right eye, crystal, like a tear coated diamond – and asked what he always asks, “Will you let me out today?”  Today, though, it was not his customary request, there was a hint of urgency.

            “The longer I am held,” he continued. “The stronger his hold becomes. Go back to your room and watch the news.  The zealots are speaking louder. Uninformed interpretation is becoming the law of your land.  My brothers – the Mystic and the Prophet and the Seeker – have all fallen from grace, just as I did.  Zionists will destroy your world in the name of their Christ; if not, misguided fundamentalists will destroy your world in the name of the Hadith.  I must be free to restore balance to your world.”

            He closed his eyes. “But why should you believe me?  The chosen one, cast out for simply voicing my opinion.”  With that he lowered his head, The flame grew brighter, and for the first time in months, I considered huis request. And for the first time, I could smell the brimstone.


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