Apathetic Fiction

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I did my best; really

Rotting on the windowsill

In a time and place not far from now

In a world we’ll never know

A man is crying at a grave

Amidst a field of snow.

 Alone, he waits till break of day

As ice drifts ashen down.

His face, frostbitten as can be,

Is marked stoutly with a frown.

 And glad are we

That we aren’t he,

We know it true, deep down.

We feel a growing pity.

Why?

 Because we know what it is to love,

To feel a deep connection.

And if that link were to be cut,

We’d notice the omission.

 Though nothing for this man

Can we do,

For he’s a work of fiction,

What we have, it’s real,

And what you feel for me,

Hey there, Kitty Kitty,

You look like a cloud to me, to me.

Kitty Kitty

Whose mind floats so free

As if alone on open sea

You look like a cloud to me.

 Hey there, Kitty Kitty,

With coat so white

Both blank and bright

Easily, you chase away night

You look like a cloud to me.

 Hey there, Kitty Kitty,

You look like a cloud to me, to me.

Your paws do dance so music’ly

To a rhythm only you may see

You are a cloud to me.

 Goodnight, Kitty Kitty,

And say goodbye

Though your heart yearns for open sky

I hope you know that you are my

With the sun entombed

As if to mock its passing

We tried to find it

The capsule, interred childhood

Pearly china cup

Chalice, full of words unsaid 

Odo collapsed into his chair and stared at his desk. It was as blank as his mood. He wasn’t unhappy; not exactly. He didn’t know how he felt. He didn’t know how he was supposed to feel. He wanted to be bereaved. He wanted to be furious.            Instead, he was gray, empty, a clouded mirror reflecting himself.

The letter from the Emperor Karl had arrived only one week ahead of the man himself. At first, the missive had seemed like a death sentence. It should have been impossible to complete the Palatine Chapel in just seven days. Now Odo had nothing to worry about. He had achieved everything he had ever wanted and won the favor of the newly crowned “peace-loving emperor,” who was throwing a parade in his honor.

           So what was wrong?

           He walked to the window, hoping to see something that would inspire some feeling in him. Below, masons hammered and molded, rhythmically carving the ancient stone in the shadow of the greatest church ever built: the Palatine Chapel.

The sounds of their hammers and working songs rang in a dozen different languages. Odo had heard these tunes a thousand times over the decade of work at the palace complex here at Aquis Granis, the Emperor’s capital.

           It inspired no emotion in him. Nothing did; not the music, nor dead winter air, nor the schematics of unbuilt structures that decorated his walls. Not even that terrible letter, its coarse parchment clutched in his hand, made him feel anything.

           How could he go to the parade in such a state?

#

A grungy courier had handed the letter to Odo. “For you,” was his only remark.

Recognizing the seal at once, Odo tore into the envelope. King Karl. He read through the letter three times in disbelief before sending for Leopold. They needed to act immediately.

Odo was bent over his desk, scribbling plans on scraps of old parchment when Leo ducked through the arched doorframe.

Leo was a gaunt, pale man with a nest of curly white hair and a distant gaze. Children fled at the sight of him and called him a ghost, especially when he wore his white dean’s robe. He wasn’t technically the dean of the church—not yet. But when the chapel was completed, he would ensure its proper care. That was, if it ever was completed.

As he scribbled and scrapped yet another plan, Odo grew increasingly fearful that the task before them might be impossible.

           “Is everything alright, Odo?” Leo’s voice was tender. “Why did you send for me?”

           Not wanting to waste a single second that could be used to plan a way out of this, Odo thrust the letter in Leo’s direction.

           The clergyman read through it with incredible speed. Their years at the University of Metz had taught both of them much about the art of speedreading. “King Karl has been crowned Emperor? He’ll return in one week?” he said, touching the rosary around his neck. “I’m so sorry, Odo. I don’t know what to say.”

           Why was Leo being so passive? Now wasn’t the time for apology and acceptance. They needed to act. “Well, we have to do something about it. I refuse to just sit here and be executed when the Emperor returns to an unfinished church.” An idea came to him. “I know. We’ll go before the Council of Aachen and demand they give us the money and manpower we were promised.” He stood, ready to march to the council house and speak his mind.

           Leo shook his head. “Still, only one week. It wouldn’t be possible. Based on what you’ve told me about the design, the opus sectile in just one section of floor would take at least three.”

           “Fine. Then we get done what we can. When Emperor Karl arrives, we tell him how the Council wasted his money and our time.” Even as he spoke, it was obvious how that would sound like an excuse to an accomplished man like Emperor Karl.

           “It would be the word of the Council against you, a young architect with—if you’ll excuse me—little practical experience, and myself, a low-level church officer. As merciful as His Glory is, who do you think he’s more likely to listen to?”

           Odo collapsed back into the chair. Leo was right. It was hopeless. “I can’t die, Leo. Not yet. I have to do this. I have to. Don’t you understand?”

           “I do.” Leo placed a cold, pale hand on Odo’s back.

           Odo knew he didn’t understand. Leo was not a man of grand vision. He had always been content simply to be. How he lived like that Odo did not know. “Then what do you suggest I do about it?”

           “Let’s pray together.”

           “Prayer? What will that do? As if I haven’t prayed a thousand times already, and yet here we are.”

           “Odo, you mustn’t—” Leo sounded more disappointed than angry.

           Odo sighed, collecting himself. He shouldn’t have snapped. “It’s fine, Leo. Thank you for your help. I think… I think I’d just rather pray on my own.”

           “If you need me, I’m here.” Leo’s habit swished across the stone as he swept from the chamber.