Miss K ‘the Mackrill’
he shot himself soon afterwards.
“Why do we find the darkness so threatening? What is so inviting about the light that makes us shun the dark? If we all turned and faced it, I’m convinced that we would be so relieved to finally discover that the dark is not as threatening as it appears in our periphery. Rediscovery of self is not an improbable myth, it is real and achievable by those who seek it. .Thank you.”
He saw her nearing the door. Sensing his scrutiny, she paused, yet didn’t turn, no, she had tried, she would not return to the fold. It just wasn’t fair, not to her, not to him, not to those few who were enlightened by her wisdom and love.
“Fear. It thunder-creeps up behind us like a careless thug, and we freeze, memorials to aeons of ignorance and insipidity, whispers of darkness flooding our closed minds. We retract our priceless selves, present a façade of self, and call it ‘light’, hoping in vain that we have fooled fear, no, ladies and gentlemen, we have trapped the darkness within.”
The banality of it. That’s what trounced even her altruistic nature in the end. The utterly prosaic nature of those around her. Those meant to lead, followed, those who followed, lead by their acceptance of the god ‘Social Order’, preached from all pulpits, everywhere, incessantly!
“We shine this tin suit like silver, abandoning our essential identities to rot. We visit the friendly psychologist to chat about the rust, the creaky joints. This modern god then grins his shark-tooth grin and expounds upon ways to care for this tacky refuge, refers us to welders, psychiatrists, who give us the tools necessary to keep the ol’ beauty running: Prozac; lithium for the really tight fit.”
The door swung shut behind her, his voice fading as she returned to reality. It had pained him, but he had understood. Her life had become a monologue really, “better a mediocre idea that inspires millions than a brilliant idea that inspires no-one” damn those wise men.
“So, how do we free ourselves from this pseudo-self, and this fear of the darkness to which we have confined it? We seem to expect the answer to this question to be easy-to-acquire, instant, and heart-warming, like coffee from our office espresso machine. When this answer proves itself to be far more complex, time-consuming, and objectionable, we then protest and rebuff the dusty niche upon which it lay. Yet we hover, uncertain, fearful and defenceless against truth.”
Her smiles hid the eyes that bled for them. She rose, before they switched the lights back on, and left, her earnest serving passion washed out in the poseur’s glare.