Say Some Words


Say Some Words.
I was going to sit quietly by this fire and let the night pass by as I chewed on this bone that has been plugged in my heart for too long. Long enough to set in a nasty rot that has twisted all the workings of my human spirit. But then, the evil spirits that had plagued my conscience came to me in a trance induced by the coca leaves and betel nuts I had been chewing and said to me:
Say some words, Macbrowne.
I was going to be quiet, because they always say that a quiet man hardly ever does any wrong, but no… the evil spirits had to seek me out in this my place of refuge and pillage me with questions of how things came to be this way. As I observed their lips move, slithering tongues darting back and forth across reptilian lips, I felt they were urging me to do something. I cleared my head long enough to hear their invocation:
Say some words.
What words was I supposed to say? What could I speak of that would placate these demons of my past and make them vacate my memories and leave me in peaceful surcease? I honestly didn’t know, but I knew that whatever it was, I had to know it.
Say some words, Macbrowne.
In the voices of my ancestors, I begin. The dusty bones beneath the earth? No. I mean the indefatigable spirits that reside in the ionosphere and command the waves and the seas and the tides and the times. I speak as one of them, the undying, the ones who will exist till Chukwu decides to strip them of awesome power. All that transpires that had transpired did so in their names and their effects and in their names, I begin. From the highest of places, the sky, the eagle glides, viewing the deeds of man and his undying and chivalrous hatred for his brother. In his nature, he has revenge, malice and avarice to contend with, and as if that is not bad enough, he has death to deal with. She, the eagle, might not be so fortunate as to live long enough to see the just repercussion of man’s deeds, but she knows that after she perishes, falling to the earth in subsequent grace, we will soon follow suit.
Say some words.
No matter how hard I try, I cannot purge from my heart the insufferable guilt I feel upon the visit of these emissaries from the deepest crevasses [sic] of hell. They had come to me, like the people came to Job, to taunt him, and probably make him curse God. But I cannot curse God, for he is too elemental to humanity to be cursed by one single human, let alone one as unworthy as me. This leaves me with the disturbing poser: why were they here then?
Perhaps they had come to trigger some dormant madness within me that they knew I possesed but had not deigned to inform me about. If this is the case, then they are almost there, and they have almost succeeded. Within my medulla plays this solemn tune, and inside it, the fire is burning and a clan of three headed demons dance and revel in glee, engaged in orgies of the greatest perversion. Not that I mind, though. They keep me company, and they are my friends.
Say some words.
You might shrink back and wonder what kinds of words these are that I utter. To your reaction, I ask this: where were you during my period of mental incarceration? What were you doing during the gradual spiral downward that I was on the last spot on your “importance” list? I was asked to say some words, and that is what I am doing. How I wish a priest would appear out of the impending gloom and put an end to all of this with his jar of holy water and censer of incense. This is not my wish, though, for it belongs to you.
This is proof enough that a mad man should not be allowed to speak to humans, for the music in his words would be assumed to be insanity to the sane human ear, for they know not that it is the lyrics of the dance of the gods and the poison that eats away the normalcy of the human spirit.
Look at me, in all honesty and laugh, for that is what I intend to inspire… Mirth. Even in these difficult times, he who inspires mirth is a god, and a god indeed. In the names of my undying ancestors, I have managed to defeat these spirits by saying a bundle of words of no import at all, and with this, I have lulled them to sleep… and away I shall, till they find me again, sitting by the fire chewing coca leaves and betel nuts and implore me to say some more words… and I will.

~Bruno “Rhetor” Ozymandias


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s