The New Death and others (10 page)

"What? Why?"

"I'm too big to fail."

"That's ridiculous! That's so unfair!"

"Not really. It's good for the peasants as
well. They get eaten, I pee on them. It's called the trickle-down
effect."

Rumpelstiltskin went on his way, feeling very
hard-done-by. As he walked, he found a lamp lying in the road. He
picked it up, and rubbed it, and a genie came forth.

"My goodness," said Rumpelstiltskin. "Genies
are Arabian. What are you doing in a vaguely-defined location in
Europe?"

"O gnome, this is a sad tale," replied the
genie. "There was once a Caliph who had two camels. One camel was
virtuous in all things, while the other was virtuous in
none..."

Several hours later, Rumpelstiltskin
interrupted the genie.

"Right, good, I think I've got the gist of it
anyway. Very unfortunate. Do you grant wishes?"

"Only ones that rebound ironically," said the
genie.

"Oh. Well, never mind," said Rumpelstiltskin.
"But wait--you're still a genie that grants wishes. I can legally
sell the lamp, and then when the owner wishes he could get rid of
you, I can be there to take you back and sell you again!"

"Um...OK, if you're sure this is legit," said
the genie doubtfully. So Rumpelstiltskin picked up the lamp and
took it with him.

Rumpelstiltskin hurried in the town square
with the lamp. He stood on a tree stump and called for everyone to
hear him.

"Look at this!" he cried, brandishing the
lamp. "I found it lying in the road! And do you know what was
inside? A genie!"

"What's a genie?" asked a farmer.

"Well, it's a sort of magic spirit that comes
from Arabia, and..."

"Arabia? What's it doing here? Are there more
of them coming?"

"Um...there might be I suppose."

"They're going to take our jobs!" cried
someone in the crowd.

"It's true! It's true!" said an old woman.
"I've been on the waiting list to move into a shoe for months! It
must be because they get first pick!"

"Well...possibly," said Rumpelstiltskin.

"And I heard that they made the sky fall!"
said a chicken.

"Er, but the sky isn't falling,"
Rumpelstiltskin replied.

"They're probably planning to make it fall!"
said the chicken.

"Yes...yes, probably," said Rumpelstiltskin.
"And, and you don't hear the king doing anything about it do you?
No, you could all be murdered in your beds for all he cares! To the
palace!"

Moral: If you can't do anything else, get
into politics.

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The
Producer

Once upon a time, there was a Hollywood
producer named Sam. It was Sam's idea to remake
Schindler's
List
as a romantic comedy. He was responsible for
Brideshead
2: BridesHarder
and the
Gone With the Wind
spinoff
Belles Gone Wild
. One night Sam dreamed that he died, and
found himself in a lake of fire.

"I'm in Hell!" he wailed.

"No, this is Heaven," said a red, horned
figure who poked him with a pitchfork. "We've done a gritty
reboot."

"Don't gimme that crap! This is Hell!"

"It's an adaptation of Heaven. Faithful to
the original, but more relevant to today's audience."

"Well I don't like it. Can I try Hell?"

"Sure, I guess."

With that, the lake of fire disappeared. Sam
found himself standing on a cloud, in a city of marble and gold.
The streets were lined with coffee shops and small, authentic Asian
restaurants. All around him were winged film critics with golden
iPads, wailing and cursing their fate.

"How come you're wailing?" Sam asked.

"Because this was made by Hollywood," said a
critic. "The original European Hell was so much more
enjoyable."

This story is, of course, fiction. No one in
Hollywood has dreams.

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Law and Justice

Justice sat inside her palace

while beneath the window Law

sang in praise of all her virtues

sang until his throat was sore

sang to the unopened window

sang with grace and beauty but

in the end for all his singing

Justice kept the window shut.

Hoarse and bitter Law demanded

"Justice, why I am I denied?

I am dying of my love."

The window opened. Justice cried

"Every time you say you love me

stay with me a while and then

back you crawl to Commerce." Justice

slammed the window shut again.

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The Bird and the Two Trees

Once upon a time there was an island covered
in trees. One day a young tree said to another, older and wiser,
who stood beside it

"O my neighbor, I have listened to the
chatter of the birds in my branches. They say that we are short,
whereas the trees of other islands are tall."

"O my neighbor," replied the old tree, "if
there be two trees beside one another, and if one tree be taller
and the other shorter, then the taller will receive most of the
good sunlight and the rain. Therefore the shorter tree will strive
to grow higher, lest it die in the shadows. Mayhap it will then be
the taller, and its overtaken fellow must strive to grow higher
still, and so on. Thus the trees, for fear of death, will spend all
their energy growing as tall as possible. Yet none will gain an
advantage over its equally monomaniacal cousins. Knowing this, our
ancestors wisely agreed that none would grow higher than the
other." At this answer the young tree was satisfied.

After a time the young tree asked its
neighbor another question.

"O branch of my roots, I have listened
further to the birds. They say that we speak, and listen, and think
upon what we hear, whereas the trees of other islands are mute and
deaf, and mindless."

"O branch of my roots," replied the old and
wise tree, "you will recall that the trees of other islands spend
their entire energy growing as tall as they can. Thus they have
none to spare for the cultivation of thought. Whereas we, growing
only so high and no further, have ample to spare." At this answer
the young tree was satisfied.

After a time a bird spoke to the two
trees.

"O bearers of my nests," said the bird,
"having heard your speech, I discern a paradox therein. You say
that your ancestors gained wisdom through not growing so high. Yet
they agreed not to grow due to their greater wisdom. How may two
things each precede the other?"

"O dweller in my leaves," replied the old
tree, "how may they not? There is no tree that did not come from an
acorn. Nor is there an acorn that did not come from a tree." At
this answer the bird was not satisfied.

"Yet I may not set out in flight after I
arrive. Nor may I eat the fruit before I have taken it, nor
defecate it before it is eaten." This counter-argument the young
tree found absurd, and provoked it to respond.

"One wave is not the sea," it said, "and the
wave may crash, yet the waves are without end."

"The fish of the deep ocean could not imagine
an edge to the sea," replied the bird, "yet there is the beach. The
mayfly could not imagine an end to the day, yet we shall see the
sunset."

Thus their argument went, with the trees
declaring the bird's arguments absurd and immaterial, and the bird
doing likewise to those of the trees. The language of trees and
birds has been forgotten, and thus none may say how it ended. Or
perchance the trees were right, and it did not end, nor did it
begin, but birds have ever argued thus with trees, and are arguing
still.

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Monsters

Once every century, representatives of the
various kindred of monsters meet in a certain graveyard. In the
year 20__ the mood of the assembly was one of sadness and
defeat.

"These are grim days," the Werewolf lamented.
"No one even thinks about us any more, let alone finds us
terrifying."

"Things are worse for us," said the Vampire.
"Everyone knows who we are--we are mascots for breakfast cereal,
puppets who teach children to count, objects of lust for young
girls."

The Ghost sighed.

"At least they lust after you because they
find you a bit frightening. Have you seen that TV show where the
psychic talks to people's dead relatives? We're
comforting
."

"You guys all have it tough," said the
Wendigo. "but people know what you are."

The last member of the group looked
confused.

"I'm really sorry to hear that everybody. I'm
quite surprised too. People seem to be just as scared of us as they
always were," said the Foreigner.

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The Sailor

When I was much younger I longed for the
sea

and never once wondered if she longed for
me.

The captains and kings of the world all
agree

that death is the lot of the sailor.

The sea is a wine that's too heady for
Man.

I thought I could take it but nobody can

and well I recall that my miseries began

with the stories and songs of the
sailors.

I heard all their stories and hung on their
claims

that men are born free but are put into
chains.

Now they're all long gone and the ocean
remains

and death is the lot of the sailor.

The land may be bitter and barren and
stark

but none who pass over it leave it
unmarked.

The sea has no trails and her depths are all
dark

and no one remembers the sailor.

When I was much younger I longed for the
sea

and never once wondered if she longed for
me.

Indifferent, uncaring, immortal and
free:

such is the love of the sailor.

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The Prince and the
Sky-Maiden

Once upon a time, long ago, there was a crone
named Dokka. Dokka was the cleverest crone that ever there was. If
a woman who was barren went to her, why by the time Dokka got
through with her that woman would lie with her husband in the night
and have ten strong babies by morning. A pregnant woman could go to
her, and just by looking Dokka could say if her baby was going to
be healthy or sick. If there was a thing she couldn't do, I'm sure
I've never heard of it.

But Dokka was so clever that she saw a great
danger coming, which no one else could see--or if they could see,
they certainly didn't know what to do about it. It was a great
evil, with no shape and no sound, and if it had a name only Dokka
knew it. It had more power than anyone, even Dokka herself. It
wanted only to kill every man, woman and child on the earth, and
those it did not kill it wanted to turn into monsters.

At last Dokka told her grand-daughter, whose
name was Gloria, to come to her house. She cast a spell on Gloria,
so that every time she awoke she would be awake a day, yet every
time she went to sleep she would sleep for a hundred years. Then
she put Gloria in a tower in the middle of a great forest, as high
as the sky, and bid her sleep. Then she set soldiers to guard the
tower, who never died. She said to these guards that they must not
let anyone in the tower, other than a true-born man. Last of all
she set a talking stone at the base of the tower, which would tell
anyone what lay within. Last of all, Dokka herself drank poison, so
that the great evil could not turn her into a monster.

Now the evil came to the earth, and worked
its will. Everyone it could kill it killed, and those it did not
kill it turned into monsters. But Gloria slept in her high tower,
and she never knew the evil had come, and it never saw her. At last
there was no-one on the earth, other than monsters, and the evil
went away. For years and years there were only monsters, until at
last some true-born men and women came out of the ground. But
Gloria slept on, only waking up for one day every hundred years,
and the stone warned the monsters not to enter. And those who
didn't listen? Well, you may be sure that the guards chopped them
up.

One day, many centuries later, a prince was
riding through the forest. And what do you think--he came to the
tower, and the talking stone.

"Now stone, tell me what lies within this
tower?" said the prince.

"Now prince, Gloria lies within. She is more
beautiful than any maiden you have seen, and her hair is as golden
as the sun," said the talking stone.

"But what do you mean, 'as golden as the
sun'?" the prince replied.

"Well now prince, many centuries ago the sun
was gold. And that is why these times were called the Golden Age,"
the stone said.

The prince was greatly taken with the idea of
a golden sun, and of a beautiful maiden with hair the same color.
So he asked the stone if he could go inside. But the stone told
him, "Only a true-born man may go within."

"Again, what do you mean?" the prince cried
angrily. "I am indeed a true-born man, and a prince at that!" But
the stone was silent.

Now the prince was as angry as if he'd sat on
a hundred thistles. But he was no fool, this prince, and he knew
that anyone who could build a tower that high and set a talking
stone at the bottom, that wasn't someone you could just beat by
running at them with your sword. So the prince sat at the base of
the tower, deep in thought. Now by chance, Gloria had woken up from
her hundred-year sleep that very morning. She was looking out of
her tower, down at the clouds, and feeling pretty lonely up there
all by herself. Just then she heard the prince, talking to himself
about one plan and another to get into the tower.