but you have asked so I will do my best
to answer.
Two dogs had to die in a
suburban neighbourhood near Bellingham, Washington before any of
these wheels (or these words) could begin turning.
It was a Sunday afternoon
in July and Obsidion was finally in search of His own
understanding. He had been doing this for so long and was near his
own end. He was heartsick, couldn’t seem to keep moving forward. He
needed to know one simple answer: could he step out of his charge
to find solace from the things he’d done, from the things he would
one day do?
You should know the dogs
were a vicious pair, a Rottwieller and a Bull Mastif named Deus and
Machina. They didn’t so much live as they existed, surviving from
meal to meal in a neighbourhood renowned for its problems. Deus and
Machina had the run of five conjoined backyards along a gravel
lane, burned out dumpsters and the train tracks. Plain and simple,
they were a security patrol for the owners of those five houses. A
handshake among them agreed that a good loud bark and a good deep
bite is better than any alarm system set to alert a sluggish police
force that wasn’t allowed to draw their weapons anyway.
Their master--their first master--was a vile
woman who taught them to crave raw carcasses and praised them to
snarl at passersby. If these dogs were ever to get out, to get past
the chain link fence, or manage to finally leap it, the other
neighbours all feared their children might be the first to get
mauled. The block lived in constant fear of Deus and
Machina.
As the sun stood tall in a
deep blue sky, Obsidion descended into the long shared yard. He
knelt on the grass. And the dogs could smell Him, could sense Him.
But could not see Him. He spoke to them, tried to clear their minds
but their minds were muddled, troubled, made unreasonable by
madness. They were too far gone, Obsidion decided. The two dogs
were riled by Obsidion’s presence, stirred to movement and noise as
if by a coming storm. They growled and bit at each other. Saliva
blew outward and yellow teeth grabbed at mangy coats. Their
barking--their fighting --roused the neighbours. Windows opened in back
bedrooms.
“Someone dies,” he said to
the dogs, “Every day. Every minute.” And when Deus and Machina
dared come close to the Tall Dark Figure, He snatched them up, each
violently by their collars. He squeezed Deus until his neck broke
and then He let his own teeth sink into Machina’s gullet until both
dogs whimpered and fell away from Him. He knew the madness in them
was not their fault so he took them as gently as he could. And then
He looked up at the sky overhead.
He expected to hear the
clouds rip open and an arm of wind to reach down for Him. He’d
heard stories of it happening like that. But nothing appeared.
Somewhere, a bird chirped. The day stood tall as it had before. And
His question had been answered.
He left the dogs there.
Their first master appeared in the yard and ran to her puppies. She
began to sob. She laid down in the hot green grass with them and
closed her eyes as she cried. She never saw what had silenced
them.
<> <>
<>
I can hear Him, as clearly
as if he was standing beside me. Montserrat would say this to
Obsidion in his plight, this to Him as He cries: Come now, o brother, come! O brother! Why does
your heart fill so with tears? How now, brother?
And Obsidion would ask why
he needed to carry on, why these tasks had been thrust upon
him.
Duty o
brother! , Montserrat would answer. You were borne, are borne, out of duty. With each
night, passing and flailing, you are a creature of the highest
obligation.
<> <>
<>
And what of me? Like
Obsidion, I suppose, but in some ways un like Obsidion, I too am the
personification of life. I am the taker of life. And, if need be, I
am also its giver. We each are, in our own right. If you look at it
one way, I am everything to you and your humanity. Yes, yes, you
must be beleaguered--believe me that
to answer.
Two dogs had to die in a
suburban neighbourhood near Bellingham, Washington before any of
these wheels (or these words) could begin turning.
It was a Sunday afternoon
in July and Obsidion was finally in search of His own
understanding. He had been doing this for so long and was near his
own end. He was heartsick, couldn’t seem to keep moving forward. He
needed to know one simple answer: could he step out of his charge
to find solace from the things he’d done, from the things he would
one day do?
You should know the dogs
were a vicious pair, a Rottwieller and a Bull Mastif named Deus and
Machina. They didn’t so much live as they existed, surviving from
meal to meal in a neighbourhood renowned for its problems. Deus and
Machina had the run of five conjoined backyards along a gravel
lane, burned out dumpsters and the train tracks. Plain and simple,
they were a security patrol for the owners of those five houses. A
handshake among them agreed that a good loud bark and a good deep
bite is better than any alarm system set to alert a sluggish police
force that wasn’t allowed to draw their weapons anyway.
Their master--their first master--was a vile
woman who taught them to crave raw carcasses and praised them to
snarl at passersby. If these dogs were ever to get out, to get past
the chain link fence, or manage to finally leap it, the other
neighbours all feared their children might be the first to get
mauled. The block lived in constant fear of Deus and
Machina.
As the sun stood tall in a
deep blue sky, Obsidion descended into the long shared yard. He
knelt on the grass. And the dogs could smell Him, could sense Him.
But could not see Him. He spoke to them, tried to clear their minds
but their minds were muddled, troubled, made unreasonable by
madness. They were too far gone, Obsidion decided. The two dogs
were riled by Obsidion’s presence, stirred to movement and noise as
if by a coming storm. They growled and bit at each other. Saliva
blew outward and yellow teeth grabbed at mangy coats. Their
barking--their fighting --roused the neighbours. Windows opened in back
bedrooms.
“Someone dies,” he said to
the dogs, “Every day. Every minute.” And when Deus and Machina
dared come close to the Tall Dark Figure, He snatched them up, each
violently by their collars. He squeezed Deus until his neck broke
and then He let his own teeth sink into Machina’s gullet until both
dogs whimpered and fell away from Him. He knew the madness in them
was not their fault so he took them as gently as he could. And then
He looked up at the sky overhead.
He expected to hear the
clouds rip open and an arm of wind to reach down for Him. He’d
heard stories of it happening like that. But nothing appeared.
Somewhere, a bird chirped. The day stood tall as it had before. And
His question had been answered.
He left the dogs there.
Their first master appeared in the yard and ran to her puppies. She
began to sob. She laid down in the hot green grass with them and
closed her eyes as she cried. She never saw what had silenced
them.
<> <>
<>
I can hear Him, as clearly
as if he was standing beside me. Montserrat would say this to
Obsidion in his plight, this to Him as He cries: Come now, o brother, come! O brother! Why does
your heart fill so with tears? How now, brother?
And Obsidion would ask why
he needed to carry on, why these tasks had been thrust upon
him.
Duty o
brother! , Montserrat would answer. You were borne, are borne, out of duty. With each
night, passing and flailing, you are a creature of the highest
obligation.
<> <>
<>
And what of me? Like
Obsidion, I suppose, but in some ways un like Obsidion, I too am the
personification of life. I am the taker of life. And, if need be, I
am also its giver. We each are, in our own right. If you look at it
one way, I am everything to you and your humanity. Yes, yes, you
must be beleaguered--believe me that
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