Victor Pierce
Furnace of Soul
“Ahh,
I ain’t she a beauty the freshly risen sun, what's left of the
inhabitants getting baked, to rise again and be fresh out of the oven,
freshly rising to meet a new day. The mid-morning sun sitting perched at
what would appear to be half-mass, but there were no traumatic event
just waking from a dormancy, ready to rise and explode full of guilt and
unjust. The morning air fresh and alluring, the wind gently flowing
through me, a breath of fresh air, but I can’t help but distill that
its all a setup for a mid-morning snare, we could all sit here in
defeat and keep repeating the words murmured by the face within,
continuing on progresses untimely demise. I’ll try and dissipate all the
falsified actions that could be horrendous, but I’m just putting on the
wardens cap, incriminating myself, and desensitizing every little
action, Your emotion is just a reaction to the preceding days actions,
and I’m feeling lethargic, so don’t try and guard it because I’m going
to conquer my demons. If finding myself is the key, then I’m stripped
lock. And this plain of incantation has drove me over the cliff and up. I thank you for another day”. Sark.
Well
it wasn’t much but it was all Sarkovan had. He’d been happily living on
the carpathian stream for quite awhile, quite impressing I might add.
Living on the sustenance of the earth, and what was given to him. But
what was he trying to accomplish? He’d sat there knee deep in the stream
everyday at the sametime stagnant, but he was never discouraged, he
woke up everyday with brokenness, ready to repair and went emphatically,
everywhere. The Aspen trees leaves were green and lively, and the
stream was seamlessly innocent, flowing gently, caressing the timeless
rocks, sediments and Sark.
The bushes rustled, shshuush. Sarkovan seemed startled like a mousetrap just went off, and the only thing caught pray, was you.
A
voice rang out, as a silhouette began to appear, the only thing in
sight was the rounded exterior of the mans hood and a mild glimpse of
the right side of his face. Sark had jumped out of his skin and sought
after the nearest enshrouding. The mysterious silhouette had soon passed
through the stream and without hesitation Sarkovan leaped from his
enshrouding, lead footed,
He
grabbed the worker from behind, afraid of being apprehended. One hand
over his mouth and one arm tucked firmly around his neck.
“Come with me, I have something to show you.”
“mmmummm.”
“Stop, silence yourself, before you alert the patrolmen.”
“What, wh- what are you...”
“Lower your voice, your young, youthful.”
“I’..m.. going to report you to the warden”
“Look I’m trying to cause no harm.
“Then why is your arm fixated around my neck”
“I’m not apart of you, this.”
Sarkovan
released his firm grip around his neck, and both figures stood, with a
stare, icy and still staring through each others, deepest darkness.
“Don’t you worry where your next meal’s coming from”
“I’ve long given up on satisfaction”
“Hmmm yeah. Wha, wh, whaddya mean?
“I’ve seen what this world has to offer and it’s not for me.”
“How can you be sure”.
“I’ve learned listening to your gut will do you no harm.”
“You..yo..u are the problem holding us back.”
“Listen to yourself, you’re not “home” you’re just another able body and Apparition of your self, starving for essence.”
And
as Sark began to close the distance to get a closer look. The illusive
patron jetted back down the way he came. While Sark simply sat there in
disbelief. He sat there enthralled in the fact he has just been stumbled
upon, by some younger soul.
“What
made tonight special, I’ve been staying here since the snow ceased,
last season, and the god-forsaken worker bees stumbleupon me now.”
And
he began sloshing around in the stream, disregarding the nature of the
situation, he wasn’t worried about being caught or what might come as a
result. And the sloshing ceased, Sark stood still, in amazement of the
chilled waters and the moons passive positioning, high above him,
watching his every move.
“What
am I’m doing! So I’m discovered by one person, whats to say they’re
going to let loose to his higher ups and come after me. No, no focus on
what's important”.
He caught sight of his ever wind-logged destiny and pulled himself back down to earth and refocused his aim.
“I need to preserve my writings, if I deserve to write it, its worth something to be heard.”
He
gathered up his methodical and meticulous scribbles and trudged higher
up the mountain where he could once again temporarily settle down, where
the worker-bees could never find him.. He laid his writings down in the
rocky crevice, secure of the elements, proceeded to the base of a tree
and drifted off to sleep under the sparkling night canvas.
“Goodnight Father.”
The
mysterious figure, ran all the way down the mountain, to his commanding
officers quarters, as the moon set perched in the blanket of the
night-sky. The cold stark walls of the wardens office were impeding. The
barren plain office, like the great plains there wasn’t anything there,
it was just the being there, but there was nothing special about it.
“Sera..Serya.. Seryagoya.”
“Gera, take a deep breath and let it out, for goodness sake.”
“Serayagoya, I went up the mounta-.”
“Wait which one”.
“The one southeast of the Crimean Riven-.”
“Look spit it out, its the middle of the night, your lucky I’m speaking to you.”
“Sorry sir, the one that the Carpathian stream sets upon.”
“Why were you up there, thats not where you were assigned.”
“But, Sir liste-.”
He grasps the side of Gera’s head mostly of his ear.
“Look, you have these for a reason, if you don’t use ‘em, you don’t need ‘em”.
“Please hear me ou-”.
Gripping his ear in his palm, he tugs him towards the door.
“I’ll speak to you in the morning, be here bright and early, not a moment too soon.”
Gera
shakes his head in comprehension and disappointedly wallows out of
Seryagoya’s bone-cold office, rubbing his throbbing ear, mumbling under
his breath.
“Well why can just listen for a first.”
The next day Gera reported to Seryagoya’s office as commanded, hoping it was the right time.
With a feeble knock, Gera, was issued in.
“Good morning sir.”
“Skip the mundane small talk and greetings, you’re here for a reason, aren’t you?
“Yes sir, I saw something, I’m not sure what, but he forcefully grabbed me around the neck and,”.
“Thats
nice boy, you ever heard the story of Yurek, by God wasn’t he
something. He could lead anyone, his glorious iron fist, got us here.”
“Sir I was trying to tell you something.”
“Listen boy you might learn something if you’d listen!”
Gera winces at Seryagoya as he motions towards him.
“My father, was a natural born-leader. best damn leader on this side of the Atlantic”. You best be getting of to work boyyo.”
Gera sighs a deep long breath and heads out towards the steel-mill, to begin his daily shift.
“If I can see this man on the mountain once, maybe he can listen to me.”
The
day began to settle in. The sun was perched straight above the earth.
Gera finished his work with a newfound energy, like he was in two
places at once. He finished his work abruptly In hopes he’d be able to
stumble upon the man on the mountain once again.Trudging up the
mountain, Gera whistled a sweet tune to pass the time. Gera had once
again returned to the place where Sarkovan had once stayed, but there
was nothing there. Gera, out of frustration sat down, right next to the
lush stream.
He
sat and listened to the stream ceremoniously wash down, but it wasn’t
anything of importance to him. He contemplated Seryagoya’s harsh words
and began to feel the resentment sink in.
“Why,
why couldn’t I have sat down with this man last night. It was here by
the stream that the man had once stayed. Maybe If I could see him once
more, if only I had another opportunity.”
Gera
unsure of where to go next, to find Sark. Lollygagged down the
mountain. Past the aspen Trees back to good ol’ St. Petersburg. He was
irritated and frustrated and it was evident, his scowl a mile wide. He
arrived back at camp, laid on his dull cot, he’d seen no greater
interest in the day and mosied off to an unsatisfying sleep.
While Sark awoke to the freshly risen sun he flipped through one of his favored writings and began to peruse over it.
You’ve
never spoke up before, when we sluggishly glazed by, and we were
catching on to all the fun plans, we were in each others hands. We
laughed, we played, but you were the outcast among us, are kind words
and childish laughter was an indirect spit in the face. We were the
makings of many and you were the byproduct of one, but why did it take
me so long to grow ears equipped to your frequency. I’ve walked through
here a good few hundred times, but I couldn’t ever find you. You’d leave
an imprint in your displaced sand, but I’m just a man and I’ve never
even seen the dirt that displayed me. Why all of a sudden now. Instead
of chasing something of worth, I’m changing something thats nothing.
This dirt can tell no lies its withered and old, but continually tries,
just by swiveling it between my palms, I’m flipping through its novel
and it’s showing me. And even the the memories aren’t vivid and there a
little choppy, walking past you is guiding me on a timeline and all this
time your were holding back all these secrets, catching my peak of
interest and all of a sudden of the eyes to see you, caressing your
grittiness, I gently let you slip through my fingers, so someone else
can read this dirty book.” Sark.
He finished immersing himself and began to scan his new surroundings.
The
grass wasn’t living but it wasn’t dead. It was a place he could settle
for. He rewrapped his writing with a scrap wire and put it back in the
sheltered crevice. Sark had time to spare. He was a lean figure, didn’t
eat much. He began to rummage through his small bag to find a pen to
record his thoughts.
“I
know my days wearily carry on and they’re running few, but you’ll soon
call me home when my road ceases and I am to meet you face to face, but I
need to make use of this time. Those lost below working, for the sake
of enough food, enough water, enough to clog ones soul. Father give me
the strength to enact change on the worker bees below. They need it.
He
packed his logbook, and shoved the unkempt paper in his pocket and went
down the Mountain. The mountain that had his identity, the liquid that
trickled from his spirit, and the many words prayed to his father above.
He passed his old place of inhabitant and the stream still ran down
smoothly. He plunged his hands into the blue waters, and washed his
face. Sark, sped away from home down to the frontlines.The large
encampment of the worker bees was lacking life, essence. The aspens that
once grew here were chopped down fueling the fire, consumed by
progress. Sarkovan walked to the front-gate. At the front of the camp,
he peaked in and saw the worker-bees tirelessly working for a cause they
never knew. “ How can people lose themselves to fuel the demon of the
stomach, its never content with anything, like a furnace just burns and
burns, you eat and satisfy your stomach just to fulfill yourself day
after day. God have mercy. “ Sark went into the camp, eyes fixed
straight on Seryagoya’s barren office they had long since gotten along,
since Sarkovan had oce abandon this already lost cause. Sarkovan saw the
men running back and forth and easily crept into Seryagoya’s office. He
entered with force.
“Who the hell do you think.. By God you're still alive.”
“Seyagoya, lay down your ruling fist, I am change, change is about.”
Seryagoya lets out a big sigh out of lack of respect, and continues.
“Look at you, you’re an old washed up has-been. Your days of greatness
are over, and that was a pill to hard for you to swallow. Wasn’t it?
Sarkovan
continues pressing Seryagoya out of concern. “You never understood,
with your progress you never cared about these men. You never cared that
their souls are being bled dry and sucummbed at your furnace so you can
have a sense of sustainability.”
“Sark, would you give it a rest, there's nothing wrong with a little sacrifice, its the price, they pay.”
“And
you're just gonna sit here on your piss poor throne, like your the
almighty. You can push sheep around, because they know not what you do,
but I’ve seen, and I’ve overcome. Try pushing around a man that hasn’t
been defanged.”
Sark
closes the space in between them, with rage and unrest, he stares into
his icy cold blue eyes and firmly places both hands on his desk.
“Always
swift. Swift in life as in death.” Seryagoya pulls a gun, and aims it
straight for Sarkovan’s knee. He wanted him to suffer.
“You’ve
never ceased to amaze me ol friend, you never knew when you were
pushing the boundaries Sark, and I always secretly loved that about you.
I knew Gera had confrontation with you. I pawned it off as nothing, so
none of the livestock would be harmed, in the fight for Alpha male.
“
You’ve seen little Sera, you know what's happening with your livestock,
but you are blinded when it comes to what's out there. There is no
Alpha dog, I’m not here on a pride trip. I’m here to expound and
dissipate the darkness that has befallen this land and befallen these
people.
“I’m
responsible for a small amount of people I can break in, like a
stallion. I need not what's out there because, I have my livestock and
they’ve mended me a fresh set of wings.”
“Sera,
you never wanted help and I was here with you, but you you tried to
bleed me dry. You're nothing but a passing breeze on the face of the
Atlantic. A mosquito, a gaping insolence plaguing these people.
Seryagoya walks over to Sark, gun still out, both poised like two
scorpions. Standing nose to nose.”
“What’ll it be Sark.”
“You
can always lead a horse to water, but you can’t make em drink. My
efforts are unsuccessful with you, but theres about twenty others out
there I can try my hand at.
“Sarkovan.”
He proceeds towards the door.
“I can save at least one person from your hellish furnace”.
“Sark. Sarkovan!”
Sarkovan
lays his hand on the door and it begins to open. Seryagoya’s pistol
goes off echoing in the hollowness of his office, thundering throughout
the camp.
“Sark you're not ruining everything my father and I have created!”
Sark raspily responds, he collapses the floor, sitting in his own blood.
“ehyheh!
You think by crippling me, the fire that's been burning so long on your
strung up facades is going to be extinguished. Your name will be long
forgotten as your furnace burns itself out.”
“Sark, you're in no position to question my great name. The Borovsky name will live forever.”
Seryagoya lifts his gun up from his side and aims it right between Sark’s eyes.
Another loud crash and echo is heard as Seryagoya fires another shot and misses just high of his head.
“Seryagoya,
when I left from atop the mountain, the mountain that expressed
openness, and accepted me like my heavenly father. I’ve loaned this
mountain my sustenance and my days are running thin. My father smiles
upon me with the strength of Samson. My busted knee punches the hole on
my one way ticket, I’ve seen and I’ve overcome.
Gera
rushes into the office laying eyes on both Seryagoya as well as
Sarkovan. Sarkovan is pressed against the wall adjacent to the door.
Gera realizes what's going on and steps out of the huge puddle from the
wound in Sarkovan’s knee.
Seryagoya, interrupts Gera as he begins to speak.
“Leave Gera, you have no place in this utmost matter.”
Short
of breath, Sarkovan responds in short raspy sentences. “You. I saw you a
couple. A couple nights ago. You were the shadowy figure I grabbed.”
Gera replies with a wavering sense of awe. “Please let me help you.”
Seryagoya fiendishly replies,”Gera leave unless you wanna end in the same fate.”
Sarkovan
interjects. “Gera leave and take this with you.” Sark takes out the
logbook that contained all of Sark’s scribbles. They were slightly
smudged, because,the pages had absorbed some of the puddle.
“Please, I can’t you leave in this state.”
“Look.
Gera, my time runs short. Take this, I have a few things left. Left
just a mile or so up from the Carpathian stream where we ran into each
other. Take this. And go there. Its next to some aspen trees, between a
granite rock and some limestone, you’ll find the remaining pieces of my
logbook.
Sark reaches down and pulls out the crumpled, unkempt blood-soaked note, and said “read this, its my last writing.
Gera
leaves. His mind not fully made up. He didn’t know what to do. But he
was given final orders by a man whose heartbeat is wavering.
Seryagoya stands there, still poised like a scorpion.
While
Gera is exiting the camp, he hears shot, after, shot ring out. He takes
one final look at the steel mill, Sera’s barren office and abandons the
life he knew. Gera walked up the steep mountain as he passes Sark’s
old place of rest. He notices the stream, it ministered to him. He
follows his directions to the letter. “About a mile up from my where we
ran into each other.” Gera unsure of what he’d find continued up the
mountain, stone by stone, foothold by foothold. He sees the treeline and
begins rummaging around “Granite and Limestone, right?”
“Sprinting
from death as it chased me down. I tripped on treasure stuck in the
ground.The fall was hard, it laid me low, It was the treasure lifted me
by its glow.On my knees, I considered its worth. Twas not material or
all the earth. Its contents were all I ever needed:Love, acceptance
Unconditional Grace and healing, In the physical sense. In my joy, I
limped back home Liquidated all the things I own, To inhabit the ground,
that tripped my step. And live a life Where needs are met. Where Jesus
is kingand life, is full.“
As Gera began to read, he learned of a holy creed.
The End
