The stars teetered and crashed out of the sky incandescent streaks against the darkness until the sky drained to nothing, and the emptiness leaned down, and the ocean called upwards into the abyss. And something foul awakened beyond our reckoning, far beyond any place where people travel or go in search of something they cannot find within themselves. And the great stinking beast lumbered out howling, and people woke from their troubled dreams and wondered what it is that called them out of their sleep into this waking nightmare. And the beast bellowed, and everything began to break and shatter, and there was no place to hide as the wreckage tumbled from the sky And the beast went on bellowing like that breaking everything it puts its diseased touch to, and it awakened something in people. Something dark and foul. And hatred washed in on the blood-filled tide, and people found reason to hate those who were not like themselves. People found reason to be afraid of others, and they went inside, locked the doors, lit up the screens, and ate what was fed them, and it was foul too. But because the beast said eat, they ate, and hate went out on the blood-filled tide and poisoned everything and everyone it touched. And good people took note. They made signs, put on costumes and went out into the streets and caused more good trouble than anyone had seen in their lives, but it did nothing. So they went out again and again and nothing changed, and the trouble they caused was not in the papers and not on the screens, and no one noticed as they had not noticed before. And the beast bit and scratched and tore everyone and everything it touched. It sent some spinning far beyond our borders into places unimaginable, places where they did not speak the language and they knew no one and no one knew them. Or it crammed them in nightmare prisons from which no prisoner ever goes free. The beast tore up crops, pulled down satellites, and people didn’t know when it would rain again or when the storms would come that would tear up their houses and their fields. It eradicated rainbow crosswalk. It banned the books from authors brave enough to speak the truth It ripped apart people’s lives in an instant, left diseases to run rampant, silenced the doctors. It forced babies to be born that no one wanted. It ignored the laws, saying it was a law unto itself. And then it lumbered on, killing and maiming everyone it touched And the beast said, I will never go away and you cannot do without me. Love me as you love your mother and father. As you love yourself. And those who served the beast said, as you wish, great one. And they bowed and prostrated themselves before it in the dust. But still the beast was not satisfied, its great stomach ever growing to devour more of everything and everyone. Leaving nothing but a vast stinking trail of shit behind it. And, of course, you are wondering if such a tale can be true or if such a tale has an ending where everything is put to rights. But this, I cannot tell you. No, for even if we have watched the long moral arc of the universe, even if we know it cannot help but bend toward justice, we cannot know if this will happen soon, or years from now. Or if we will all be dead and gone before the beast is vanquished. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that each of us pushes off the weight of our despair, breaks the fetters of our fears, shakes off the apathy that gathers like dust in our compliance; that we get up and do the work, seen on or unseen. For this is the only way, my friends, to fix what was broken, to raise up those who were crushed to open the bars to those imprisoned And to take back all that is ours—and always has been.
David Holper (he/him) has published one novel The Church of the Very Last Chance (Deeper Magic Press) and four collections of poetry, Bord för En (Swedish for “Table for One”) (Broken Tribe Press), Language Lessons: A Linguistic Hejira (Deeper Magic Press), The Bridge (Sequoia Song Publications) and 64 Questions (March Street Press). His poems and stories have appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies. He lives in Eureka, California, where he served as the City of Eureka’s inaugural poet laureate from August 2019-August 2021. He loves that Eureka is far enough away from the madness of civilization, so he can still hear the Canada geese.
