narratorAUSTRALIA Volume One Read online

  *Siam is now Thailand.

   

  Tuesday 8 May 2012

  Letter To The Editor From A Vampyre

  Stephen Falconer

  Brunswick, VIC

  Vampyrism is a very misunderstood and much maligned thing. It has been called unnatural by the incapable edenists, evil by the near-sighted moralists, unholy by the self-righteous (evil and unholy being two very different things), and even a ‘gross abomination of flesh and soul’ by those who think they have some concept of the subject. Now I am not stating that these aren’t true but truth is a relative term, as each Vampyre, just as each ‘human’, is subject to their will for better or worse.

  It is impossible for anyone who has not experienced the ‘becoming’ (or waking death) to appreciate the gravity of what it is to be Vampyre; it isn’t often you die and are born fully conscious, at the same time.

  The nature of Vampyrism has been argued for centuries by man and more, as if it is that different to the nature of man. Man’s argument against it (due perhaps in some part to simple jealousy?) is that it is unnatural as it removes an individual, what I like to refer to as a singularity, (some say such objectivity is less, and some say that is where God lives, but I stray ...) from the supposedly natural cycle of life and death. They do not understand that despite our supposed infallibility, Vampyres experience entropy too, though not entirely as humans do. Physical presence is not the greatest strength, as man sees it to be, against the ‘emptiness’ that is ever-present through all creatures.

  They, mortals, proclaim death as absolute because they see themselves to be so powerless against it and hence the very base level of fear. Personally I do not see this stepping out of such a vegetable routine to be inherently wrong; I see it as something of a ‘coming of age’, for man and kind. You must always keep in mind that the universe will always reach equilibrium at some point, existence determines itself and if a will will not, it simply succumbs.

  Mortals, especially in a society of mass consumption such as today’s, do not understand that to simply exist for such lengths of time one must be at a certain peace with one’s self, and have a much broader and more intimate understanding of one’s current reality. More so than nearly all humans, does that not make us more responsible, more aware of the consequences of our actions?

  Many would-be Vampyres do not even survive their becoming as their human awareness, in such a state that each own is, cannot cope with losing all their preconceived notions of what it is to simply exist. Many will just tear themselves apart.

  The basic lesson learnt from ‘becoming’ is somewhat of an understanding of the cold, mechanistic nature of the universe and just how uncertain and fragile life is, as well as a fuller realisation of self, or certain aspects of. Though each Vampyre’s becoming is different, sometimes the pain of a waking death is something eternity has trouble forgetting.

  Now every argument put forward against Vampyrism has been made by people that claimed to be the absolute authority on whatever they were screaming Vampyres were not. There are no real prerequisites, it seems, to wield torch and pitchfork.

  Their argument most times, seemingly to be, Vampyres are not what they are or hold to be as all that is good and virtuous.

  Every sane individual should have some amount of scepticism for anyone crusading for one wholly Good thing and urging the destruction of anything opposing it. As man is nothing but the highest generally recognised animal in the food chain, by his own admittance, every action against Vampyrism must be viewed as motivated by base fear. Their arguments being proclaimed righteously from the pulpit, rousing the ignorance of the audience, screaming that these creatures that walk God’s green earth are unnatural, evil and unholy.

  They say we are Unnatural, having surpassed them on the food chain; Darwin their Messiah having by his own work, decreed us superior, evolution overruling any ignorant, preconceived human notions of superiority. They should think themselves lucky we have our dignity and honour, an appreciation of culture and a much broader perspective than themselves.

  They decried us as Evil, assuming their moral code to be the only end necessary code to adhere to, their self righteous arrogance neglecting nature and, by rights Evil, and heresy to itself.

  They blasphemed us as Unholy, holding their God raised by them to decree us as damned. As if their invented laws were universal. As if their gods ruled over Vampyres. Vampyres hold that the universe dictates its own law, and as such its fate is written by those wise, strong and bold enough to wield the pen.

  Some even dared to proclaim us as, what one all so human shit thrower phrased, a ‘gross abomination of flesh and soul’. That has long since sat in my side; these gross abominations of such would surely overrun us all in their heedless abominable ways and spread across the earth like a cancer. But Vampyrism doesn’t do this. Only one creature fits the bill. Humans are by far the worst vermin, even by their own standards. But of flesh and soul? How many humans gather enough of it to even become aware of it? They seem only to exist exclusive of each other in the human world.

  But though I am disheartened by the world’s reluctance to be Vampyre, I am appreciative of being at this part of the becoming.

  No one can know what’s at stake when you don’t know what you’ve got.

  The struggle against ignorance is a hard one though, when you only wish to open someone’s eyes but they disregard you so completely because of some tedious thing as if it was pertinent. Messenger and message, culture and truth, you shouldn’t disregard one because of the other. Not to say that humans have always been seen as their counterpoint by Vampyres, I write this knowing that comparing ourselves to the human cattle, whom all the lower of us once were, would have been seen as Blasphemy of the highest order under the old laws.

   

  Wednesday 9 May 2012

  Purgatory

  Paris Portingale

  Mt Victoria, NSW

  There are times when things weigh heavier, and during these times, the newly weighted things form a gravity that draws them all into a single entity in a space where one and one no longer make two, but rather four or eight, and as they coalesce they draw in smaller things from the peripheries and the mass expands until the weight becomes a resistless pull that allows no advance or retreat, and time itself no longer turns as it did and sets to a grey-damp quag of resignation.

  And then the churlish bond of despair slips away and everything is fine again, and so it was for Efrem Long. Standing over the sink, out back of the diner, he felt the exact moment, the precise instant the thing fell away and a lightness took to his entire body.

  ‘Well, thank the Lord that’s over,’ he said, and with a shake of his shoulders to throw off the last motes of waning despair, he went back to the scraping and washing and rinsing and drying and restacking of plates and cutlery with a lighter heart, and an enthusiasm he’d not felt for some time.

  ‘I’ve just been to purgatory and back and it sure feels great to be home again,’ he said to Raymond, the negro mop and clean man, swishing at the floor behind him.

  ‘You what now?’ Raymond said.

  ‘Purgatory,’ Efrem told him. ‘I’ve been to purgatory and back.’

  ‘Dat deh purgatory from der bible?’

  ‘The very one, Raymond.’

  ‘How long dat take yeh?’

  ‘Somewhere between a month and a lifetime. Maybe longer. Time can be an unfathomable piece of clockwork in a purgatory.’

  ‘Didn’t know you could get back from dat place.’

  ‘I took the bus of personal and reaffirming resurrection,’ Efrem said.

  ‘Must be some bus,’ Raymond said, and went off to change the water in his mop bucket.

  There are times when things weigh heavier, and if we can endure, when those times pass, we are received of new and freshened wonder at a universe that was always there throughout, spinning around, just waiting for us to come back.

   

  Thursday 10 May 2
012

  The Pain Of Missing Her

  Merlene Fawdry

  Ararat, Victoria

  No one likes goodbyes, those moments in time that hinge the past and future with an uncertain present, and this day was no exception. The boy who would never grow to full manhood sat quietly gazing at his interlocked fingers, as if seeking guidance from their very stillness. For what, after all, was goodbye, but a series of partings and forward and backward movements within relationships; a signpost between events as elusive as time itself.

  Van thought back to other times and other farewells, recalling his first day at school, his mother’s hand delaying the moment of parting, her unshed tears diluting his eagerness to begin the next adventure. It was as if she knew, somehow, this severance marked the beginning of all the last days that would signpost their lives. And in many ways it did, as his life progressed with a succession of comings and goings. School days led to school camps, sporting and interstate trips; his mother holding his heart in her eyes as she waved at departing buses, trains and planes, and always he felt the pain of her emptiness she tried so hard to hide from him.

  It had irritated him sometimes, when her sorrow cast a pall over his impatience to be gone. The thrill of the unknown remained as strong as that first day of school, and yet they continued to humour each other. She, stoic in her patient endurance, and he, riddled with guilt for causing her hurt; each unintentionally deceiving the other with their pretence. He regretted deeply there would be no opportunity to repay her devotion to him, no way to show remorse for the unhappiness he had caused, but he determined to ease the parting by reciprocating the quiet strength she had demonstrated throughout his life.

  As the familiar sound of her footsteps drew closer, he wondered if she had always known this day would come, this last day they would have a chance to say goodbye. This time it was he who stumbled on the sharp edge of his pain as he waited to greet her, shackles slowing his steps as he shuffled toward to the grille. However, true to his intention, he gave no outward sign of faltering.

  His mind wandered briefly, as it had so often during these last hours, to the times when he had struggled inwardly against her embrace, the urge to begin the next journey pulling him away. But the need to travel had left him now and, given a choice, he would bury himself in her arms and nuzzle into her goodness. The irony was not lost on him that, the one thing he had discarded so readily in the past was the one thing he now desired most, but there would be no farewell embrace today before he left on his last journey.

  Gentle fingers stretched through the bars to caress his arm, oblivious to the metal cuffs that halted his reach, as she sought to hold tight to his life. The potent agony of this parting and feelings of guilt threatened to overwhelm him, and yet he knew he must hold fast to the pretence, to show his readiness for the next journey. It was the only thing he had to offer her now. With calm acceptance he met his mother’s eyes, holding her in an embrace that transcended physical action, and offered his heart into her safekeeping.