excerpt from Pillars of Gomorrah, a novel by mlb

Pillars of Gomorrah

"To the Men who are the foundation of all earthy pleasures and pain,

the men Lot could leave behind but his wife could not.

To the salt of the earth.

To the Pillars of Gomorrah.

To Man as I know him to be."

***

He leaned in the doorway watching me. “Our paths so intertwined you would think we were meant for each other." He said coolly.

 “Strange.”  I responded, my voice striking like as single note on a piano in a great empty hall.

We stared at each other.  Perhaps he was deciding as I was what to make of ourselves.  I was seeing a hundred horrors he had perpetrated, a hundred more laying in wait.  They were twisted shame, embarrassed to know he too could see them, feel them, taste them.  I might as well have been naked and on my knees kneeling before him for all he owned of my body.  

On cue he smiled.  Together we shared a darkness.  We were a storm rising out over an ocean.  The clouds and the waves are all made of the same water.  When the horizon vanishes who is on top does not indicate who is capable of doing the most damage.  More distressing than our past was the future I was seeing through his eyes.  I was shaken to realize he was the only man who really knew me. And even so he was once again rattling the garden gate.          

I am aware one wants to tell the victim it is not their fault: that is white.  One wants to lay blame on the perpetrator: that is black.  But when you put them together you have a whole lot of gray.

Goldilocks is burglar.  Little Red Riding Hood a naughty brat.  Two of the three pigs are lazy good for nothings.  But perhaps the Boy who cried wolf was just a lonely little boy, Noah a magnificent zookeeper with a fetish for ships.  Judas and Pinocchio puppets led astray.  A Beggar is a thief without skill or self respect.  A wolf is always a wolf.  

When I looked in his eyes I understood who we were.  He was proud of himself; he was even proud of me and what I had become.  But have you ever wondered about the magic fish, or the golden goose, or the gingerbread man?  Have you every thought what it must feel like to be created simply to feed the lust and greed of fallen men?

It is hard to sympathize with a sly victim one who chooses to use their pain to entice the emotions of others, chooses to step over the dying, walks over their un-dug graves.  A woman in the bonfire is a martyr for her cause.  While the youngest prettiest daughter entering the castle of a great beast, is a fool for the love of her father.  Excepting his presences in my life I was both a martyr and a fool.       

                 ~Using the light of your own flame to make your way through the dark woods of life is only half the battle, successfully fighting the urge to burn the whole forest to the ground when you get lost is harder than one might think~    

mlb