💾 Archived View for midnight.pub › posts › 1548 captured on 2024-08-31 at 12:47:34. Gemini links have been rewritten to link to archived content
⬅️ Previous capture (2023-11-04)
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Up on Michael's Ridge are some gateds where there's still money. And some years back, I had this job running their hy/li-pacs and stem cells to them whenever they came in at port. On the way there is this little village at the river-bend. And it's poor as the dirt and often as mean too. But I knew a woman there and I'd sometimes check in to rest at night on my way back.
This one fall there came this terrible early cold. Late October, and the river froze up solid, only time I ever saw such a thing. And when I came by in late afternoon, I was standing up on the hill as the daylight's setting down. I was looking over, and I tell you, sure saw about the whole village still out there on the river, skating and playing. Just sliding around on their worn-out sneakers. And there was curling, and hockey, and the kids were all out there in whatever clothes they could find. And hearing the sound of them all together, it was such a joy as I've never felt. All this against what I knew, that there's starving in every other house around there. I saw them bird traps up and open around back the rows. Gotta eat something.
I was standing back just taking all this in, and then I saw it happen right before my eyes. Cracking sounds like gunshot, and the big old dead birch across the way on the bank groaned and came down across the frozen river with a crash like you'd never believe, barely down from where everybody was. Can't say if anyone was under, but it caused quite a scare and commotion. Got a lot worse in a few minutes.
Someone noticed, and screamed out, there's P-maggots, there's P-maggots, P-maggots!! Even back where I stood I saw them streaming out of that dead tree like blood. Soon they're racing about everywhere, and everyone's running off the ice for home. Gathering up the smallest children, pulling down their hats, covering ears, noses, asses. It's the orifices those little buggers go for, especially on the littles. And there's yelling and crying, but soon there's nothing and everyone's sealed inside. They knew what to do. Hardly worth to mention I didn't stop there that night.
Didn't see hardly a soul in that place all the rest of the winter whenever I came around. All inside, hoping and praying. I know how it goes with the P-maggots. The kids'd seem okay for a while, maybe just a cold at first, but then the turning would start. And there'd always be the odd one what recovered. But all the rest of the winter and spring, when I'd pass through, there'd be by someone's front door another of those double-weight contractor bags, full and slumped over, for the barrowers to take away when they came around.
I remember the next summer, I dropped in to visit Marla Bern and her man, you know that's Jim Lee's daughter Marla. And their boy Elias was there, and I'm not ashamed to say it, I was scared to see him as he was by then. Not much boy left in him at that point. I don't need to tell you the features, surely you've heard how that goes. We were all sitting down to eat some potatoes, when the boy lashed out and did something to his grandma's hand which I won't mention here. I think they made the decision that night. Bagged him up the next morning, and that was that.
It's a horror I can't hardly begin to think about. Living all those months, child turning ever so gradually, loving them and feeding them but knowing how this'll go. Watching the turn day by day, and having to make that call, knowing you got to do it sooner or later. And yet I saw Marla and Link again at solstice, new grief etched in their faces between the hardness of their want. Out there singing anyways with all the others. To face something like that, and to keep standing, and be like, okay, I can still be a part of this world. Tough as rocks, they are.
You know even a couple years later there's still some of that tree not cleared away from the bank. Still see the odd maggot, too. The birds eat them you know, don't bother them at all. Just last month, I was there and saw a crow peck one in half, eat the rear piece like it's nothing. And I'll be goddamned if it didn't look me straight in the eye as it slurped it down, then shake it's head. As if to say: heh, your turn's about up, isn't it.
gopher://republic.circumlunar.space/1/~joneworlds/
Well, that certainly puckered my butthole. Umm...thanks for that, I think?
No words other than thank you for this morbid gem