I don't know anything

PART G (The King)

I started seeing other things, but all so dim and far away. There were movements in shadows, like, floating or creeping in, but . . . but they seemed too slow, like they couldn’t quite be real.

Then suddenly I never wanted to see or know anything ever again. I mean, I hated even knowing I was thinking. Of course, thoughts kept coming . . . kept sprouting up. And part of me wanted to tear my whole mind out by the roots and black out so I’d forget.

Another part wondered if the thoughts could be my answer . . . like they could be my way back.

But back where? Where had I just been?

That was about when I realized I couldn’t remember anything.

Everything around me looked grim and complicated . . . deformed somehow. But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I was seeing it wrong. To me, there was only the same texture and walls the color of sand stretching out in a big U-shape, disappearing off in all directions.

I tried to shift my weight a little, but got hit right away by this ugly, groggy feeling. It felt . . . heavy, like maybe gravity had gotten stronger.

I glanced down carefully and wasn’t really shocked to find myself sprawled across a small slab of black polished rock right in the middle of the endless nothing.

Why was I on the rock and not the sand?

The sky might have been red, or maybe brown. But it flashed apart and together like moving pictures on a screen.

And weren’t skies . . . not like screens? How could I know things like that if I had no memories?

The next thought came like a punch in the stomach:

What am I?

That was when I first heard the weird murmuring, rustling sound . . . low and constant . . . coming from everywhere just past where I could see.

There was a scream, screechy and long . . . definitely closer.

Still, I saw nothing and no one.

I wondered if I should be afraid . . . and, if I should be, why I wasn’t.

I blinked, listening for anything that might help me figure out where I was, or why, or even what I was, or what was going on at all. I mostly wanted to know why I didn’t remember. But the why of it all was what was missing.

Something sent a shudder down my spine. I was sure the space right next to me didn’t look quite right, like it was getting ready to make itself even emptier or something.

But that’s dumb, isn’t it?

Was I crazy? Was none of anything real? How could I tell?

The word “asylum” and pictures of pill canisters and padded walls started circling around my head. It was bad, but…

But still, I wasn’t really scared. I was confused. It was just . . . nothing about what was happening struck me as being anywhere near as unusual as it seemed like it should, y’know?

No, that probably makes no sense.

Okay, I was somewhere that didn’t feel like a world I should be from, or part of. But I wasn’t afraid to be there.

The steady jumble sounded closer.

“Hello?” I called. “Is someone there?” My voice wasn’t one I knew.

A crack like thunder whacked and left an eerie echo, but it quickly got eaten away into the rumble.

I had to wonder why the air in that same spot next to me was . . . congealing, or getting solid somehow, like water freezing into ice. Was I causing it? Why did I almost . . . expect to see it, and yet still feel like it had to be the strangest thing I’d ever seen?

But I did expect it, I knew. I was even a little . . . happy about it, maybe. I mean, I didn’t feel alarmed in any way. It was kind of like what I was seeing was just some everyday thing I should ignore.

I thought at least being afraid would give me a better idea what to do.

I tried picking myself up and off the black slab to move in, I guess, a random direction. But my heart and lungs sank in my chest as I rose. This sludgy sense of total tiredness pooled all though my legs and hips, and up like a storm into my belly. I wanted to throw up. It felt like I was trying to trudge through a swamp without breathing, sinking deeper and deeper into mud.

“Hello,” said a voice, peaceful and soft, from nowhere. “What is your name?”

I was still just as alone.

Then the air beside me twitched, and retched, and hardened even more, kind of like those videos where nature gets sped up super-fast.

I gulped a little and turned away, finally feeling that flush of real fear I’d been hoping for. But it was horrible, the way it quivered and shook through my chest and neck, especially as I tried a third time to lift and drag my legs behind me like dead weight.

I saw myself as some spastic, broken insect, failing to skitter away automatically on useless, messed-up limbs.

“What is your name?” repeated the voice, quiet but deep and booming.

I stopped pushing to move, and not because escape obviously wasn’t going to happen. It was more like something about that exact moment or situation felt too familiar to get away from. It wasn’t déjà vu. There was just a certain . . . quality I recognized, even in the voice itself. The only way I can describe it would be like seeing an expression you totally understand on a face in a picture from hundreds of years ago.

So, I decided to, y’know . . . to give in and . . . and go with whatever was happening.

“Ray,” I answered, not noticing I’d remembered the name.

The bizarre hardening looked like it might be about done.

“My name is Impartial,” said the voice. “I am to show you The Kingdom. First, see me.”

I have to say Impartial’s voice sounded . . . flat . . . like only the actual words mattered, since there was really no tone or expression. It spoke so clearly. So . . . matter-of-fact.

Don’t ask how I knew Impartial wasn’t the voice of my own thoughts, or some hallucination. But when I heard it speak . . . that’s when I finally felt free to let myself notice things and think. I also felt my breathing slow way down, and the shakiness flood from my system in tingly waves, leaving me completely calm and settled. Then I was almost excited to watch the end of Impartial’s transformation from nothing. It might have felt like accepting fate.

Anyway, with a last big huff, Impartial became a thing made of thick charcoal smoke. It stood, or floated a little off the ground, where emptiness had been. I could see through it mostly, especially in places.

How else can I describe the way Impartial looked? Well, it had no features. I mean, there were no parts to tell apart, if that makes sense. Its edges were never that obvious, but blurred all around and shook, sort of like dark flames or fluid flickering out into the air.

I wondered if I should be as impressed as I was.

“I am not the essence of this age,” said the pleasant, echoing voice like a small waterfall. “Will you follow me?”

For, like, an instant, I was sure I was looking at someone or something I‘d once tried so hard to help.

Did Impartial know me?

But everything about before was still . . . missing.

“Yes,” I answered. “I’ll follow.”

I stood, no longer groggy, sick, or weighed down.

Then we travelled, side by side, as if gliding through a dream. Time lost all meaning. We might have been moving for hours . . . but it was also like I’d taken only a few short steps before the world around us changed, and we stopped.

I saw in our new place a crowd of people packed together tight in clusters. There were men, women, children . . . but all in total shambles. And I saw more bruises, rotting teeth, bloodshot eyes, and just general scum and filthiness than I could have ever imagined. Everyone’s clothes were tattered and worn. They smelled like trash, and urine, and so much worse.

It seemed strange to me how even the children stood so glum and steady, not moving at the adults’ feet. Everyone’s eyes were low and tired, giving their faces this sort of “never again” expression.

I was almost sure they couldn’t see me or my specter guide as I took in the sight of them.

“Who are these?” I asked.

“Citizens of The Kingdom,” said Impartial.

“What kingdom?”

“Really, you do not know?”

“I don’t,” I said, sure of it.

“There was once The City,” began Impartial, “which became The Union, and has since become The Kingdom. These citizens, as always, await their King’s return.”

“And who is . . . the king?” I asked.

“You have no idea?” The voice never rose or fell very far. It never sped up or slowed down. But somehow I could tell Impartial was shocked at my not knowing. “Jesus of course,” it said.

“Jesus…?” The word felt wrong, both to say and hear . . . like I wanted to shake myself to keep from saying it again, or push it out of my mouth (and mind) faster than I could. I had no idea why, but I especially hated how it felt to say a second time, when I asked, “Who is . . . Jesus?”

“Come,” said Impartial, “He returns now. You shall see for yourself.”

We passed right through the lifeless crowd like wind, coming to rest just outside.

There I spotted a ring of large men standing at the fringes of the rest. These wore leather clothes, and some held weapons rusted over in old blood. Others carried torn-up flags. I knew they must be soldiers.

“Why do they have weapons?” I asked dreamily.

“The Kingdom now spans this world,” said Impartial. “Yet The Kingdom must be always under threat. So, these men stand ever prepared to face kingdoms from other worlds that might appear at any moment to kill and conquer.”

Again, there was something so recognizable in what I saw and was being told, though I had no idea what.

Had someone shown me that same ring of ready soldiers before? Or, could I have once been one of them?

“Why do they think there are kingdoms in other worlds?” I wondered aloud, noticing a cutting feeling like regret beginning to tinge my inner calm.

“The heart of The Kingdom was once the heart of The Union,” answered Impartial, “still one of many in this world before it took the rest. Some hearts change not with the speed of facts, would you agree?”

“I think so,” I said, though talk of changing hearts seemed to further peel back and threaten my sense of deep, peaceful steadiness.

I took a slow breath, pressing my lips together as I pushed the air out sharply.

That was when I noticed the crude, black cages set in lines behind the soldiers, stretching out as far as I could see.

I gasped.

For crumpled and bent into every cage was a horribly disfigured person beaten almost to where you couldn’t tell they were even human.

I was sure the poor souls in those cages were all just moments from death. Forlorn and naked, they were a mix of sunken eyes, hair clumped in mud, and so many twisted or missing limbs. Some were being literally eaten away by obvious infections. Most were covered in hideous sores and open wounds, all caked in dirt.

The sight made me want to cry out, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I knew I wouldn’t be able to.

It was like the shock and pity I wanted to feel were just ideas I was rolling around.

“And these?” I gestured toward the cages, peering over at my guide.

“Watch,” Impartial replied.

Behind us came the creaking of giant wooden pieces knocking and sliding together.

I almost flinched when the crowd jolted half to life and burst into this dull, even cheer. I mean, all the voices called out the exact same words in impossibly unnatural unison. I couldn’t understand what they were saying.

I watched the crowd part lazily to form two long, crooked lines.

Then I spun just in time to see a massive, rickety wagon being dragged slowly toward us by two huge mules, one slightly smaller and scruffier than the other. At the top of the wagon, I saw two purple flags covered in strange golden symbols. The flags and symbols meant nothing to me.

As the wagon rolled by, a young man in the line of citizens to my right . . . kind of long-limbed, and crazy looking . . . flung off his patched-up clothes, and started throwing himself up in the air, over and over, landing in different mangled shapes on the ground.

An epic hush swept through the rest of the parted people. But the naked man seemed not to notice he was the only one doing anything or making any noise.

The big mules and wagon clopped to a halt. A side panel I hadn’t seen, held by thick, gnarly ropes, crashed to the ground like an ancient tree.

Inside, I saw only darkness.

Then out stepped a man about as tall as two regular people stacked on top of each other. Honestly, he looked way too big to have ever fit in the wagon . . . though seeing him emerge had the opposite effect as watching a pack of clowns spill out of their tiny car at the circus. The giant was dressed in clean, black clothes that stretched to fit his enormous form.

I thought: This must be the king, Jesus.

“See now what happens to the fool caught unaware when his King returns,” said Impartial, “for The King’s return occurs always at an unexpected time.”

The giant glared down at the naked man, then gazed back in through the wagon’s opening. Then he nodded, spun, and gripped the little man by his neck, all in a single stunning motion.

A new empty cage seemed to appear from nowhere. And the naked fool was tossed inside with so much force his head slammed against the bars in a dull, tinny THWANG.

“All those who challenge The King’s authority or divinity are kept imprisoned,” explained Impartial.

“Why . . . why did the king throw him in?” I asked.

“That is not The King,” said Impartial. “Yet The King must be ever feared lest His Kingdom soon be taken by another. Now . . . behold, The King.”

As the animals brought the wagon around in a misshapen, bumbling arc, I finally caught a good glimpse in through the open door. Inside I saw a woman dressed all in white. Her clothes and hair looked plain, far plainer than the beastly giant’s. She was more like any of the commoners in the crowd, only much cleaner and . . . softer.

I mean, I’d say she looked . . . more common than everyone else, somehow.

And next to the woman was a little table made from half a wagon wheel. On top of the table, I saw a husk made of burlap and straw stitched into the crude shape of a person.

“She is . . . the king?” I asked, sure I must be missing something.

“No,” said Impartial. “Can you not see The King beside her? King Jesus . . . The King, Jean Bur Spicules is His name. And today you have witnessed His return.”

I watched the husk flop a little on its table as the wagon crunched and jostled over stones.

The woman never moved at all. To me, she was the picture of absolute stillness and serene, quiet grace.

“And who is she?” I asked.

“She has been chosen for Him, as it is written. For love and conception is the role she has been called to and made ready for, even from her youth.”

I had a strange thought, too silly to ask Impartial about. I just . . . I wondered how someone could ever trust a person who was being forced to love them.

But before I could see any problems in that way of thinking, Impartial grabbed my wrist and flung me around to face the dreadful cages. Its grip felt cool and smooth, like glass or marble on my skin.

“Look,” Impartial commanded, “and see now the provision of The Kingdom.”

I squinted to refocus my eyes . . . I mean, just because I couldn’t believe what I was actually seeing. All the prisoners in their cages had morphed to twisted, lifeless corpses. They looked like they’d been dead and decaying for . . . for a really long time. Flies swarmed and buzzed around their rotting bodies.

Then all the citizens and soldiers burst out in violent, shrieking laughter. In front of everyone, and in their hands, I saw all kinds of different food . . . even things I knew I’d never seen before.

I watched the crowd gorge themselves as freely and loudly as a colossal herd of pigs with faces buried in their slop.

“Now that The King has come and gone,” continued Impartial, “His subjects need not fear His judgment; at least not for today. See how they receive their Royal Inheritance.”

“But the prisoners!” I exclaimed. “They’re all . . . dead!”

“Ah,” said Impartial, “but would all beings not kill for nourishment if they had to? The King gives His subjects a special gift, which they dearly prize. The gift is their Inheritance. Each can choose to kill another for food. And the other will die instantly without pain. This might seem cruel, but would you not do the same in the face of starvation? In The Kingdom, citizens kill those that refuse to recognize or honor their King. For all to have this special gift was The King’s first holy decree. As prophesied long ago, the Inheritance of Exchange would cause the issue of constant lack to resolve itself. And that is surely The King’s way . . . that all potential problems serve as their own solutions.”

I had no idea at all how to feel. What I saw seemed like it should be terrible . . . though Impartial’s words about the logic behind it did make sense to me.

That was when I had my first real memory . . . y’know, beyond just the name and a few other little things I could compare with what was going on. It must have been one of my oldest memories too. I . . . I saw myself as a boy fighting and killing imaginary enemies for hours out in my parents’ old Jacuzzi. I knew I hadn’t felt bad for killing those bad guys at the time.

So, the way things were in the kingdom must just be the only way things could be.

Still, as I watched the crowd suck down their delicacies, I wished for a world without all the necessary pain and understandable killing.

Obviously, such a world must not be possible.

I wondered why I wanted to care so much.

I wished I could remember more.