Saturday 7 May 2016

Dark Fiction - Corpuscle


By Casey Douglass

‘We are meant to flow, to move from one event to another, not to dig our heels in and clasp the objects around us.’

The hushed audience murmured as hundreds of tired minds processed the information. A few muted claps and a coughing fit later, the grey-maned man at the lectern smiled and continued.

‘What happens when we stay in one place for too long? That one area soon becomes all too familiar. I am not just talking about location, but occupation, inclination and many other areas of life. Humans lose their edge when they are comfortable, when they have everything that they think they need, when they feel safe. The irony is that this is when they are truly in the most danger. You!’ he pointed at a chubby blonde woman in the front row. ‘You!’ he pointed at a suited man with thick-rimmed glasses. ‘You! You! You!’ his pointing finger aimed and arced across the room, the tip jarring nerves and increasing pulses wherever it landed.

‘Wake up! You are a long time dead! Move on to new things and don’t grasp at illusion. Don’t get angry or frustrated with life’s hurdles. Don’t lust for things or give in to your baser urges, use that energy to better yourself and the world!’

The crowd jumped to its feet and the air erupted in rapturous applause, whistles and cheers. The man took a step back and bowed. 

‘Thank you! Thank you for listening to the rantings of an old man. If I can reach just one person, my work here is done! Goodnight!’

More whistles swelled into the rafters above, the windows of the old hall fogging with condensation. He waved and vanished behind the heavy red curtain, the fabric muffling the noise from the other side. 

He hummed a tuneless ditty as he trotted down the steps, his mind already fantasizing about the money the stall would be making tonight, and how many hookers he could afford to employ simultaneously at the hotel later.