Five thousand empty faces. Seven thousand, maybe eight.
Faces without expression. Faces lacking desire, void of intent, tilting toward collapse outside the city.
“Can’t you see the people are hungry?”
Ten thousand absent eyes. More.
I whisper heavy lies into gaping ears. It’s too easy. The words just tumble in – down the drain, into the brain – it’s so simple! I remind them of choking dust on the road ahead, death and taxes, yesterday’s mistakes. I tell them anything at all, really, just not the truth. Anything but the whole truth.
The mob moves forward in the stupid shuffle of a dying herd, desperate for guidance, ignorant of direction. They don’t see me, not right now. I mean, I could show myself if I wanted to, and they would see me, oh, would they!
Someday.
For now, I caress their hollow, sagging cheeks from behind my veil. They look half starved. For now, I’ll have to be content with that.
An annotated itinerary:
We left for the lake a while, maybe an hour, ago. We’re walking in this nasty mess of a huddle, people keep bumping shoulders, and even in the best of human company that can be awkward and sweaty, but here it’s deliciously worse because so many are sick. We’ve got it all, coughing and gagging and wheezing; lesions and scabs and blood.
I trace a dripping trickle of it with the nail of my pinky finger. Lift it to my lips. It’s the nectar of human dread and despair. Tastes like vinegar and metal and sweet, sweet victory. But I digress.
We’re walking, some of us stumbling, toward the water. Up ahead, the pathetic king awaits. I can see him with his rabble. They’re gathered, even now, together on the hill before us, and that’s our first stop. First up, and it’s only getting started, this doomed journey of his. I got it all planned out and I cannot, literally cannot, wait.
A snap of the fingers and I’m squatting next to him on the hill.
“BOO!” It’s a classic jump scare I’ve tried a million times before. You know him. He deserves it. I do this thing where I make my eyes real big and kind of bloodshot, and I smile like all I want is to chew his face off. I swear this time he jumped.
“Hey.”
Hey, he says. Like he didn’t just soak his goofy robe.
“Gotcha that time, obviously. You’re getting soft.”
He looks at me. Just looks, says nothing. That little, holy smile.
“What do you want?” he asks after a couple seconds. I give him a good eye roll. I belch. He always hates that. The crowd persists in its lethargic advance below us.
“I want you to die, but I guess we both know that ain’t gonna to happen. I don’t know. Right now, I pretty much just want you to get really stressed out.” I grin. All the teeth, especially the rotten ones.
He sits there for a beat, arms around his knees, and he’s still looking at me. Into me, actually, and I gotta say…it doesn’t feel right. What kind of maniac cares so much?! I belch again and blow, inches from his mouth and nose now, and he turns his head to look at the crowd. Heeehee! I bet he can taste me.
“I know you been tired. I know you came here to rest.” He doesn’t say anything. He just keeps watching the people; they’re gathered in the grass at the foot of the hill now. Some of them are pointing, and some of them are coming up here. “Wimp. I know you’re wiped. I heard you talking to Daddy. No solitude for you, man. Gotta keep the people happy.”
“See the color?”
I don’t know what it is with this guy. The color? What?! That’s what I’m thinking, and I’m looking out there, and I see all kinds of colors. I tell him.
“Getting soft and getting old too, huh? Can’t see anymore. Your eyes are getting weak, buddy. Probably just as well. There’s all the blood puddling in goopy wounds. I call that color candy, you call it red. There’s grey, those are my guys, my shadows, whispering and fostering bad vibes. I see some white which has become, by the way, one of my favorites. So easy to stain. White clothing, white baskets, white loaves, white (and totally dead) fishies. Let’s see – ”
“Green.”
“…green? Okay, yeah, I noticed a girl gagging up – ”
“Stop,” he says. Stop. Man, I hate that. MAN, I really HATE when he does that. And his crummy face, so sad and hopeful, and so ready. He looks at me, for a second, and even though I know his guys are too busy freaking out – plus they don’t really believe in me anyway – even though I know they’re occupado, I cringe and I can’t help glancing around. He came here to rest. I know that too.
And now I know, now I can see, he looks totally rested.
“Green grass,” he says, holding out a hand towards the people, gathered now, ready to feed from – from what!!? What does he have to offer?
“Grass is stupid,” I say. I gotta say something. “Grass is for sheep.”
“Exactly,” he says. And then in the space of a second which feels like a lifetime, he gives me a nod and leaps to his feet.
“Philip!”
And I’m running now, okay? I’m sorry, but I’m outta here, I can’t watch this, and I’m pushing past the faces gazing up at him. Faces. Five thousand hungry faces. More! I’m trying to close my eyes, and I’m tripping and this SUCKS AND I CAN STILL SEE THEIR FACES LIT WITH HIS LIGHT TEN THOUSAND EYES BURNING ANDTENTHOUSANDDIRTYHANDSTWELVETHOUSANDEVENGRUBBYHUMANFINGERSGRABBINGSTUPIDSHEEPWITHOUT-”
“Philip!” He calls, and the crowd goes quiet. The sun is low. The water is still. The grass is green. “Can’t you see the people are hungry? Let’s get some food.”
Matthew 14:21 • Mark 6:34, 39 • Luke 9:12 • John 6:5 • Psalm 23