The Peoples of the Key and Lock

The Peoples of the Key and Lock

There once were two towns, both of strong, proud folk with meager estate, perched in old stone houses above a valley with river meandering between. The towns had both good and bad years, as towns do.

Then the Invisibles arrived.

So it happened on one night, the kind of night when pies are left out to cool in the autumn breeze, both towns’ folk took after dinner strolls along river and upon returning discovered; !robbery!, !thievery!, !unspeakable betrayal!... all the pies were gone.

Next mourn when women folk went down to the river to draw water and begin their daily toils, stories flew criss-cross over the water. All talk was on the thievin’ in their midst and, as happens when women folk get to talkin' bout this and that, soon the men folk get the idea that a meeting should be held.

So each town held meeting and speak of the violation they had all suffered.

One town in their wisdom decided to build fences and lock their houses when leaving for the evening's strolls, as only makes right sense. The other town decided that pie was only good for one thing, namely eating, and if there was hunger in their midst then they would fight it how they knew best, namely baking. They decided to place vittles out nightly, with a key under the pan or plate as a sign of welcome; in hopes that the hunger would be fed and the Shamed would fess up bringing all to light.

So each town enacted their plan with haste and fervor. And as brisk dusk fell, one town was alight; windows defiantly thrust open, the other cold and dark as if braced for impending battle.

Next mourn when women went to draw water, and begin their daily task; words hurled across the river. “What fouls you are”, said the people of locks and fences, “to feed the Lazy offa the sweat of your toils.” “What folly”, returned the people of keys and open windows, “hunger when met with ill-will only breeds cruelest desperation!”

Both in their wisdom were correct. The town of locks and fences had three houses robbed. The town of keys and open windows found vittles gone, plates and all. So, as women folk talk, get an idea into their heads, so men-folk get the notion it’s about time for a meeting to be held. The town of locks and fences decided they were still too soft. They needed police with clubs to patrol the streets, impose a curfew on all. The town of keys and open windows decided that as fall was coming hunger must be much greater than imagined so they ought to hang coats, hats and gloves on shrubs and lower branches. For as you are hungry, also do you get awful cold.

So each town by their wisdom so set to work. Attics and basements, alleyways and dark corners were the places of preparation.

Next mourn came the women folk went to draw their first water for the day, and began their chats each side further spoke their part. The town of locks, fences and clubs jeered still more fervently. “You townsfolk will be robbed blind and left helpless to give away your life blood and get nuthin’ in return!” The town of keys and open windows, and coats made their snide reply; “To be cold and hungry without a friend in the world is the recipe of murder both to human and of common decency.” So as women get to talkin’ and men get to noddin’, they reckoned another meeting was about in order.

So the town of locks, fences and clubs were further outraged. Police and curfew added none to their security, four houses robbed and not a witness found. In turn the town of keys, open windows and coats found all they had given gone with no trace none of thank you given. So each town devised the last desperate and final step, for none could think of any other.

Next mourn; when women yawn and warm their hands by newly stoked fires and head to the waters to draw their daily ration, civil tongues did they employ. The towns people of locks and keys, of open windows and strong fences of clubs and coats did all washed out their buckets, their ears, and eyes, set to what made sense.

So they did pull down stone by stone and so dissolve the towns of stone perched on their lofty heights, and built from them a third town bridging the river, connecting folk on both sides. They set to work this final solution for the Invisibles' hunger, cold and want of house and work, acceptance and community. As if in response Invisible did at once appear that night. Lights set the valley aglow between those old cold stone towns. There was born the town between, a town of generosity and caution, of wild hope and shrewd planning. In their midst did they greet anew old neighbor and new alike. With new eyes they saw hunger and sickness, grief and pain in all their forms, along with their inadequate but ample remedies. The third town all slept soundly and dreampt of robust spring.

Last Great Gesture

The door slammed so hard it didn’t close. The light streamed out, a sliver of warmth across the cold snowy street. The hollow prints, still fresh, the only marks of humanity upon the tranquil scene, and they too were filled one drifting snow flake at a time. Soon all trace would be erased, and by next morning when they found her there would be no hope of recreating those last moments.

More fuss would circle around her, than had ever happened in a day of her life, all save the first. Her birth was one of silent tears, strains, and relief. Shouting would be the one constant in her life, from her very beginning to her last moments on this earth. Never one to yell back, quiet rage slowly built within. She knew her place, and never a day went by she was not reminded. First to last none-withstanding.

Life was hard when she was young, dreams and hopes could not help but flood the clean expanses of her imagination in stark contrast to sewage puddles on the corners that were her nursery. It would be hopeful to say she learned, and learned well, the costs of dreams, but sadly it was a habit she never broke.

Her teenage years were much the same, placing hopes and dreams as olive branch crowns on any passersby who might be the secret to her freedom from the invisible bonds that held her on the street. Her mother lasted until her 17^th birthday and then vanished, no one saw, but all knew her fate.

She was destined for greatness, hope was her only choice; love had to be her freedom. Many men came, and more left; her inward rage only mounted. The world could not be this way; the world simply could not be this way. She turned inward, seeking her salvation from within.

She dabbled in religions as many sample pizza toppings, mixing and matching but the grease just never seemed to sit well, and as she regurgitated the words to her… friends... the results were the same: Food poisoning.

Then came the great night, the night for which she would finally have her fame, the night when all would take note, newspapers proclaim her story and carry her picture, at least for a day. Her first of many lovers came back into town, he had made his fortune and come to take her from this place. Classic Fairytale ending, eight years, five minutes too late. For as he found her; body warm, lips parted, and arms stretched wide for his embrace; that which caused her to move about in this world had left her. Hope, had left her, or she had finally parted ways with it. She was dead, no cause of death could be found, no visible trauma, no fresh wound marks to be seen, no health conditions worthy of her demise. With all the science, all the tests all the reason and intellect brought to the task, no one could see what was clear, a broken heart leaves no visible marks to be seen and yet covers all we see.