Modern Tragedy

[imamoderntragedy]

When Miss Rona Came To Town

 I woke up later than usual today. I’ve been a lot more tired recently than I was before it happened, but that’s okay because there is barely any traffic anymore so the drive to school takes half the time it did a few days ago.

 It has two names, the thing that’s caused all the traffic to disappear, and everyone around the world knows them by now so calling it by its real name is entirely unnecessary. At school everyone simply says “any more news on what they’re doing about it?” Everyone knows what it is. Either that or they call it a pet name, simply a shortened version of its full name, like a nickname I guess. Not that what we call it will matter much anymore. We’ll all be in isolation soon. The Prime Minister announced that closure off all schools in the UK yesterday, well, all the ones that didn’t already have confirmed cases. I watched the live feed on my phone with my mum as we made dinner. People had been calling for schools to close for weeks anyway so we weren’t really surprised when the decision was announced. The issue was more a matter of ‘when’ than ‘if’. My mum didn’t entirely understand why they needed to close though.

“You young people can’t get it so I don’t see why schools need to close.” Of course she wasn’t completely wrong, but she wasn’t entirely right either.

“What about the teachers mum?” I’d asked her. “What about them?” She didn’t reply to that. I had more points but I knew better than to say anything. She never liked being wrong.

 There was a power cut last night too. My sister was in the bathroom when the lights went out and she screamed which made me jump as well. She doesn’t like the dark so she stayed in my room until the lights came back on. My friends from school two towns over said that they had one about the same time. The WiFi went down for a few minutes as well. We all knew that it wasn’t what had caused the power to go out or the WiFi to go down. We made an educated guess, not that an educated guess from us would be worth much with our GCSEs and quarter of an A-Level. Either way we guessed that the power went out because of the effects of it. The lack of workers. The constant checking of the live death count online and then the checking it again. Nobody could tell for sure though, apart from maybe the government and the power companies. But they wouldn’t tell us.

 We are just year twelves.

 I arrived at school at about that same time that I always do and met with my friends at the top of the Sixth Form Center. We spoke about the Prime Minister’s speech. Everyone had watched the Prime Minister’s speech. For some reason, we kept talking about what we would do if we had some power in all of this. As if we though we knew how we could fix everything. We all knew that we couldn’t. We aren’t quite that ignorant to think we know everything that is at stake here. I don’t think the Prime Minister himself even knows everything that’s at stake here, even though we’d like to think he does.

 After that, we dispersed across the school to go to our form. That’s when our tutor announced that all of the year thirteens would have no lessons and had to clear out their lockers so they could leave after break. All of their lessons were cancelled and their school year was over. No one had expected that. No one I knew at least.

 For most of them it didn’t sink in. Or they didn’t believe it. Or they didn’t want to believe it. Their reactions were difficult to read. They ranged from stunned silence to loud complaints. For them, that email meant a year and a half of their lives wasted. What made it even worse was that they had no idea how this would affect their applications for university or apprenticeships. The uncertainty made some people cry.

 Then two free periods of wasted time, no one did their work. Most people were dashing around the room saying their rushed last goodbyes to the friends they had made in their one and a half years of wasted time. There was a person in the corner crying out that they would have tired harder in their mock exams if they knew the it was going to be the mock results that they would need for their application. Their friends were there too, trying to reassure them that the teachers would put in a good word, of course, they didn’t know if it was true or not, they were just pretty sure.

 At break, everyone was saying their final goodbyes. I wrote in some leavers books, although you could hardly call them that. The books were actually ‘Top 100 Graduate Employers: 20th Edition’ by The Times newspaper because the school had ordered double the amount that they had actually needed for the school’s post-18 programme, which would now be simultaneously a lot more and a lot less applicable because of it. The school hadn’t even put together the yearbooks yet, so there was no way the students were getting them now. All of the companies involved in the printing process were probably already closed down already anyway.

 English Literature was next. Our teacher did the same as our form tutor but with slightly more information. New emails sent out every minute. We were supposed to do a new Keats poem although we made the silent unanimous decision that reading Keats’ work wouldn’t do anything to brighten the mood. Duffy wouldn’t either. So we just talked for the entire hour about the effects that it would have and how we would do our lessons while in isolation. There were some jokes passed around about how our teacher, Mr Wilson, should keep safe because he was one of the ‘vulnerable few’ but in all reality, it wasn’t a joke. We all knew that.

 We also knew that Mr Wilson was one of the ‘vulnerable few’ however he didn’t seem like the kind of person who would leave his house on a regular basis anyway. We could all imagine the stacks of books that he would be reading. Between the jokes there were questions. Too many to count. The answer to all was the same.

“I don’t know.” His words were repeated like a solemn mantra that only brought more dread every time it was repeated.

 Politics was the opposite. There was a total of five unanswerable questions before the teacher dismissed them all with a swipe of his hand and a single shout. He pretended that it didn’t exist after that. As if everything was fine and the world wasn’t burning to ashes around us.

 From all of that I concluded that they didn’t know. I checked with the others. None of their teachers knew. But how could they not know? They were teachers. Teachers knew everything. Well, teachers used to know everything. They don’t anymore.

 All mass gatherings had been ‘advised against’ by the government since last week, but Headmaster Rhodes was determined to give year eleven a “proper send-off” as he called it. I caught a glimpse of the assembly hall. The chairs were all arranged an arm’s length apart. As if that would do anything to stop it.

 I checked the death toll in the car on the way home. The numbers rose by forty people today.

 It was getting quicker. It was getting too quick.

 “Have you heard about the rivers in Italy?” My mum was sitting in the driver’s seat navigating her way through the near-empty roads.

“I haven’t.” I glanced up from my phone and turned towards her.

“They’re blue again. They were green, you know that ones in Venice?” I nodded. “Well, they’ve turned blue again. There’s even some fish in them. People thought all the fish had died years ago, but just this morning there were reports of fish.” She smiled sporadically and then bit her lip nervously and her face grew back into a harrowing stare.

“At least some good has come out of it.” I replied, turning back to my phone.

 Maybe it could be the start of a new era. Who knows. All I know is if this is the transition from one era to another then it’s dangerous, terrifying, and full of uncertainty.

 I don’t like it.

[imamoderntragedy]

My Dearest Helios,

I hope you do not mind the name however I believe that for our own safety we should remain nameless. We truly are unique, which I do not believe to be a bad thing, however many people who are blinded by the narrowness of their own vision and they would be quick to persecute us and refuse to see the beauty in our love. A love that, despite these narrow-minded fools who believe they can call judgement on what they name beauty, yet the only thing that these imbeciles have to compare it to is a fake loveless marriage and their own elevated reflection that is distorted by fresh cracks in the mirror, will remain the most vivacious and true love that any living creature’s eyes will behold in their lifetime.

Our love, I can assure you, is the soul issue that crowds my mind. The inside of my head would be a sight to behold were I to ever see it. I am quite sure that at the present it is a makeup of images of your wondrous face combined with your handsome name written beside it a thousand times over. Ever since we met on that cold winter night my hands have been aching to reach out for you, my lips have been craving yours, and I cannot help but wonder: when can we meet again? I must admit that I wish your answer to be ‘now’ but I know that it cannot be true. It is those narrow-visioned, snobbish imbeciles that are keeping us apart. If it were not for them I would be by your side every hour like a loyal hound, showering you with the love and praise that you deserve. Every minute that I spend away from your magnificent presence would be spent labouring on my newest creations, all of which I would gift to you. Yet I know this cannot be anywhere but my dreams. Do not be mistaken, however, this does not make out love any less real. Perhaps it makes it even more so, we understand the hardship of being apart and so we can cherish the time we have together more dearly, hold each other closer, and speak in the sweetest voice that we can manage despite the knowledge that our painful parting may be mere seconds away. Then when we must go we are reminded of our tragic love through every passer by who seems to have the dazed and distant look sketched across their faces, free to advertise their love to the world without fearing the possibility of questions. Most could sing a ballad for their sweetheart and not a single person would bat an eye, but if I were to lean in close and whisper ‘I love you’ in the privacy of a crowded room, which I have been so inclined to do on many an occasion, then the entire country would know by the next day’s dawn. They would spread rumors and only we would know the truth.

The truth is something more beautiful than anything they would ever hear. Our love is as fresh as a pink cherry blossom in the early spring, but it is not nearly as fragile. Instead it is as strong as Atlas, whom holds that wide expanse of the sky on his impressive shoulders. We stand the test of time, a trying one that will be a struggle, but I hold out a hope that there will be a day when people like us can live and love freely and be who we truly are. Maybe it is too much to hope that it will happen in our time, but it will come. For now we must remain a secret, but our love is something that I will never let go. I promise you that were we to ever grow apart I would cry for the rest of my days as a bachelor awaiting your return.

I cannot wait too long to see you alone again, I am afraid I may lose my mind. I am awaiting your reply.

You are my one and only love, forever and always.

Icarus.

[imamoderntragedy]

The Astronomer

Who on earth are mightier than rulers? Astronomers.

Why? Because rulers trust Astronomers to tell them about things that no one else can understand.

The power of Astronomers were widely known, but the extent of those powers were unknown by even most Astronomers. With one false reading, intentional or not, they can topple an entire Empire.

In the early ages of civilization people went to Astronomers to learn of the upcoming events in their lives, whether the decisions that they would have to make would be good or bad, and to hear of the kind of fate they had written in the stars. Some loved Astronomers, some feared them, but almost all relied on them.

There was a King, Ramazan, who ruled over an empire that stretched across a quarter of all known land and held dominance over the trading routes of the Great Sea. He was a wise man who noticed his peoples dislike for his only son and he realised that one way to change their minds would be to try and make him something that people would naturally love. An Astronomer. The King made an appeal to the court astronomers, his late wife had been fond of keeping them close at hand, requesting that he teach the Crown Prince the secrets of reading the skies above.

One night, the days of astronomers are altered so they can work through the night, after days of no response, the King arrived at the circular office that had been adopted by the astronomers to inquire about an answer.

“Astronomer Etafanos! Have you received my proposal? It was sent to you almost seven sunsets ago and I have not had a single note of servant since. Surely the answer is not too difficult a decision.” The King was standing in the center of the room with his arms spread wide and a hopeful smile across his face. Behind him was the Crown Prince who would, in the future, take his father’s place as King and who was, at present, trying to make the young female servants giggle with his roaming eyes and so-called charming half-smile. “I am afraid you are right Your Majesty, the decision is not a difficult one to make.” The Head Astronomer remarked, keeping his head bowed in respect. “No?” The King let out a hearty laugh, the kind that would warm an icy soul. “So you will not teach my son?” The question was closely followed by a dejected sigh. “That is correct Your Majesty.” The Astronomer lifted his head, unafraid to stare into the King’s eyes. “There must be a reason for it.” His voice was calm and accepting, he had known the answer already, but he had other ways of changing the opinion of the people. “Your Majesty it is not morally acceptable for a future King to learn the maps and meanings of the stars. Even if it was morally acceptable the Crown Prince is not that type of person who would be accepted by any self-respecting Astronomer as an apprentice. He is much too involved in his own affairs.” The room had stilled around Etafanos as the carefully prepared words left his mouth. Though he was reluctant to admit it out loud he knew that Astronomer Etafanos was right. The Crown Prince did not have the correct skills to be an Astronomer; it was a fact that he had accepted even before he had sent the proposal. “I understand,” King Ramazan gave a sharp nod and turned just enough to see his son winking at one of the servants out of the corner of his eye. “You’re a good man, Etafanos.” The King left with the sound of his fine clothes sliding off one another and echoing through the hall that passed the circular room and the clattering of the armored men that followed him wherever he went.

The King had only wanted to give his son that best chance of being a much beloved King like himself however that ideal was dashed be reasons that were out of his control. Now he could only teach the Crown Prince to act as he should which was promised to be a difficult task. He had indulged his son as a child and now that his boy was verging on manhood it would be a difficult task to undo a lifetime of bad habits. Not to say that it couldn’t be done, but in the case of Crown Prince Mehmed the habits he had learned could not be undone. Not even with divine intervention. He was too far gone with his ways and too unwilling to change the way that he lived his life because it had worked perfectly well for him thus far therefore, in his mind, change was illogical.

Once the King left the occupants of the room scattered, continuing with the tasks they had previously been engaged in and most of them filing out of the room to follow the King. Crown Prince Mehmed did not leave immediately after his father though. He remained among the bustling bodies that were filing out of the room and passing papers between the three Astronomers who were once again seated at their desks. Mehmed glided slowly across the bright tiles that lined the floor towards the only young women that ha not smiled at him during the short meeting and pressed a dirty hand onto a stack of precision-drawn charts in ink as dark as the night sky. His lips pulled up into a feline grin and his eyes searched the woman’s body. Her blank stare was unreadable and fixed on an invisible point of the wall somewhere behind his back. “Your Highness,” the woman began and a knowing confidence glinted in his eye, “please do not lean on them.” Her eyes didn’t move and her face remained as it had been. Dull. Lifeless. Yet still pretty in a way that seemed very easy on the eye. “What makes them so special?” Crown Prince Mehmed thought this was a rather clever method of flirtation. It was not. His carelessness and disregard made her grimace internally and want to stamp him into the ground until you could only see the last hair on his head and then stamp some more. “Those charts are very important charts, each of which took me months to complete.” The woman’s attempt at a smile appeared twisted and mangled with her lips pressed together and a harsh glared in her dark eyes that flicked momentarily to the Crown Prince’s irritation inducing face. “I suppose that’s a good enough reason.” His hand slid off the parchment leaving a dark mark across the top sheet of paper, nothing that would effect the reading of the graph, but still irritating. “What is your name?” Crown Prince Mehmed demanded in a lower voice that his sister’s maids had loved. “Nefise, Your Highness.” She bowed, picked up the stack of paper which was now could not be presented to the Head Astronomer with the disgusting mark across the top sheet, and left the circular room. The Crown Prince’s dough eyes set on her retreating figure and and he smirked.

[imamoderntragedy]

Imagine.

One warm night in the summer laying across the short grass, a cool breeze running over you. It’s near silent as you watch the universe above. The stars and the moon have kept you company for hours after the sun had to say ‘goodnight’ and you are just laying there in peace. Breathing in, you can practically feel the freshness of the air as it fills your lungs, expanding them, then letting it all out in a content sigh. You slide your hand slowly over the soft green sea between you and reach out to them. “I have a theory.” Their soft murmur was carried to your ears by the kind wind, their fingers slipping between yours, interlocking, wishing that you wouldn’t let go. You would never do that. “What is it?” After glancing over you notice that their eyes are trained on the stars with their face lit up by the glittering universe scattered above you. “Well,” their eyes danced across the stars, “you know some people are drawn together?” You nodded, a blade of grass tickled the tip of your nose, because you know the feeling well. “I think that’s because when the universe was first created their atoms were near each other.” Even with scrunched brows and pursed lips they looked breath-taking under the white light of the moon. “Then, over time, their atoms just keep trying to get back together.” You stared in wonder as they rolled their cheek onto the cool grass. “Do you feel that?” Your eyes locked together, searching for an answer. “Feel what?” You had to be sure. They turned lazily towards the sky again and soaked up its beauty. “Feel the attraction.” Their eyes danced across the night sky flicking from one star to another and then to some blank space just before settling on the moon. Your gaze remained set firmly on them. Side by side the two of you laid there with crickets playing ballads in the distance. “I feel like I’m being pulled towards you.” They admitted, moving their head closer and facing you. Their eyes crinkled in the corners glowing with the reflection of a perfect map of the stars. “I do.” You whispered, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks and they gave you the most brilliant smile.Leaning forward slightly your foreheads press together and you felt their warm breath fan across your face ever so slightly. This person. You thought. This person deserves the universe.

[imamoderntragedy]

Selfie

My eyes searched, what seemed to be, the deserted park that surrounded me, stretching from the oversized iron gates that had only overactive squirrels passing through them to the slow river that flowed through the other side at a leisurely pace, calm and relaxed with nowhere to be. There was no one else around. It must be safe. Reluctantly, I slid my phone out of my pocket and turned it from one hand to the other. After a few seconds of deliberation I pressed my thumb onto the screen to unlock it, lifting my head up momentarily to check the park again for anyone else. Still no one. Moving my phone up slowly to frame my face I tried my best to smile into the camera. After snapping one quick picture I lover my arms before anyone can see. I just wanted to see what it’s like to take a selfie. I see them all the time and they look so good. Peeking at my phone screen I see it. Terrible. The sun was shining to brightly behind me. My hair was a mess. My smile was ugly. I couldn’t even glance away from the screen before water began to well-up in the corners of my already-reddening eyes and my mind began whirring with thoughts of what I had done wrong. ‘Trying to take a selfie’ was at the top of that list. Unwilling to try again I took a sharp breath and blinked away my tears.

“You okay?” A voice called. My muscles tensed as I turned my head only a fraction towards the person walking along the path. They must have come from behind the hedgerow. Did they see me? I glanced behind them, then quickly to the other side of me to see who they were talking to but there was only the two of us. They didn’t have any earphones in either. “Why are you looking around?” The corners of their lips turned up in a soft smile when our gazes connected. Blood rushed loudly through my ears and heat warmed them. Whoever this person was they have a nice smile. I bet they take loads of good selfies. “What’s wrong?” They pressed with a kind sincerity laced in their tone. “Wrong?” The word barely found its way out of my throat. “If you were okay you wouldn’t be looking so upset. So, what’s wrong?” The persistence astounded me as they gave a small encouraging nod. “I, well, I was, um, nothing big really, I was just taking a, uh, a selfie and I just, I mean, it doesn’t look good, really, at all. I was just, you know, thinking about how people take good ones... Selfies I mean.” It was a half truth. “Why don’t you show me the picture? I could give you some pointers.” They kept smiling. It must be out of sympathy. I hate this. “No, it’‘s fine. I just look really ugly.” My voice was as quiet as the whispers of the wind and I kept my eyes trained on my phone that sat in my lap each side being held tightly by a hand. “Have you ever taken a picture of the sunset with a really old camera?” The unusual question baffled me but I nodded my head in response anyway. “It usually turns out like shit doesn’t it?” Again, I nodded my head. The timings have to perfect for a picture like that to look good. If you don’t get the right moment there’s just too much light for the camera to focus and it’s a complete mess. “Well, that’s what this is.” They grinned with what seemed like all of the confidence in the world filling their features. “One of the most beautiful and breathtaking things in the world. The camera just can’t contain its beauty. That’s the first rule of taking a selfie. Remember that the picture my look horrid but you don’t.” A smile found its way to my lips. That was the most beautiful thing that anyone had said to me. I needed that.

[imamoderntragedy]

Could I have this dance?

“Fine don’t talk to me!” Their mind rushing with frustration as they stormed out of the cramped apartment. Once onto the street they were attacked by the bright city lights that lit up the dark cloud covered sky. The fumes from the cars and the rank smells of the crowded streets did nothing to clear their head. They ducked into an alleyway and pressed their hod forehead onto the cool brick surface of a wall, a few deep breaths later their thoughts had settled down and began to organize themselves. A though passed through their brain: Why was the love of their life so mad at them? A sharp pain struck deep into their chest as the realisation hit them and their heart filled with a sudden weight of dread and regret. They had stormed out like a child and left the fight unresolved. That was the worst decision they could have made in that situation.

Turning back they began to push through the waves of people that were pushing against them. But they had to get to the apartment. As the crowd pushed against them they found themselves being thrown around the crowd and eventually tossed into the wide doors of a shop and as soon as they entered they laid eyes on a bouquet of the other’s beloved sunflowers. A perfect start for an apology. After they had paid for the flowers they went back onto the street for another attempt at swimming through the waves of people that were pushing against them. To their surprise, there was only a few people  this time, surging past in small groups that were easy to push through. Soft spits of rain splashed against their face, but they brushed it off. A few seconds later the spits became heavier and heavier and were eventually followed by a bright flash that sliced across the sky and then a deep rumble echoed in their ears. Once they heard this a sudden urgency kicked in and they turned their fast walk to a jog, and eventually a sprint.

The first glance around the apartment was a desperate one, their eyes roaming everywhere in the empty apartment for signs of the love of their life. A sob broke through the paper this walls and they jumped at the sound. In a split second they were in the bedroom, taking in the heart-wrenching sight of their love with tears turning their beautiful face into a red blotchy mess, still beautiful, no doubt about that, but a beautiful mess. With tears streaming down their red face, eyes shut tightly shutting out the rest of the world as they sniffled and wiped their long sleeves across their face. They had always feared storms. Curled up in a ball and pushed into the corner of the room they squeezed their head to cover their ears from the angry rumbles outside. I only took a second for them to react. Dropping the flowers, the other rushed towards them and pulled them in their arms and began to kiss the tears away, apologising over and over again. “No,” the other choked, “it’s not you,” they told them timidly. “I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left.” They repeated desperately and begging for forgiveness. There was a sudden flash outside that cut them off and they pulled the other closer whilst cowering from the storm. The other understood. In a bid to ease the others fears slightly they fished a pair of earphones from their pocket along with their phone. Still keeping on arm around their lover they managed to connect the earphones and put of their joint playlist. Slipping the earphones into the other’s ears they pulled the other up into their arms. The other glanced up at them with their puffy, tear-stained eyes which was returned by a small smile. “Could I have this dance?” They asked holding them tightly and with a meager nod as a reply they began swaying together. They danced. And danced. For hours. Even after the storm had passed. 

[imamoderntragedy]

On the Bank of the Styx

I'm lazing languidly on the rocky bank of the Styx. Soft murmurs from the water dance around my ears telling me to join its treasure trove of souls but I try to ignore those sweet whispers. Instead I overhear the constant ramblings of Momus with Eris and Deimos listening carefully and my throat too sore to say a thing. Beating down unforgiving rays Apollo sent none of Aeolus' forgiving winds to lessen the burden on my burning skin. My only hope of relief was running past a few steps from my reach taking the form of the cool dark waters of the Styx itself. I often long to reach my hand across the rough cracked soil of the bank and graze it over the surface of the running river but I just as often pull my hand back knowing my fate if I do.

Staring up at the sky I look around with hopefulness trying to glimpse a passing cloud but there were none. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath of the thick air thinking of where the clouds had disappeared. They must all be cowering around the top of mountains away from Apollo's torture. What lucky clouds they must be. I would like to join them one day. Trekking to the peak of Mount Olympus. Aeolus' winds rushing over my shoulders and Apollo's warm rays brushing my back. Then when I reach the top I would look up through teary eyes to take in the shimmering light reflecting off the golden gates of Olympus. Greetings would welcome me in the form of open arms belonging to Asclepius and Attis. Helping me after my long tiring journey they would heal me and listen to my story. The curious Caerus would walk by and hear my struggle then guide me to Athena and Aphrodite before praising me with kind words of my bravery and moving on. Then, embracing me tightly, Athena and Aphrodite would allow me to join them in a visit to Hymenaios, Hera, and Hestia smiling and laughing all the way. Just as I took the seat at their table Tyche would glide by and wave to me gracefully giving me a flirtatious wink.

I open my eyes and realize that I had been swept up in a daydream. However much I want to be there, that is not where I am. I am here. Forced to lie on the tear soaked bank of the Styx crushed under the weight of my own world. Sometimes I wonder if I ever made the decision to allow the river to pull me in and soothe my blistering skin, would I be affected? I feel nothing. I barely have a soul for the river to tear from my body. But I don't want to test the limits of the Styx. In the past it has made attempts at crawling up the bank and reaching for my hand to guide me to its mysterious waters. But it has not captured me yet.