The Fool and the Donkey - Track II

TRACK 2 - “Soul Mountain” - Composer, Lewis, Lynsi 

Birhor galloped through air, whinnying and chirping in simultaneous tones. Lynsi looked down and, though the Eldritch could see her, she could not see them. It was as though they were not there at all. To them, this was simply a stage, a play to behold, while for her it was life as one would experience it. The Beast, on the other hand, knew that both perspectives were equally true in their own right; a fact which he would never tell Lynsi. It didn’t matter much to him whether he was being observed by an Eldritch audience or if he was truly on the saddle of a horse with the consciousness of a self-aware bird. The difference meant little and life, like a play, was meant to be experienced in its fullness. 

The Beast pointed. “Lynsi! Hey, Lynsi! Check this out!” Lynsi fixed her gaze and followed Beast’s elongated fingernail. 

Before them were shades of purple and hues of violet wisps, emanating from crystallized undergrowth and flowers upon a mountain overhead. Lynsi’s eyes widened. 

“Is that…?” She tightened her grip around the Beast. “Soul Mountain?” 

The Beast smiled back at her. “Looks just like it, doesn’t it?” 

“But I—I didn’t think it was real.” 

“Seems it is. What’s the story behind that place again, Lynsi?” 

Lynsi took in the dark clouds overhead, the snowflakes tangoing and becoming apart of the tapestry of violet-tinted snow. 

“Well, in my song, it is said Soul Mountain, once a mountain of abundant golden fruits and vegetation, froze over cause of a curse.” 

“Why?” 

“You already know why.” 

“Well, yeah, but I wanna hear it anyway,” the Beast didn’t tell her the audience below awaited with bated breath to hear its legend.

“Something to pass the time. What about you, Birhor? You wanna hear it?” 

Birhor snorted. “Birhor gives little shits about mountains and whether or not they’re capable of possessing souls. Besides, it is Birhor, roll the R, you uneducated ear-worm.” 

Rather than roll his “R’s”, the Beast rolled his eyes.

He gestured back at Lynsi to speak. She began: 

“Eons ago, Soul Mountain was rich with minerals, an alchemist’s dream. To climb to the top of Soul Mountain was to reach one’s truest, earnest desire above all else. It was innocent, as all things are in their youth. With time, the greed and wars of the surrounding villages below left a trail of blood on its mounds, corrupting them to their core. To protect it from further burgeoning evil, Nature cast a cursed blizzard upon Soul Mountain and froze every branch, every leaf, every root that had grown there. It’s been like that since. The day Soul Mountain thaws will be the day it is free of the surrounding evil that desires it. If anyone attempts to climb Soul Mountain now, they will freeze, much like the vegetation and undergrowth, no matter how much they bundle up. However, those who cannot climb can reach the top of Soul Mountain without freezing as those who cannot climb usually aren’t able to partake in wars and bloodshed.” 

“How can you reach the top of Soul Mountain if you can’t climb?” The Beast asked. 

“A miracle. Either that or determination. A mix of both, perhaps. Unfortunately, no one’s been able to break the curse due to the impossibility of that task.” 

Birhor galloped through the blizzards of Soul Mountain, breaking the hypnotic dance and fall of its cursed snowflakes. The Beast and Lynsi observed the frozen silhouettes of forgotten voyagers scattered about its asymmetrical formations. The violet tinted snow reflected hues of blueish-purple light unto those cryogenic corpses despite the stars above. 

This song, like others, had been rejected and cast aside since it lacked in its ability to inspire. 

In her mind, these types were the ones frozen across Soul Mountain. They couldn’t see the point in the why of the impossibility or how that played a key role in its lyrics. They demanded that the mountain be reached by those who cannot climb because it would make the demander feel all warm and fuzzy, which was vitally more important than any commentary Lynsi had within her to give. 

If a disabled person couldn’t perform the impossible or the near impossible, like being able to reach the top of a mountain without the ability to climb, what good were they? They were cast aside, like the song, like Lynsi herself. 

“Hey—Lyn—Lynsi?” The Beast brought her back to the present moment. 

While Lynsi had been lost in ruminations, as she tended to do, the stage below had shifted in the dark. 

All stage lights had brought attention to Soul Mountain and all eyes of the Eldritch audience had paid little attention to the kabuki actors getting to work before them. The coffee-stained desk had been picked up and carried away. The dividers and styrofoam walls had been pushed to the background and hidden behind the red curtain. These actors were swift and stepped lightly on their toes as they carried on their work. 

The orchestra had continued, switching from “William Tell: Overture” to a cover of Brandon Boone’s “The Shifting Mound (Movement III)” to further enhance focus on Soul Mountain and Lynsi’s legend. 

The stage came to life and stretched itself in all directions. The auditorium adjusted along with the stage, filling in space where there once was none, stretching out time in parallel. Clock ticks lasted a few seconds longer, breaths were inhaled slower, and the wind picked up, as it had more room to give into entropic forces. There was nothing but the liminal space of the auditorium, yet that same auditorium was in itself boundless. Capable of filling itself into things that didn’t and never had existed, all because it could, all because it desired a performance. 

It was either that or face an eternal realization that only it existed, nothing else but it. Forever. It would stare into an abyss, if only there was an abyss. It would stare into darkness, if only there was darkness. There was nothing else but this. So this show, where ever it went, had to continue. For it must. Anything was preferable than contemplating the things outside of it that didn’t and never would exist. Eternally. Forever and ever. 

So, it distracted itself with light, with hues and shades of that light, with the rhythmic galloping of a mechanical horse hoisted in the air by mechanical chains from above. With the pointing of a beast-man and the girl in a wheelchair who followed its gaze. It distracted itself with the stage lights that shifted from the mountain back to the concrete, painted black stage. 

The red curtains had further parted and kabuki actors had finished putting in blue-painted fences perpendicular to the orchestra below. A line of people formed on parallel sides of the stage. Flowers and undergrowth bloomed past concrete, as if to imitate the likeness of an open space. Similarly to an amusement park or carnival at night.

Most of the neon lights that the kabuki actors had installed were in various shades of blue. For this was the Festival and most of its festivities, rides, and merchandise were, if not nearly all of it, in some shade of blue. 

“There it is!” said the Beast. “How you feeling, Lynsi? Pumped up? Nervous? Thrilled?” 

He ignored her trembling fingers and her head burrowing into his hairy shoulder. She said nothing. 

Birhor slowed its galloping and descended toward the line. Dust picked up and wafted over the audience as Birhor steadied its footing. Lynsi didn’t dare to look up. 

The Beast, on the other hand, was more than happy to drink in the view and, oh, what a view it was. 

Most of the denizens in line were women and they were dressed in tightened corsets and somewhat translucent thongs. Their bare breasts hung over leather and their nipples were covered in star themed stickers. Their hair were dyed various colors of blue, pink, red, and green. Their faces were pierced and their skin was tattooed from neck to ankle with quotes and designs from beloved shows. The men, on the other hand, dressed in a mixture of leather jackets and suits. They carried themselves with an air of professionalism. 

Any fully dressed woman who dared to get in line seemed to be shooed away. They could not enter the Festival without exposing great amounts of skin, as plainly stated in the rules affixed to the fences. For their worth equaled to their beauty rather than any art or words. The men who partook in this festival only wanted more skin and more fulfilled hedonistic desires.

That was, after all, how they could empower the women in their lives. They were feminists, damn it, and if the women in their lives weren’t comfortable in their near nakedness, the men would ensure that comfort, by any means necessary. 

Beyond the fences, women were required to dance and grind against silver poles. They kept their mouths agape, their free hand stroked feathers in their braided hair and their thick, shifting thighs were bedazzled by bejeweled pantyhose and heels. They could not speak unless they partook in such splendor. That was also part of the rules of the Festival. 

The Beast shifted in Lynsi’s arms. 

“Hey, as far as everyone’s concerned, you’re a guy, okay?” Lynsi peeked up at the Beast. “If asked, your name’s Lewis.” 

She nodded in return.

If the Beast had known of these rules, he wouldn’t have suggested Lynsi come to the Festival at all. Alas, they were here now and, by golly, he was going to give Lynsi the space to fulfill her dreams if she so chose. Still, he decided right then and there he hated this place and wished to see it burn.

Lynsi lifted her black mask and tucked it around the bridge of her nose. 

“Am I to assume you mean if I don’t present as a man, I will not be respected here?” 

The Beast frowned. “No, I didn’t mean that. It’s just…sometimes it’s easier to pretend, that’s all. Besides, we don’t want any of this crazy people following us home. Better for us if you’re in disguise.” 

That was a lie, but who was he to destroy her hope? No. That wouldn’t do. They would see the second part of the Album, no matter what.