A Stroll Through the Event Horizon

The chickpeas are controlling me. And I surrender. 

It began someday recently, which day I do not recall. All I recall is the crunch. I was strolling along the snail garden, and I felt something horrible squelch beneath my sole. I feared I had murdered another snail, but when I lifted my foot I saw only him. A chickpea staring back at me, split into a half. I had never seen a chickpea in the snail garden. 

I leaned down to face him,

“What are you doing here, sir?”

He did not answer. He was in too much pain.

The chickpeas seem to follow me everywhere since then. They appear in my breakfast, they pop out of the shower head and trickle down my body. I even found one in my crown when I was coronated. Perhaps they are avenging that first chickpea whom I so brutally murdered, and plan to split me in half just as I split him. Slimy gits… I never liked them, chickpeas. Mother always gave me a headache about them.

“Eat your fibre!” She would demand.

And I would say,

“Mother I simply shant.” 

Such arguments are the least of my concerns now. I remind myself during every encounter that a chickpea can be no real threat to someone of my stature. Yet, I get this morbid feeling when I find one. They exist so empitly before me as if they know things about me that I cannot even admit to myself. Like that one thing about… well, I really can’t say. But it is terrible indeed. 

I have yet to divulge the most terrible detail; today, I will be required to give a speech. It is a vital national address- regarding the economy and the wars and the importance of protecting peace and such. I completed the transcript yesterday afternoon. I read it back and was struck by a sudden enlightenment. 

I am a very convincing man. I always have been. It is a natural talent, nurtured by a satisfactory education at the palace. I can use these inherent powers of persuasion to convince the chickpeas to begone. They shall receive an honourable apology, with some monetary compensation and King’s honour. How could they refuse? After that all shall be swell. I will be free.

It must be done as soon as possible. I shiver to think of them infesting my showers and infiltrating my brunch any longer. One’s stomach does not simply churn when seeing a crowd of chickpeas listening to their national address. All it took was one look at that slimy sphere during my first practice of the address to send me straight to the bidet. It was on this ocassion I discovered the true digestive potential of fibre.

Thinking back on this, I feel a shame so hot and putrid I become nauseous. I cannot let them interfere with the perfection of my public appearance. There is not a moment that they do not watch me- I am sure they will be there to torment me. 

So, instead of finalising my preparations for the speech, I must prepare a letter to the legumes that haunt me. It is a matter of national security. 

I exit the palace in a haste. It is dawn when I revisit the garden where it all began. Breathing in that soft aroma primes my mind. The wind, the roses, the ghost of split chickpea. I am ready.

I am a masterful multitasker, so I devise a first draft as I take my regular morning walk. I take out my pen and notepad from my suit pocket, and begin writing: 

Legumes and gentlemen,

I am writing, honourably, to send my condolences and deepest apologies. As you may be aware, a terrible incident occurred in which I squished a chickpea in the snail garden outside my home. 

As I write this, I pass the very area I killed him. 

He was split in half. I was distraught. One must trust in my word, however, that I do not underestimate the anguish I have caused. 

That first chickpea was a distinguished, fine, moisturised and perfect legume. I regret deeply the pain I caused to not only the chickpeas, but also those who never got to devour their soft, savoury forms when the time was right. 

To the chickpea realm, I can only offer this: $10,000 $5,000 in monetary compensation, an official title of Kings Honour, and welcome access to the palace snail garden whenever desired-

My flow is interrupted as I trip over something. I look down, to see a dislodged brick in the ground. I rebalance myself and continue.

The pavements will be refreshed. 

I know this is but a small compensation, yet I hope it can offer some solace and a place of mourning. I shall ensure signage is posted throughout the garden warning that any man, woman or child who injures a chickpea will be shamed publicly and prosecuted on the spot. 

Please let me know if you have any queries. I look forward to hearing from you.  

Warmest affections,

King Grdfrfg.

There. That should do it. I read it back and mentally note some areas for improvement- perhaps $1,000 would be enough? 

My pen is running out of ink, so I begin heading back to collect a refill. Small adjustments here and there, and I will never have to think of this again.

On the passage back to the palace through the snail garden, it all seems so trivial. How silly- all this catastrophising for nothing. Tonight, when I read my speech, I may just laugh to myself at the absence of chickpeas in the audience. Oh, I think the stress of perfection was simply getting to me. It is hard work, after all. 

The sunset is a bright pink today. Is it evening already? I am not wearing my watch, but my stomach does feel unusually empty… 

I hasten my stride, however I cannot remember which way home was. Was it south, or east? Or was it south-east? South-east seems promising. I redirect myself.

A sweat finds its way down my forehead. I have never been so deep in the snail garden. In fact, I did not even realise it was so large. The snails are larger the deeper I venture. I pass one so large, he is almost the size of the cabbage he slowly consumes. His eyes look into mine and I wish to be back with mother. I try to erase the disgusting creature from my memory.

I am now bordering a run. The atmosphere has become thin. The horizon is too vast and endless and I wish to demolish the entire thing.

Ah- at last! I have reached a portion of the garden I recognise. From here on, the palace is only 20 metres ahead. I must have walked in a circle unknowingly, because I passed this area earlier. This is where the incident occurred. I step onwards, noticing a small, circular object in that very spot…

The split chickpea has returned. No. Impossible. It was not there before, and I assumed one of the gardeners disposed of it. This means I did not walk in a circle, unless this is another split chickpea, in which case I am not responsible for it. I would notice if I felt that squelch again. 

Still, I tiptoe past it, praying I do not awaken its spirit. Something about its return is extremely unorthodox. As if it is mocking me. 

Is this all some sort of joke? a set up? When I think about it, Sir Grenouille has been eyeing me quite sinisterly recently. And I know he has been jealous of me since we were children. 

I must not tell anyone of this. He wants to brandish me as a madman. I rush past the area. Nevermind any of this- I am almost home. No more than 10 minutes, and I’ll be back, perhaps a bit late for the speech, but I will convince them of some reasonable excuse.

Yet I walk on, and the palace never comes into view. 10 minutes pass, and then 20, and then I lose track and it feels like it could have been anywhere between an hour and a day. 

Eventually I become so tired my body refuses to stand. I collapse by a tree. I decide to wait until the sunrise to try again. So, I wait. I fall asleep. When I wake up, it is still night. 

The sunrise is taking its time but I continue walking. 

At several points I beg, to any higher power that could be listening, to guide me out. I pass that vile snail again and spend hours trying to convince even him to help. But I don’t think any of them are listening. Days, weeks and maybe even months pass, but I never see home again, no matter how far or which direction I walk. I wonder what they are doing without me.

When I pass by the snail again, he is still consuming that same leaf of lettuce. It is an admirable pursuit.

"You are my only friend." I tell him. Regrettably, it is the truth.

He extends his eyeballs towards me. I realise now that it is not a look of judgement in his eyes, but emptiness. He is a simple creature. I inspect the perfect Fibonacci spiral of his shell.

I must come to terms with eternity. I grab a leaf of his lettuce, and take a small bite.