The Fool and the Donkey Track III

“Splintered Eden” - Composer - Lewis, Lynsi - “The Album”

(TW - mature themes, offensive language, parasocial delusions)

CAUTION - Tall grass, watch for snakes

Lynsi worked up the nerve to lift her head off the Beast’s shoulder and stared at the sign affixed to the fence ahead of her. The surrounding undergrowth had bloomed into prairie grass, the green blades of which plastered themselves unevenly along the rotting wooden stakes.

Beyond the fence, floor lights peppered dust in hues and shades of various blue. An announcer no further than a mile away bellowed names of one musician after another, suppressing giggles and an ever increasing octave. If his voice was anything to go by, it was clear he was under the influence.

“Put your hands together foooorrrr Rosie!”

The audience roared and whooped.

Lynsi turned. The Beast’s previously uncharacteristic gentleness suddenly made sense then. Why he had urgently turned to her and made it clear that she would enter this Festival disguised as a man.

She couldn’t help but stare at the woman behind her, at her breasts spilling over the leather corset tightened to her waist.

Damn it, Lynsi! Get it together! Don’t stare, don’t stare, don’t stare, don’t—

Lynsi, redder than a fresh cherry tomato, looked away as soon as the thought came to her. She looked front again. Employees dressed in black, with nothing more noticeable than lanyards hanging around their necks, wrote down names in a plastic folder and handed badges to each person by the entrance. Once a person received their badge, they were allowed into the festival and the line moved further along.

Other employees paced up and down the line, scanning for any rule breakers, particularly for any fully dressed women.

One employee stopped beside Birhor, Lynsi, and her Beast. He squinted up at her. She shifted her eyes left then back at the employee.

“…Whaddup?” She said in the most baritone octave she could muster.

“Are you a woman?” The employee crossed his arms.

Lynsi tensed her shoulders and pointed at the folded wheelchair attached to Birhor’s saddle.

“Y’see that, fucker?” She made sure to pour her gaze into the employee. “Tell me, what’s that?”

“A wheelchair?”

“Uh huh. Therefore, I can’t be a woman.” Lynsi prayed that combined sexism and ableism would work in her favor.

The employee raised an eyebrow. He gestured at Lynsi’s hips.

“Then where’s your dick?”

“How dare you!” Birhor chimed in. The Beast followed in outmatched offense.

“This brave young man got his dick blown off by the Chinese, you fuckin’ animal, and you just—ya just HAD to bring that up, didn’t ya?! You just had to remind him of his dickless predicament!”

“WHY DO YOU THINK HE POSSESSES METAL CHAIR, HM?! DO YOU THINK IT IS FOR FUN?! DO YOU THINK HE SITS IN CHAIR FOR EASY LIFE?! NO!”

“You’re gonna remind him of all those months watching his poor, little dick rot away thanks to those lying, Asian ladies!!” The Beast went on.

“He is not soldier?”

“No! He was! But we are not at war with China right now, are we, Birhor?! He was on leave, he met a nice lady who wasn’t a nice lady at all!”

“Oh! Oh! Yes, we are not in war! And that lady was not nice as you say!”

“That’s right! Sooo…” The Beast circled his arms around themselves in a manic fury.

Lynsi froze up and gazed out in the distance, as though caught in memories of times since past.

“OH GOD, NO! NOT MY DICK! I DON’T WANT AN AMPUTATION! NO, NOOO! NOT THE PROSTITUTES!! WAAHHH!!”

Birhor neighed in and stomped a hoof.

“YOU COMPARE HIM TO CHINESE PROSTITUTE??? YOU MONSTER!”

“Okay, okay, okay! I’m sorry—I’m sorry!”

With raised hands, the employee quickly turned and ran off further down the line.

“That’s right!” the Beast called out. “GET YOUR RACIST ASS OUTTA HERE!”

Once the employee was out of ear shot, Lynsi pressed her hand against her fluttering heart and exhaled.

“Fuck, Beast. I don’t know if I can do this,”

“Yes, you can,” the Beast whispered back. “Now, come on. Gimme your best man voice.”

Lynsi coughed. “I’m a man.”

“Lower.”

“I’m a man.”

“Even lower.”

“I’m a maaaaaan. I like to watch sports, eat ass, and wiggle my non existent dick around—puah!” Lynsi spat on the floor by Birhor’s hooves.

“There ya go,” The Beast patted her arm reassuringly. “Very manly. You got this.”

“You think—ahem, sorry—you think they got any vodka in there?” Lynsi continued to keep her voice as lowly a register as she could.

“Probably, it is festival after all,” said Birhor. “Perhaps here I can understand the fullness of Birhor and how much horse or bird Birhor truly is.”

“Right,” said Lynsi. “Beast, why did you do that to Birhor?!”

“I already told you!”

“But that was so unnecessary, you didn’t have to make him self aware…”

“Do not fret, Little—erm—Lewy. Birhor shall understand himself soon enough. I hope you too shall know yourself by the end of this night.”

“Well, thank you, Birhor.”

The queue moved forward. A gesture, a name written, a badge handed, and so on, a repeating hum-drum as the clock ticked ever forward. Soon enough, the trio were at the front of the entrance.

“Name?”

“Uh, Lewis…?”

“Lewis…? Lewis what?”

“Uh—Lewy?”

“Got it.”

Lynsi’s fake name was written on the sheet attached to the plastic folder and her fake name - LEWIS LEWY - was stamped onto a badge in faded red. The employee handed it over with half a smile. Lynsi plastered it on her black, zipped up sweater.

“Now, remember, you can fuck, punch, and swear all you want, but if you even so much whisper anything insensitive about blacks or gays, we will curb stomp the absolute fuck out of you and steal your social security number. Got it?”

Lynsi nodded. “Got it.”

“Oh, and leave the horse out here.”

Birhor’s mechanical red eyes widened. “What?! Why?!”

“No Russians allowed. And you sound Russian. Stay the fuck out, horse.”

“I AM NOT HORSE! I AM BIRHOR!”

“I don’t give a shit what you are, I don’t like your accent; so, you’re staying out here with the other pieces of shit who think they can get in with the Festival, alright?!”

“It is not even Russian accent! It is GENERALLY EASTERN EUROPEAN! I HAVE CONSCIOUSNESS OF BIRD! I AM NOT SOVEREIGN CITIZEN OF ANY…”

Before Birhor could continue, two security men grabbed him by the saddle. The Beast hopped off and pulled out Lynsi’s wheelchair. Lynsi twisted and lifted one leg over the other before sliding off the saddle and plopping into her wheelchair.

The security guards shoved Birhor out of line into a group of previous rejects toward the edge of the stage.

The Beast shifted and led Lynsi through the entrance in spite of her protests for Birhor.

“We’ll check on him later, okay?” The Beast told her.

By the edge of the stage, one of the rejects was a bald Monk who held a foul-smelling, ceramic bowl. He seemed rather transfixed by the contents within, gazing upon it in longing and wonder.

Birhor sniffed.

“Is…is that shit?”

The Monk broke his gaze and smiled up at the mechanical horse. “Why, yes, my friend.”

“Why do you carry bowl of shit, Monk?”

“This is no mere bowl of shit, my friend, this bowl of shit is but one thread in the tapestry of All that is and All that ever will be. Just one of the many aspects of the Divine.”

“Uh…huh.”

“And for me to fully know and appreciate the Divine, I must consume it,” the Monk lifted the bowl close to his lips, but stopped. “Yet I…I can’t. I would like to know God, in every way a person can, but…it doesn’t seem to be the right time.”

“Is this why you were not allowed in? For eating bowl of shit?”

“Actually, my friend, I decided to wait here. Call it intuition, luck, a hunch, whatever you must. I had a feeling I would meet another traveler on my journey…Hm,” the Monk scanned Birhor from mane to flank. “My spiritual practice, it is one hidden in shadow. Unappreciated. Bizarre. One where a person must know themselves absolutely to know God. Is that what you’re seeking? To know yourself fully?”

Birhor lifted his head, his eyes wide with intrigue.

“…Tell Birhor more of this spiritual practice, Shit-Monk.”

“With pleasure, my friend.” Shit-Monk gestured and began to walk off stage into the darkness of the Eldritch audience.

Birhor, not knowing any better to not trust strange monks he just met, followed closely.

The stage shifted again, this time expanding from center outward until the surrounding fence and parallel queues were pushed out of view of the stage lights.

The Eldritch audience sitting in red velvet chairs were pulled back to make further room for the expansion, akin to a tide in preparation for an oncoming tsunami.

On stage, as though terraformed from nothing, mass reached up and made stationary escarpment from elements of the retreating kind below. A secondary platform center-stage was born for the scene.

Crowds came running forth, arms raised and mouths squealing.

“Rosie! Rosie! Rosie! Rosie!” They chanted, chins raised, smiles gleaming.

Near the left-most red curtain, the Beast pointed. Lynsi beheld the platform as a woman came running up terraformed steps.

Pale with bouncy blonde hair curled around her neck, the sweat-caked woman lifted an arm and catered to the crowd.

“You want an encore?” She shouted. The crowd roared back. “Really? Oh, jeez, I thought I sang everything—Oh? I didn’t? You sure? …Hm, oh, wait! You’re right! I guess I DID forget a little something!”

Rosie turned her head left and smirked, pleased with her ability to rile up her fan base. She adjusted her corset to barely hide the lower half of her breasts and straightened her pantyhose, ensuring no part of herself would be exposed by an accidental misstep or incorrectly timed jump.

The beginning of her song set a dark, atmospheric tone in minor key. Piano synths echoed in all directions until a fast heavy bass kicked in, shifting the key from minor to major. The crowd clapped and jumped in tune.

When the bass slowed, Rosie held a cordless microphone close to her thick lips.

In the abyss of my own mind, I dwell

In echoes and shadows, the secrets I tell

I am the beginning and the space in between

Dreaming universes to escape what’s been seen

Rosie jumped and shifted her frame left and right to the tune of the song as the bass picked up pace again.

Fractured myself into whispers and dust

Built worlds of chaos from pure burning trust

A canvas of void where I splinter and play

To bury the silence that haunts me each day!

Flame projectors blew fire and heat toward the sky. Rosie tilted her head back and reached out, losing herself in the moment.

I Am, The All, The Nothing, The Breath

Cracking my mirror to scatter my depth

Endless creation to mask my despair

For nothing but Me exists anywhere

Rosie lurched forward, smiling wickedly. She began to sing in an alto octave.

Galaxies spiral, they’re pieces of me

Stars are my thoughts exploding wildly free

Every lover, every killer, each time

Just fragments of Me seeking places to hide

She reached out toward the crowd, her grin expanding thrice.

“C’mon! Sing with me!”

Stage lights in multicolored tangoed across Rosie’s thin frame.

I dreamt of angels and demons with fire

Constructed mortals to love then expire

All just illusions to keep Me from Truth

That I Am the cage and I Am trapped in my proof

“C’mon!” She jumped and swung her head as the crowd joined her in dance and for the last chorus

I Am, The All, The Nothing, The Breath

Cracking my mirror to scatter my depth

Endless creation to mask my despair

For nothing but Me exists anywhere!

The crowd roared and stomped, arms and hands of thousands reached toward the starlit woman. Though she reached out in tandem, she did not touch, merely gracing these strangers with her beauty. She blew kisses and placed her hand on her hip, posing with her good side.

Seizure inducing white flashes surrounded her, though she kept her pose and composure even still. She was Rosie and the world was hers.

Lynsi crossed her arms, a mix of resentment and longing leaving her head hung. She wouldn’t be able to dance and move across the stage like Rosie had. Nor did she feel any sense of empowerment in exposing herself so thoroughly for a crowd.

Not that people wanted to see that from a wheelchair user, Lynsi mused bitterly.

Rosie seemed so untouchable, a goddess upon that stage, as though these fans were her heavenly fortress rather than heretics waiting in earnest to consume her whole. A good portion of those who praised her equally desired to use her, just as most people used idols and psalms to ease the guilt of their behaviors.

Lynsi’s heart fluttered and pounded in her chest again. Being here wasn’t a good idea. It couldn’t be. She didn’t know how to engage in a one on one conversation, much less a crowd. Who the hell was she kidding to pursue being a musician as a career? Why had she allowed her Beast to convince herself this was smart, much less good for her?

The Beast hunched over her and met her gaze halfway. He cracked a mischievous grin.

“You look like you could use a drink. Wanna find a bar?”

Lynsi nodded vigorously. She grabbed her wheels and turned them forward, scanning the grounds. Cliques chattered among themselves, booths and queues took up much of the space, and there was a dining area with a bar off in the corner. Lynsi exhaled and looked over her shoulder at the terraformed platform again.

For a moment, Rosie’s once confident demeanor fell as her eyes lowered and her smile gave way to exhaustion. Perhaps that was a mirage.

“ROSIE!” A man shrieked. Lynsi jumped.

The man broke through the waves of bodies and faces, clambering up toward her in a stained gray shirt and jeans.

“ROSIE! I love you, Rosie! We’re meant to be together, Rosie! It’s ME! Tim! The love of your life! Oh, please, Rosie, you don’t know how badly I need you, baby!”

Rosie just smiled and backed away.

“Thank you,” she said. “That’s very kind.”

“Have you read any of my letters?”

Tim pulled himself up closer. Security guards rushed the stage and stood at Rosie’s side. “Please, Rosie, tell me you’ve read them.”

“I’ve read them. They’re very nice, Tom.” She said in a sugar-sweet tone.

The security team grabbed Tim by his shoulders and yanked him away from Rosie.

“Rosie! ROSIE! PLEASE! WE’RE MEANT TO BE TOGETHER! I LOVE YOU!!”

Lynsi squinted, watching Rosie’s shoulders tense. It seemed she held back a shudder. Lynsi turned to her Beast.

“It’s just ‘The Album: Part 2’ right? We’re just here for that and potential networking. That’s all we’re here for?”

The Beast nodded.

“Okay, good. Cause if I ever so much as see you even remotely act anything like that psychotic fuck-face over there, I swear to god, I’ll never speak to you again.”

The Beast rolled his eyes.

“I’m not delusional, Lynsi. Sides, it’s not exactly The Album we’ve been fixated on. It’s our own version, remember? Or has the festival unraveled your mind already?”

“No, I know,” She curled her hands into fists on her lap. “But I need to know that’s all it’ll be. I need you to remember that all of this is just about art. Not the artists. We don’t need to sink into a crowd and become one of the many sycophants. We’re just here for two things and that’s it.”

“I think I’d rather kill myself than act anything like that greasy old fuck, but thanks for the extra warning, hon. I’ll take it into consideration. Now, about that drink?”