Arches of Ice

    I was gliding upon a chunk of ice which slid across frozen expanses of still chill water. Natural arches of crystalline substance beckoned in a sinister fashion as I approached at high speed. The icy arches were pale blue and arctic white, blinding in their purity. But I knew that beneath the glossy exterior, filthy dirt festered beneath- a core of wormy goo. I attempted to maneuver my way across a landscape, dizzy with expectation and adrenaline ringing in my ears. And the air was thin with altitude and smelled suspiciously minty as if enhanced by a man-made chemical substance.

    I felt terrified, angry, and yet somehow increasingly determined as I skimmed the frosty crests and snowy depths. At once, I attempted to escape an entity and yet pursue something so beautiful that its goodness outweighed the ugliness of my fears.

    My grandfather had arranged for me to stay with him as a guest on a very large skyscraper-boat. Very tall and wavering with the uneasy shifting of water’s liquid body, the building pulled at its anchor, trying to float away. On the other hand, the mighty architecture’s regal presence as portrayed through the jaws of its elaborate entry doors boasted an aura far from flighty.

    The mullet-man approached me, beady dark eyes sucking energy out of the surrounding atmosphere. I exhaled over and over again in hopes of avoiding his dark stench. He gaped wide and foreboding like an ancient cave, while his garments proved misleading…so sporty and modern. My grandfather had retired to his penthouse for the evening with a couple of buddies, which left me alone in a faceless heartless crowd with Mr. Mullet. He sat down on the floor beside which I rocked back and forth upon my heels, planning my escape. His two silent parents, visiting from a distant land, took their seats in blue plastic chairs rimmed with silver studs.

    Meanwhile, “he” had begun his presentation regarding underwater plant-life. Describing how various saltwater vegetation digested its food and reproduced, he spoke with arrogance and obstinate certainty. But he was sharing untruths merely to appear educated. I picked up what seemed to be a paperweight or clear bubble-like cage of sorts, but Mr. Mullet quickly snatched the piece out of my grasp. I began to wonder at the life inside as I saw movement and leaned toward the silly man so as to get a second look. The small red creature had coarse crocheted skin and very much resembled a sea anemone. And it was twitching and writhing in short electric spurts as if tormented or even deranged. I believed the exhibit to be a life-form while Mr. Mullet argued with me before an ever-increasing audience that the fabric exterior was nothing more than yarn; that beneath the rough weave danced a tiny fish who used the costume as a full-body mask.

    I was dismayed, though even with the man’s insistent and superior attitude, I did not fully believe him. To prove his point, he presented other examples of underwater stitchery within which the small fish was prone to hide. He exclaimed with delight when the fish darted out of the clear bubble and into a long shallow aquarium, in order to travel from one crocheted galaxy to another. I looked on in horror and disbelief. Suddenly, I felt the irresistible urge to leave the building which had over the course of time become as dark as a basement.

    I ran across a field so green and freckled with wildflowers it felt as if I were dreaming (interesting-

the sensation of dreaming within a dream). A sense of liberation washed over me as I savored the

cool breeze which whipped about my long tangled hair. The sky was blue, the atmosphere clear, and

in my rush I forgot my worries…for a mere instant in time. Out of seemingly nowhere appeared the

man with the mullet. He was running beside me. I turned to look at him as we ran and he was

smiling. So I returned his smile, feeling warm and happy. But then he began to pass me up; I

increased my speed and passed him, then he returned the gesture. Pretty soon the world felt mangled

and raw. I awoke angry.


Jennifer Burnside