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ACID REIGN
Dan Herrick

Mirrors echo my image frantically; I am
reflected, distorted, shattered.
I lift my face to the blind sky, and again, I
utter my wordless cry of pain.
The monoliths offer their silent support...
Forbidden knowledge, I cast away.
My companion speaks. I turn to listen.

The city is dead. Here the building stands, the everlasting guardian.
I enter, and hear a voice.
The shape and the power of the Voice, being cold,
carries dignity. The ghosts float near me.
Sightless eyes stare into my own, reflecting memories of tragedy.
"Fools," I say; "This, as all else, means nothing to me."
One phantom answers me.

I stand on the black rock, gazing listlessly
at the black sea all around. Far away, black specks
circle somewhere in the black sky. The water
laps at my rock, so I open the black book and
read random passages of my past. The waters
stir slightly, and a black face peers from under the surface.
It mouths obscenities at me as I laugh.

Sinister gemstones sparkle within my reach. As I sit
unobserved upon my pedestal, two flowers bloom, twine together,
then wither and die. Translucent tears fill my eyes.
Without reluctance, I weep for what I have lost.
Without choice, I die for what I have gained.
And so, even unto death, I listen.
Soon, a voice from behind impales me.

The frowning child squints, shakes his head, and walks away.
Blinking, I reach for my pen, and scrawl a diagram on
the yellow wall. The wall glows, shifts, and is gone.
Between the rows of corn I stride, and at the end
sits the marble throne. Who am I to sit upon it?
But I do. The King appears at my right side.
"All this, and more, I give to you." he whispers into my unheeding ear.
I look down upon the assembled masses.
The people gaze up at me expectantly, almost longingly;
When will the King speak? I draw my shining sword.
Hopeful adoring faces shine as I walk to the balcony's edge.
I think: My ruin is upon me. I speak.
"My people!" I intone, "I hate you."
The massed voices shout in shocked outrage even as I push the blade through my chest.

All is nothing. My eyes will not open.
My arms dangle uselessly at my sides.
Of all things, an itch.
Footsteps harmonically approach, murmuring voices a crude accompaniment.
Now I see the seven white-robed figures. Still fear lies beyond my reach.
As one, they draw back their white hoods, and they are all... me.
As one, they point to me. Together, we speak.
"You cannot care."