In the Dark of Night – Part 10

I’ve finally figured out why this year will haunt my nightmares forever.

It’s not that people have died. People die every year.

It’s not that politicians are lying. They lie every day.

It’s not that the President is being himself. He is who so many have tried to say he always was.

We knew he was awful before the electoral college said he won the election he lost by millions of votes.

It’s that everything, and I do mean everything, continues to escalate without cessation. We cannot go a single day without a new scandal that would’ve spelled political doom to any other incumbent. The corruption of the current administration has gone from ineptly secret to openly brazen. Unashamed. They are daring you point blank to do something about it, knowing that there will be zero push-back from those in control. His party has proven they will do nothing. The Democratic Congress has abdicated their responsibilities as the opposition party.

Republicans (and to a lesser extent Pelosi / Schumer) have passed the burden of caring to the rest of us. Even though we elect these individuals so that they can represent us, so that they can be the voice of those who are otherwise powerless, they refuse to exercise any of their authority in a meaningful fashion.

McConnell will get his judges because that’s the only thing he cares about.

Oh? Don’t believe me? Why is it that we are still in the middle of a horrendous economic recession on top of a raging pandemic that he can’t even be bothered to consider or propose legislation for, yet the moment that we lose a colossal titan of a woman in Ruth Bader Ginsburg he moves heaven and earth while violating the norm he himself set to fill her seat prior to the election.

McConnell and the rest of the ghouls in the GOP were dancing on her grave before her body had even been placed in it.

Notice something I haven’t even mentioned yet? I could literally spend a hundred thousand words covering the odious actions of this administration and it would only get me through last week at best.

COVID-19 is still ravaging the United States.

While trying to deal with the supremely awful Trump administration, at least 200,000 Americans have died of COVID-19. Excess deaths put that number closer to 300,000 deaths. Millions upon millions more have been infected (as I have) and all signs are pointing towards any exposure to COVID-19 having long-reaching health consequences. It’s going to get worse.

Trump is holding in-person, indoor political rallies throughout the country. While more Americans have died in the last six months than any six month period in the last 100 years, Trump is trying to act like nothing is happening. McConnell, for his part, is busy burying every ideal his party once ‘stood’ for. Millions of Americans sick? Hundreds of thousands dying? Millions more malnourished, unemployed, or homeless? He couldn’t !@$$ing care less. He got his. Screw everyone else.

Then, AS IF THAT ISN’T ENOUGH TO TRY AND PROCESS, Breonna Taylor’s murderers walk free. Before I can give voice to the scream of rage and betrayal and frustration and righteous indignation that will surely consume me from the inside-out if I can’t exorcise it soon, the police close ranks and shove their unique form of injustice right down our throats.

Breonna Taylor was shot dead in her bed with no warning. And no repercussions. Her killers walked free. They didn’t even lose their job. One, one, officer will be charged, but only for recklessly shooting into the housing unit next to Breonna Taylor’s.

Did you hear what I just told you? Cops shot a black woman in her own bed AND THE ONLY THING THEY WILL GET IN TROUBLE FOR IS ENDANGERING THE PEOPLE IN THE NEXT HOUSE OVER.

Murder and the system justifies it. Murder and their fellow officers close ranks instead of being disgusted by their foul behavior.

Justice is cuffed and stuffed into the back of an unmarked car once again, never to be seen by those who have lost a sister, a daughter, a friend.

Protests have been erupting across the nation for the better part of five months now because of the lack of justice for those like Breonna Taylor. It’s not like the Police don’t know what they are doing is wrong. Hell,the department in question cancelled all vacation and leave for their officers and declared a state of emergency.

They knew what they did was wrong. They knew outrage would follow the judicial inaction.

They just don’t care.

It’s too much. This is all too much.

There is no end. There is no better. It never does anything but get worse.

Did you know that Trump threatened to refuse a peaceful transition of power? Not once, but twice now. Every virologist worth the name has indicated that we are in for one of the worst winters of the last 100 years. The flu didn’t magically disappear, and together with COVID the two will reap a grim harvest. Men and women and children will starve. Become homeless. Enter permanent cycles of poverty and privation that will nip at their heels for the rest of their lives.

I care. I can’t stop caring. I only hope that I am able to endure their suffering, to refuse to look away from their pain even though it would be better for me emotionally and mentally.

2020 is going to keep getting worse.

Let’s pray we can make it through all of this.

Story time.

In the Dark of Night – Part 10

When I awoke, I was sprawled across my bed as per usual. Mr. Bigglesworth’s silent ticks filling the emptiness of a noisy house gone silent with slumber.

I straightened the sheets, snuggling into my pillow as I rolled over. I’d long ago learned to mise as much sleep as I could before the morning cat bell signaled the start of another melee in the kitchen.

I yawned, blinked blearily, and closed my eyes against the soft light of the desk-lamp in the middle of my room.

Three seconds later I was standing on my bed, my Slugger filling the room with blue-white light as I pumped everything I had into the wood instrument of my salvation.

There was a desk in the middle of my room. Sitting at the desk was a frumpy man in glasses and a worn but comfortable looking tweed suit. He had a gray laurel of hair crowning his bald head and a shaved chin. His face was creased with lines that only a lifetime of worry could have chiseled into it. However, the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes meant that some of the lines, at least, were carved via laughter.

The desk, the man, and the chair he rested upon hovered a few inches above my natty shag.

“Good evening Miss Miller. Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

I stared stupidly at the man for a few moments before I realized that I had jumped into action without thinking about my heavily damaged ribs. Already knowing what I would find, I still took one hand off the bat and poked around my rib-cage. There was no pain to be found there.

That horrifying angel must’ve actually given me something of value in addition to the nightmarish amount of pain. That they had felt the need to wrap their gift around a brick and throw the pair of them through the window of my soul spoke volumes.

“You’ll have to forgive Anizaniza’ish. Angels aren’t easy to get along with at the best of times. With the current state of affairs, well. They’ve gone from unpleasant to down-right ugly.”

I let the magic dissipate, the slugger going from incandescent glow-stick to dull wood as my power flowed off it. I stared at the man as my mouth failed to work properly for a moment. Eventually I managed to get some words past my outrage.

“You call that unpleasant!? They restrained me like I was some kind of feral beast instead of a person! I called out to heaven for help, not to be brutalized by those I requested aid from!”

I had stepped off the bed and was now leaning on the edge of the desk. It was quite solid, a smooth dark wood that didn’t wobble despite the fact it wasn’t anchored to anything. The man shooed my hand away with the gentle insistence any grandparent would envy.

I moved in automatic obedience, then gritted my teeth and slammed it right back. I leaned over, my face inches from his. He did not blink, shy away, or even acknowledge my naked confrontation. He simply blinked politely at me.

“What’s going on, Friar Tuck? What the heck did Abbazabbadoodah or whatever their name was do to me. More importantly why are you and your ridiculous desk in my room in the dead of night?”

He raised his hand slowly, then began ticking off answers upon his fingers as he went.

“First, it would be wiser to call an angel nothing at all than to butcher their name in such a fashion. Angels derive their divine authority from the names that they choose when they enter the service of Heaven. There is power in a name that you claim for yourself. You of all people should understand that, Miss Miller.”

I blushed a little at my deliberate name-butchering. There was indeed great power in a name that you have crafted for yourself. I had taken Claire for my own, even though it wasn’t the name I had been born with. The freedom and clarity that had come with my decision defied description. It lay nestled in my heart like an eternal flame; keeping me warm no matter how dark and cold the world could be.

I nodded fractionally, acknowledging that the man had a point. I was still livid at the events of the day and I kept my face inches from his as I fumed. He nodded in return, his eyes crinkling at my willingness to acknowledge accurate comments even though I was upset.

“Thank you Claire. Second, Anizaniza’ish didn’t actually do anything to you. Well, aside from everything they actually did manage to do to you. They were there to finalize the terms of the contract, but I managed to intervene before you were locked into the horrid bargain they had in mind.”

For the second time in as many minutes, I stared at him in confusion. My anger was ebbing, scrubbed away by the diligent lack of reaction from the man in front of me. I huffed, leaning back as I crossed my arms. I maintained my glare, however. I was still upset, after all.

“Forgive me. When any wizard completes the rites as you did, it is referred to as ‘opening a contract’. It helps to keep things in their proper perspective when Heaven sends an agent to set the requirements for heavenly assistance.”

I nodded, even petulant anger subsiding as I failed to stare down the paragon of patience before me. A third finger joined the first two as he continued without gloating in his victory.

“Third, because of Anizaniza’ish’s unsanctioned removal of their veil in the presence of a petitioner, I intervened with management to secure you a new mediator and a boon as recompense for your mistreatment.”

He spread his hands, sweeping them out to encompass the clean carpets and mattress, the fixed clock, and the mended fingers and ribs with the gesture.

A slightly disheveled stack of papers appeared between his hands as he brought them back together. He straightened them with a lame attempt at a dramatic head-shake. It was horrible, predictable, and over-acted almost beyond belief.

I immediately snorted out a laugh. I turned my head desperate to hide further giggles. I lost that battle too, then threw up my hands in surrender.

A chair appeared. Whether it’s arrival was due to my intent to sit down and hear what this man had to say, or the man had summoned it with the sheaf of papers, I did not know. Regardless, I immediately dropped into it, slumping all the way down until I was almost laying horizontal in it.

“So what should I call you, Mr. Man?”

The smile in answer to my question was warm and genuine. He leaned towards me, eyes darting as though he were about to share details to the crime of the century instead of his name. I picked myself upright, mirroring his gesture across the desk.

“There are some who call me.. Tim?”

I laughed, my unabashed mirth draining the last vestiges of my anger.

This wasn’t a man here to frog-march me onto the pyre. Whatever bargain Anizaniza’ish had been trying to stick me with, Tim would see to it that I wouldn’t leave his desk with my keister over the fire.

Tim? fully,

The Unsheathed Quill