THE SAGE PART TWO
The Sage was inchoate and distressed as he flew off into the darkness of the forest. He trundled through brackets and thistles. He wheeled into a thorn bush. He tripped on a root, he slipped on some moss, he fell down a long hill and hit his head on a rock at the bottom. When he woke, The Sage was staring up at the night sky and a smattering of stars.
Not only was The Sage spiritually lost but physically lost too. He’d wanted to go home almost as soon as he’d left, but now, after the stumbling and bushwhacking, and knocking his head, he had no clue where home was. To top it all off, he was heartbroken as well.
The Sage was inchoate and distressed as he flew off into the darkness of the forest. He trundled through bracken and thistles. He wheeled into a thorn bush. He tripped on a root, he slipped on some moss, he fell down a long hill and hit his head on a rock at the bottom. When he woke, The Sage was staring up at the night sky and a smattering of stars.
Not only was The Sage spiritually lost but physically lost too. He’d wanted to go home almost as soon as he’d left, but now, after the stumbling and bushwhacking, and knocking his head, he had no clue where home was. To top it all off, he was heartbroken as well.
He didn’t understand that his wife regretted her harsh words. But also, he wasn’t ready to change either. There were still too many questions to ask. At least The Sage was Sage enough to know that.
“What has my life become?” He shouted into the darkness.
“I’m empty.”
He gnashed his teeth and wailed.
But through his tears, The Sage saw a comet with a red tail burning. It traced crimson across the dome of the heavens, like a beetle crawling along the inside of a glass. He sat up and shrugged and figured he’d follow the falling star.
So, he did.
He picked his way through a polluted stream, filled with soggy paper cups, and the tangled skeleton of a discarded tent.
“Yuck,” he murmured, stepping over the swirls of iridescent oil.
“Wait!,” called a muffled voice. And when the Sage looked down, he saw floating in a puddle on the bank of the stream, a sick goldfish. It was one of those goldfish with bulbous foreheads.
“Please,” called the fish. “I’ve been flushed. You gotta help me, man.”
The Sage looked around and shrugged. He didn’t have anything on him but his clothes.
“Sorry pal, no dice.”
The goldfish wailed. “Come on! I don’t care what you put me in! Hold me in your mouth for all I care! I just gotta get outta here!”
So, The Sage plucked a stretched out old condom from the riverbank. He rinsed it in the murky stream, filled it with water, and plopped the goldfish inside.
“You won’t regret this!” bubbled the fish.
“Sure thing,” sighed The Sage. He tied the latex shut with a snap and pushed it into his pocket.
The Sage traveled for many days, through fields and forests and city blocks where people walked quickly with their heads hung low. All the while keeping his eye on that burning comet tail.
One day, The Sage came to a hill, and as he climbed the hill, he started to cry. Fat salty tears poured from his eyes and into his dirty beard.
“This might be it,” He wept to the fish. “This could be the end of the trip. I’m tired. I’m cold. I’m following a star. What the hell am I even doing up here?”
“You’re just looking,” said the little voice from inside the condom, inside the Sage’s pocket. “That’s kind of all there is to do on a hill like this.”
When Rhe Sage crested the hill, he gaped, astonished.
At the top of the hill was a hot dog stand, and inside the hot dog stand was the young guy with kinky hair, and the woman with hot dog fingers.
“What the hell,” cried the Sage. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I came up here after you told me to run to the top of a hill,” said the woman with hot dog fingers. “And once I got here, I was so tired I lay down and took a nap.”
“And I came up here, because I was following the comet,” said the guy with the kinky hair.
“And while I was sleeping,” continued the woman with the hot dog fingers, “a little white dog came and started chewing on my fingers.”
“It was my dog,” said the guy with the kinky hair, astonished. “She found him! He loves hot dogs!”
“And he’s not the only one,” said the woman with hot dog fingers, a little saucily. She held her hand up to The Sage, who was dazzled by a shiny engagement ring with a big fat stone in the middle.
“I proposed on the spot,” said the guy with the kinky hair.
“So, I left my husband, and bought this hot dog stand, and we live here now. My relationship’s way better with my kids, too,” said the woman with hot dog fingers. “Who’d have guessed–they just hated our fighting.”
The Sage nodded slowly. “So, what you’re saying,” he said. “Is that I did this?”
The couple blinked.
“What?”
“I’m responsible for this,” crowed the Sage. “I knew this would happen! My advice was good!”
“I mean, I guess,” said the woman with hot dog fingers.
“Yeah, well, it was kind of our own th–” said the young guy, but his fiancée elbowed him in the ribs.
“He clearly needs this, Josh,” she hissed.
And she was right. The Sage did need this. He cheered and whooped and fell to his knees in tears. He bid the happy couple farewell and ran down the hill and through the city squares, and the fields, and forests, and over streams and up cliffs, and finally made it to his old front door.
“I’m home! I’m home,” he shouted.
The Sage’s wife was happy to see him, but furious that he’d left. “Where the hell have you been,” she shouted. “I’ve been worried sick!”
The Sage, being very old, took a long time to catch his breath.
“You were right! I’m self-centred,” he gasped.
“But I went on a long journey and I found this couple, and I’m the reason they’re together, and I’m NOT A FAILURE OF A SAGE ANYMORE!”
The Sage’s wife looked skeptical, so The Sage produced from inside his pocket, the goldfish filled condom.
“Here,” he said, handing it over. “I carried this goldfish in my pocket and I love him, and now I’m giving him to you, because I love you.”
The Sage’s wife looked into the condom.
“This goldfish is dead,” she said.
The Sage opened and closed his mouth, looking at the fish. His wife was right. It was dead. Apparently goldfish don’t do well, crammed in a condom full of dirty water, in a crazy old man’s coat pocket.
It was clear to The Sage’s wife that her husband was not reformed. He’d had his ego rebuilt, not washed away. But it was also clear to her that he was a ridiculous fool, and that was why she’d married him in the first place.
“Listen,” she said. “This is all very nice. But I don’t care.”
Then she hugged The Sage, and kissed his forehead, and left to tend to her salves, as he sat in wait for his next querent, pleasantly convinced that something had changed.
“What has my life become?” He shouted into the darkness.
“I’m empty.”
He gnashed his teeth and wailed.
But through his tears, the Sage saw a comet with a red tail burning. It traced crimson across the dome of the heavens, like a beetle crawling along the inside of a glass. He sat up and shrugged and figured he’d follow the falling star.
So, he did.
He picked his way through a polluted little stream, filled with soggy paper cups, and the tangled skeleton of a discarded tent.
“Yuck,” he murmured, stepping over the swirls of iridescent oil.
“Wait!,” called a muffled little voice. And when the Sage looked down, he saw floating in a puddle on the bank of the stream, a sick little goldfish. It was one of those goldfish with bulbous foreheads.
“Please,” called the fish. “I’ve been flushed. You gotta help me, man.”
The Sage looked around and shrugged. He didn’t have anything on him but his clothes.
“Sorry pal, no dice.”
The goldfish wailed. “Come on! I don’t care what you put me in! Hold me in your mouth for all I care! I just gotta get outta here!”
So, the Sage plucked a stretched out old condom from the riverbank. He rinsed it in the murky stream, filled it with water, and plopped the goldfish inside.
“You won’t regret this!” bubbled the fish.
“Sure thing,” sighed the Sage. He tied the latex shut with a snap and pushed it into his pocket.
The Sage traveled for many days, through fields, and forests, and city blocks where people walked quickly with their heads hung low. All the while keeping his eye on that burning comet tail.
One day, the Sage came to a hill, and as he climbed the hill, he started to cry. Fat salty tears poured from his eyes and into his dirty beard.
“This might be it,” He wept to the fish. “This could be the end of the trip. I’m tired. I’m cold. I’m following a star. What the hell am I even doing up here?”
“You’re just looking,” said the little voice from inside the condom, inside the Sage’s pocket. “That’s kind of all there is to do on a hill like this.”
When the Sage crested the hill, he gaped, astonished.
At the top of the hill was a hotdog stand, and inside the hotdog stand was the young guy with kinky hair, and the woman with hot-dog fingers.
“What the hell,” cried the Sage. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I came up here after you told me to run to the top of a hill,” said the woman with hot-dog fingers. “And once I got here, I was so tired I lay down and took a nap.”
“And I came up here, because I was following the comet,” said the man with the kinky hair.
“And while I was sleeping,” continued the woman with the hot-dog fingers, “a little white dog came and started chewing on my fingers.”
“It was my dog,” said the guy with the kinky hair, astonished. “She found him! He loves hot-dogs!”
“And he’s not the only one,” said the woman with hot-dog fingers, a little saucily. She held her hand up to the Sage, who was dazzled by a shiny engagement ring with a big fat stone in the middle.
“I proposed on the spot,” said the guy with the kinky hair.
“So, I left my husband, and bought this hot-dog stand, and we live here now. My relationship’s way better with my kids, too,” said the woman with hot dog fingers. “Who’d have guessed–they just hated our fighting.”
The Sage nodded slowly. “So, what you’re saying,” he said. “Is that I did this?”
The couple blinked.
“What?”
“I’m responsible for this,” crowed the Sage. “I knew this would happen! My advice was good!”
“I mean, I guess,” said the woman with hot-dog fingers.
“Yeah, well, it was kind of our own th–” said the young guy, but his fiancée elbowed him in the ribs.
“He clearly needs this, Josh,” she hissed.
And she was right. The Sage did need this. He cheered and whooped and fell to his knees in tears. He bid the happy couple farewell and ran down the hill and through the city squares, and the fields, and forests, and over streams and up cliffs, and finally made it to his old front door.
“I’m home! I’m home,” he shouted.
The Sage’s wife was happy to see him, but furious that he’d left. “Where the hell have you been,” she shouted. “I’ve been worried sick!”
The Sage, being very old, took a long time to catch his breath.
“You were right! I’m self-centred,” he gasped.
“But I went on a long journey and I found this couple, and I’m the reason they’re together, and I’m NOT A FAILURE OF A SAGE ANYMORE!”
The Sage’s wife looked skeptical, so The Sage produced from inside his pocket, the goldfish filled condom.
“Here,” he said, handing it over. “I carried this goldfish in my pocket and I love him, and now I’m giving him to you, because I love you.”
The Sage’s wife looked into the condom.
“This goldfish is dead,” she said.
The Sage opened and closed his mouth, looking at the fish. His wife was right. It was dead. Apparently goldfish don’t do well, crammed in a condom full of dirty water, in a crazy old man’s coat pocket.
It was clear to the Sage’s Wife that her husband was not reformed. He’d had his ego rebuilt, not washed away. But it was also clear to her that he was a ridiculous fool, and that was why she’d married him in the first place.
“Listen,” she said. “This is all very nice. But I don’t care.”
Then she hugged the Sage, and kissed his forehead, and left to tend to her salves, as he sat in wait for his next querent, pleasantly convinced that something had changed. that something had changed.
#Column #comet #creativeWriting #fish #goldfish #hotDogStand #JessiWood #kinkyHair #sage #theSage #ZackMason
