The devil’s paGoda.
I hated it. And IT meant everything. Mostly, I closed myself in, but a few times, I laughed out loud and hoped that I could go back and be that curious little child and yet. What is this, you ask? You might not know it, but I had a blog two years ago. My last blog was called The Leaky Inkpot, and that was a beautiful name. Where I failed was the establishment of a name that did not fully represent the angst within every person’s heart. Like when is all this bull***t going to end exactly? Well, this is not a blog anymore. It is the Dark Avalanche. Now, it might sound confusing at the moment but hear me out for a couple of chapters.
This is the first of what is possibly the most beautiful series of creations. Be careful of assuming who the writer is, however. God created those fantastic people with the ability of shape-shifting, and then he created librarians to be the custodians of their brilliance. And now, online blogs. It’s a beautiful system. And so I will begin at the beginning when a blessed angel became the first curse.
The reason I believe we all feel alone is that we fear the concept of self-love and loving others. But don’t we all have a purpose, no matter how weirdly unique we are and as much as we want to tell ourselves that, we realize something. We are diamonds in the rough, and something has to shape us, something quite sinister in fact. Call it a great controversy for your soul.
I’m sure whenever you watched any martial-arts you saw something as brilliantly crafted as this. The name is pagoda. I chose to use its stately example because of one element of their architecture. You see, “pagodas attract lightning strikes because of their height. Many pagodas have a decorated finial at the top of the structure, and when made of metal, this finial, sometimes referred to as a “demon-arrester,” can function as a lightning rod. Pagodas traditionally have an odd number of levels, a notable exception being the eighteenth-century pagoda designed by Sir William Chambers at the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew, London.” _Wikipedia.
The story begins just moments after I had the biggest shock of my life. By proportions, I felt like I deserved it and even after putting in all the hard work. It wasn’t fair, the system was flawed, and nothing was desirable about anything. I lost all the emotion that was left in me, and all I kept saying to myself was, “don’t ever become the joker.” My greatest quote from him was this “Their morals, their code; it’s a bad joke. Dropped at the first sign of trouble. They’re only as good as the world allows them to be. You’ll see- I’ll show you. When the chips are down these, uh, civilized people? They’ll eat each other. See I’m not a monster, I’m just ahead of the curve.”
― The Joker — Heath Ledger
Aren’t we all a little strange and flawed no matter how hard we try? Why, of course, yes. But more than that, we are a beautiful creation full of ideas and creativity and education and music and photography and a strangely familiar show called Game Of Thrones that captured the world’s attention for a second there. I know why God would die for us guys; it is our beautiful mediocrity.
Without much further ado, today I present you with a pure self-reflective play. It might not be as good as Shakespeare, but who ever really was right? You may call me a ‘Shakespeare Protege.’
The devil’s PaGoda.
A melanin-skinned man enters the high pagoda, bleeding from his side. He grasps at the door handle. It flings open, and he enters the royal throne room that is bathed in a brilliant golden hue. His blood drips on the royal purple carpet, disappearing into the fabric and starting to form a steady pool in the shape of a glowing red circle. The guards rough him up and drag him down the path, dropping him before the king.
The Usurper King: Welcome to my humble tower. Now, why are you bleeding on my carpet? What brought you into the spaces of royals from the crowded slums with your boils. Tell me what you desire, I have many more people to ignore this morning calmly, and you are not making this easier for both of us.
The bleeding man raises his head and looks at the king. It amazes him to see the king’s face, for it is his own. It was a test, perhaps simulated in a nightmare he figured, or perhaps a daydream. He knew he had to retain his soul for his master.
The Warrior King: Can you help me? I am bleeding out. The war you have made us fight is killing our best men. Aren’t you satisfied with our strategies and our sacrifices? Can’t you leave us alone so we may harvest our crops and write music for our children?
The Usurper King: Tell me this, why is the author of our story calling me the usurper king and you the warrior king. I have not yet understood the purpose of his words.
The Warrior King: I simply do not know, we may be in a dream, we may be mindless robots who think they are not and have to keep reassuring themselves of this fact by that unnecessary statement,’I am not a robot.’ We could be creations of a majestic God or the elaborate evolution of chemicals from the moment of the big bang. All I know is that we are both here in our royal hall and I am in great pain. Please, get someone to dress my wound.
The Usurper King: You still haven’t explained why my name is now the usurper.
The Warrior King: My life-force is declining, and your carpet is to blame. If only someone rolled it across my side like a tourniquet. But promise to help me when I tell you the entire truth. You see, I have told you everything I know because we are in a test and only one of us can win. I only want to play fair. You insist on being the most deserving anti-type of myself. Only because this particular temptation has simulated us to make it look like you are the king and I the warrior in your ranks. I only hope I get it right this time because now I am not alone.
The Usurper King: Usurper means one who takes over. What have I seized that does not already belong to me. I would give out my blood for DNA analysis, and you would lose the opportunity to rule because you are the fake.
The Warrior King: I think he decided to pen down this particular struggle to make a good point. That good finally tramps evil as the title suggests. See the G in paGoda is capitalized and the d in the devil is reduced because he intended this to be a success story for me.
The Usurper King: So you’re saying the author has sealed my fate.
The Warrior King: Not at all. Free will floats aimlessly in the universe. It is our only real power, and for most people, power is addictive.
The Usurper King: So what would happen if I were to abdicate this throne right now to you? Would that make me the victor? Or is that just an elaborate trick from you to tear from me the beauty I have built.
At that moment, the big gates open and the queen shuffles down the hallway past the warrior king and sits down. She stares at the warrior on the floor.
The Queen: Don’t I know you from somewhere. You resemble my husband before he became a better version of you. However, I am unsure of your authenticity. You desire the comfort of princesses and the throne of my king. Well, I shall give you no such honor. Answer these identity questions, and you will be attended to. For i know you better than anyone else. I shall begin immediately. First, why does the moon look as bright as it does?
The Warrior King: The sun is its brightness.
The Usurper King: I never really understood why the moon couldn’t make its light. Such mediocrity.
The Queen: Which element slowly turns black when exposed to air?
The Warrior King: I know this one, for my chemistry teacher slapped me daily for a grade I finally earned. It is silver.
The Usurper King: The only element that I see turning black is your clotting blood. Think faster young warrior.
The Queen: What shows the age of a growing tree?
The Usurper King: Oh shit! Everyone knows this.
The Warrior King: The rings on its trunk mystify its strength and age.
The Usurper King: Wrong. The barks of the tree are the tell-tale sign of age you dum dum.
The Queen: He is, in fact, correct as per the encyclopedia-of-everything.
The king slumps on his giant chair and strikes a helpless servant with his scepter out of frustration.
The Queen: And finally, what did the tin man want from the wizard of Oz.
The Usurper King: Clearly, he wanted to be a fat man because who would want to be a tin man. Get it. I’m too hilarious, fire the royal jester.
The warrior king stares at his reflection on the throne and realizes how easily he has won the temptation. All he ever needed was to let his own diabolical nature rise to the surface
The Warrior King: More than anything, he needed a heart. And that’s precisely what you need too, your wretchedness.
The Usurper King: How dare you disrespect me by calling me wretched.
The Warrior King: Then why did you build your throne room at the top of the pagoda where lightning strikes daily. You were never humble, and all you ever did was seek glory where duty could have been your pedestal.
The Queen: Look what you made me do. He has answered the riddles of his nature better than you have my usurper. He is the rightful owner of all your estates, for he knows his soul more than you. How fickle it is and yet he soldiers on, up the highest paGoda to find you. He bleeds on the outside, but you have been suffering within all this time. Make way for the new king.
The usurper is escorted to the giant oak door and with his sword, splits the hanging purple curtain into two.
The Usurper King: Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I only hope we never get to see each other again. I am the very essence of your humanity. I linger like an aftershock.
THE END.
