PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

[a homage to Taphless Gibler's uncollected short story,

"Marooned Far From The Morons On A Pastel Moon"]

1

Two thugs had been watching him for quite a long time

that evening; so we should, perhaps, begin with a

description of him:  you have probably seen his

sort elsewhere---they seem to turn up quite a

bit in our more tolerant society, despite the best

efforts of those patriotically sensible defenders of

our historic way of life and customary heterosexuality,

which are threatened by the like of him---a slender,

obviously male, but somewhat feminine, long-haired

boy, having earlier this summer attained the age of legal

consent.  He was clad in a mesh tee-shirt, which

provocatively displayed his torso and nipples, and was

tucked neatly into the waist-band of that style of

jeans called "skinny" by the weirdos who wear them; and

beneath those slightly rolled denim cuffs, stripey socks

(pastel blue and lavender) sheathed his feet, which were

protected by sports sandals (he usually avoided shoes

except when inclement weather and difficult surfaces

required them; socks, he believed, were sufficient for

most activities).  So when he departed the saloon,

although the hour was fairly early considering the

summer sun's late setting, they followed him out and,

near a shadowed alley, overpowered him, abducted him, and

brought him to the water's edge, and to a small rowboat

awaiting their use for this perfidious purpose which, of course,

they justified in the name of the defense of straight

heterosexuality.  They had bound his wrists and his ankles

with plastic ties; and having made their way to that part of

the lake they believed to be its center, they removed his

sandals (which most likely would have fallen off and drifted

back as potential evidence against them), and. despite his

tearful pleas of ultimate terror, tossed him into the water.

They had not even bothered to ascertain his name---which, as

he sinks beneath the surface, we should probably mention:

Jeremie, as he spelled it (most people thought that was too

"girly" a form), and, since seventh grade, it had given rise to a

slogan that had clung to him for the last six years of his

compulsory educaton---"Fairy be Jeremie!"  The two thugs

congratulated each other on the bravery of their action and

began the oar-pull that would return them to their place in the world.

2

Being something of a visitor to this area, he was not aware of the

island that occupied a part of the water's center; and most of the

local residents were equally unaware of it and would have been

somewhat surprised to be informed of its existence.  Jeremie found

himself lying upon dry sand, just past the last of the tide's reach as

it strove to caress the shore, and---quite unexpectedly---his clothing

was entirely dry.  Twilight was now coloring the sky with a spectacular

version of the colors of his socks.  As he sat up, he noticed the three

young men who were seated or sprawled around him, watching him

intently. They might have been triplets, although they were not. 

Each of their faces, with nuances that could be called feminine,

were distinctly different; but their eyes were equally deep, their

gazes entirely sincere, and their smiles very shy but welcoming.  Their

very tanned limbs suggested a subtle strength without the usual

distortions that a body-builder would have created; their waist-length

blond hair had been coiffed into small, soft curls; and each of them

was clad only in a thong, with only enough fabric to ensure some

standard of modesty.  "Am I dead, or dreaming, or about to be dead?"

Jeremie asked.  "No," one answered.  "You are very much alive," a

second continued.  "This is reality; perhaps more real than where

"you had previously visited," the third explained.  Jeremie shook his

head:  "You rescued me?"  "Yes," they replied similtaneously.  "We

"did not want you to get wet, that way, so we bore you up on our

"hands and brought you here."  A sense of gratitude, that seemed

entirely palpable, coursed through Jeremie's flesh.  "Thank you,"

he whispered, and all three, blusing, said, "You're welcome," together.

"What should I call you?"  They looked at each other, as if flattered by

his question; and paused, as if searching his thoughts, and then one

answered, "Fawns.  Call us fawns---like the young given birth by a doe."

After this conversation, they escorted him around their island, each of

them in turn holding his hand.  They showed him a large garden

profuse with flowerings and fruitings, enclosed by a low wall of

highly polished stones, built for decoration and not defense.  A 

sparkling fountain watered the plants by day, and in the late evenings, 

mists (they explained this principle later).  Several species of trees

provided shade as needed in the afternoons.  As the stars began to

constellate the sky, the Fawns excused themselves, explaining that

they must absent themselves momentarily to dress for dinner; and

then returning, clad now from wait to toe in opaque gray tights---as if

they had been dancers in some very exclusive ballet company (but of

such, they disclaimed any knowledge, not even familiar with the

concept).  The meal consisted of assorted delicacies, along with

vegetables and fruits harvested from the garden, and Jeremie, suddenly

feeling very famished, eagerly devoured all that was placed before

him, not in the least curious as to the provenance or means of

preparation.  After the last morsel had vanished, Jeremie asked,

"Am I staying the night?"  Together, the Fawns nodded.  "Where

"will I sleep?"  One of the Fawns smiled broadly.  "Within our

"embrace, and beneath a most accommodating quilt."  And thus

concluded Jeremie's first night upon the island; and, although the

Fawns had removed their tights and thongs, they respected his

wish to remain clothed, and only embraced him gently and without

amorous intention (like him, they, themselves, insisted on monogamy,

which would require certain choices; however that particular

decision would be postponed for sometime as Jeremie became

more oriented to the island, and more comfortable in his residence there).

3

Jeremie spent his days---either with one or more of the Fawns; or, at

times and upon his request, by himself---exploring the island, which

offered many delightful features; examining the beauty and

structure of the landscape, and of the many vegetal species (some of

which would not have been expected to thrive together); and, after

nightfall, observing the sky, and the stars and planets which he learned,

with time and eager effort, to identify.  Morning, noon, and night,

he prayed---and his memory of the prayers, he found, was very

functional, even despite the absence of any prayerbook.  "The

"ancient Faith," said one of the Fawns, "is a worship that

"always deepens the experience and joy of prayer," and Jeremie, 

pleased by the unsolicited statement, completely agreed.  He

was amazed that he had become so contended with this insular

lifestyle, that entirely lacked  the busy-ness that occupied the

mainland (or, as he had come to ruefully call it, the "strait land"), and

that he did not miss, nor regret, its---the strait land's---shallower

entertainments whatsoever.  Considering themselves his friends

(although one would, in the process of time, become his lover), the

Fawns always willingly and openly accepted all of his questions, and 

always respectfully discussed his opinions and conclusions.  As to 

his past, they maintained a courteous discretion---relying upon him to 

disclose such details only as and when he wished.

4

In the last term of his freshman undergraduate year, Jeremie had

audited a Philosophy 101 course; and, although he felt he had no

aptitude for this particular academic discipline, he did retain one

memorable statement that the instructor had repeated rather often:

that time consisted of three kinds or species:  kairos and

koinos, chronos and idios.  The first two aspects were to be

desired and sought with active hope; the other two were to be

be eschewed and avoided with deliberate and careful intention.

Two he had found on the island with the Fawns;

two he had abandoned in the strait land with the thugs.

5

After Jeremie had spent some time on the island, pieces of the small

boat commandeered by his abductors began to wash ashore.  They

appeared to have been smashed apart, rather than loosened by the

action of water or nisuse.  A few threads of fabric, one of them bearing

what appeared to be the stain of blood, clung to the wooden shards.  Of

course, Jeremie felt a rush of mixed emotions:  sorrow for lives lost and

wasted; relief that, even if he had wished to return, those thugs would

not be lurking in vengeful wait for him; and disdain that they had been so

crude that, even though they had disliked him on sight, they could not

have respected his existence.  Heterosexuality, he thought, was neither

so tenuous nor so tentative as to need the bolster of intolerant violence.

While he contemplated all this, the Fawns stood quietly apart, sensing

that, for the moment, he needed to be alone.  But, of course, in that

place, in their care and companionship, he knew, at last, that he would

never be entirely alone; and that sufficed to create a contentment in

him that needed neither further explanation nor objective explication of

this place, or time, or his privilege to dwell here as long as poetry lasts.

Starward