Thursday, 10 March 2011

The disintegration of someone who is not Felix Salmon

He was never Felix Salmon. That's what they couldn't understand. He wasn't even a man. For a while I tried to convince myself (and others) that he was a scarecrow. My consciousness couldn't support that fanciful notion for long. And so he collapsed to the cold ground, and he disintegrated. It's just lumps, bits and pieces now. That is all we have. There is an eye that will not stop staring. Am I being accused of something? There is half a mouth and a slice of tongue. Whatever terrible things I may have done, this thing's silence cannot judge me. Oh, it can try, but it will not succeed. I am not responsible for the tragedy. I was somewhere else. The blood in my mouth? That's my blood, not his. It just fell apart, disintegrated, I say. Felix Salmon had a chance. We can't even call him that. It had a chance to make something of itself. His fate was in his own hands. Where are his hands? This is awful. It was never a man. That's my only consolation.

It was never a man. I know what a man is. I've seen them about. I am one myself. And I've seen those women. They're a part of this. We must try to suspend our disbelief. You wouldn't find me in a field, fighting off crows. However, one day, I will disintegrate. It happens to the best of them. It will happen to you. Felix Salmon never lived, never breathed the way we have been known to breathe. That's true. No one's denying it. But let his story be a warning. We are running out of time! That leg, well, part of a leg, it looks like it, a leg bit. That could belong to any one of us in the coming future, which will come, as all futures come. Or rather, not belong any more. Detached, adrift in an uncaring world. A dog could find it. Then where would we be? Everywhere and nowhere. That's the short answer. The long answer is ... a matter of belief, as you would expect. What do you believe? I believe we are more than flesh and bone. We must leave this 'Felix Salmon' creature out of it. I'm talking about us. What are we? Are we covered skeletons on the way to the grave, where we will be stripped down, then left for centuries, maybe even thousands of years, until some ghoul decides to put us on display? No! We are more than that. We are spirits. Let them take our bodies! Let the dogs gnaw away at our legs! What do we care? We'll be gone.

Felix Salmon has gone. He was never here. I tried my best to imagine him. We all did. But it was to no avail. We have our bits and pieces, at least. Not much comfort, I know. Never mind. Maybe one day a visionary will arrive, with powers beyond mine. He or she will find these lumps and make something new. It wouldn't have to be a human. It wouldn't have to be given a name. (We have to be reasonable. Are we really looking for a miracle?) Just one big lump. That would suffice. If we're still here, we'll be able to watch it roll in the dirt. I don't think we can expect anything more than that. It will have a life. That's the main thing. Something good has to come out of this. We all struggle. We don't know why. That 'man' we wanted, it tried to please us. For us, it came together - for a brief moment. Felix was a flickering candle in the dark. Then it went out because we didn't have faith. We should have helped him with his fate. The failure was ours.