Alan Schwartz

We of the guild, are easily recognized by a certain unique glow, that manifests where there was once pigmentation. In our continuum of colors, white is not one but rather the absence of one. Unfortunately, for those of us the primaries appear as a porcelain sheen. We share many similar physical defects but that’s where the commonality abruptly ends. Within these walls, we congregate, but more facility than clubhouse, designed to prep us for the road ahead. It’s not by choice that we all arrive here from various points or origin, we gather as a group but are not as one in any sense and we never mingle. Seldom an exchange of pleasantries, everyone’s absorbed within their own distractions. And if you should look close enough, you’ll notice that nobody’s rocking to any collective rhythm. Membership is more or less between member and guild, It’s a one-on-one thing, and we’re too detached to be socially conscious. Our worlds are consumed by the necessities of the day to day, while the sheer force of our fears jettison us forward. All for the love of a chance for more of the same. The point of connecting became moot in light of what needed to be done, we acknowledged support and good thoughts, then it was back to the business at hand.

As I waited for my ride to be assigned, I watched the coming and goings of the other riders. We were all at varying stages but all you had to do was see the signs that spoke volumes as to the destinations ahead. Each rider progressed at whatever speed moved them, as long as it moved them forward. But there was this one particular rider, that once I caught wind of her, I felt unusually connected to. So slight she was in stature, I didn’t think it was possible to be so emaciated and remain upright. She lassoed my attention just like a cowboy would, didn’t even see it coming. I was never quite sure as to who connected with whom or why. But what I did know was the force that propelled her did it with a deliberate purpose, I just never saw her feet move. I had imagined some intricate pulley system, manipulated by some AI virtual software that provided her brain with the necessary impulse that she could not. She moved so slowly, albeit steadily down a corridor that led to the very last place she wanted to be but had little choice in the matter. She reminded me of a scene from a B-horror movie, with a limited budget for special effects. Perhaps smoke and mirrors were at hand, doesn’t matter cause the pain she wore was visibly etched on her face. Common courtesy should have told me not to stare but I did, nonetheless. It appeared porcelain in texture, a face so smooth and lifeless, not a crease, winkle, or blemish, I doubt a bug could’ve held its ground on that surface. I wanted to touch her face, to feel it’s coolness, so I would know what to expect. The urge to reach out was strong but not proper at any point. There was this sort of supple iridescent glow to her skin, not so much from a healthy lifestyle and fun in the sun. Still it attracted me but I couldn’t say why. More like marble, a face sculptured by a life overrun by a thing she couldn’t repel. Her skin appeared drawn so tight, like a drum having played too many solos or too many facelifts having been pulled too far back. All those character lines that depicted stories of a life, gone on a stretched-out canvas void of any tales to tell. You could call it alabaster if you like but it was a paleness that compelled you to look away, don’t stare and go about your business. The tone and texture outlined both a struggle and prognosis of last-ditch efforts, usually found within the providence of St. Jude Thaddeus. Her lack of skin tone became her war paint, that was forged into a death mask; and hers was fierce. It illustrated a pattern of continuous struggle, having fought for life, liberty, and pursuit of more of the same. She had to have sensed me, as she immediately turned and made eye contact. I sensed she was pissed and insisted without words just gestures that she was the warrior princess in an epic struggle. So she kept walking, if you wanted to call it that. Fueled by fear, or love, or both in tandem. The two emotions although more polarized, came together against a common foe; the enemy of my enemy scenario. The fear of losing everything she worked for, motivated her to move those bony limbs, despite an insatiable urge to fetus up and give herself to the Mist. She knew everybody she loved, was watching and paying attention, hoping she had what it takes or all was lost. And I knew then our paths had crossed for a reason.

…It felt so otherworldly, more terrorizing than complicated, strange brewing of which I couldn’t fathom. I knew it was me but a shadow of a former self. I knew I wasn’t home or in Kansas and hadn’t a clue. I was adrift, alone in a small skiff, lifeless and rudderless with no sense of direction, whatsoever. Zero visibility, and I couldn’t feel shit. But what scared me the most was that I couldn’t hear either, was it because I went deaf or there’s nothing to hear? I experienced some sort of movement, like I was swimming in embryonic ooze. A sense of floating forward, into that ooze, only there was no current. But I felt buoyant enough to had sailed the seven seas, or so I thought. Why didn’t I smell diesel waste or decaying fish, not a scent. Wherever north and south used to be, it was lost in this madness for now. There was a mist that surrounded everything, couldn’t have been any thicker without being solid, and I was neither wet nor cold. Didn’t understand much but what I did know was that I should’ve been more concerned. The only answer that made any sense was that I wasn’t much of anything, anymore. So I must be something else, something between, what was between life and death? I tried to maintain the acceptance of my predicament, that it was just me and me alone out here. Stranded in a mist that isolated me from the vertical world. It sounded the least bit sensational or delirium or a glimpse of bleak future. So, what was left of me was more of a caricature of a man who danced outside the mist. I morphed from flesh and fiber, to something more soluble, capable of a new fluidity, but all the madness in the middle of this mess could kiss my pituitary glands. It seemed too surreal, too abstract even for Dali and I was done with it all…

Being processed into the Guild was both expedient and equally uncomfortable, but not without its own initiation. I was put through a regiment of obstacle courses and evaluations, while some of those procedures were not for the faint of heart. Initiation I, Talk about a no access place and still they ventured where no probe manmade or otherwise should ever, on any human being but that didn’t stop them. I laid prone and helpless watching as a snake-like prod penetrated me, in a way I never imagined. Now that was something my father should’ve warned me about, every father should. That bit of information needed to be in the forefront, bolded out, in caps, on the first page of the Mans’ Manual, section III on how to survive Urology in your golden years. I was never sure what caused me the most harm, the moment my second favorite organ was so violated or when I allowed them to do it again. You would’ve had to be sitting next to me to fully appreciate the moment, and to have understood my motives. Either way, there was no consultation that could’ve prepared me for what laid ahead and being forewarned would’ve convinced any sane man to flee, don’t turn around no matter what you hear! I had a front row seat for this intrusion, which appeared at first to be anatomically impossible but to my dismay proved otherwise. A TV monitor was rendered for my viewing pleasure, so I could witness the carnage as it unfolded within. My focus kept flitting from the thing on the screen, which had a striking resemblance to the Blob. Another B-horror movie that launched a stellar career for a young actor, as it barreled down my urethra or was it up? Excellent theatre until I realized that I was the unsuspecting victim, who was the first to fall. I kept trying to squirm out my chair, but too many hands kept me in check and all I could do was bare down as if I was in childbirth. Eventually, I came eyeball to eyeball with the cause of all my grief. I had been occupied by a life draining mass that believed to be empowered and the infidel was me. I stopped shaking for a moment, long enough to take in the view and I saw more than I cared to. I would own that image forever, as did all the riders before had. Certain fragments of knowledge are like tattoos, leaving an inedible impression on each of your temporal lobes as well as other sore spots. I’ve viewed and screamed well into the night from many a delightfully frightening horror flick, enjoying every blood-curdling frame but never in the lead role.

Having wasted no time, acknowledging none to spare, she articulated the sentence into words for us. Those same words were shots fired, then reverberated off the walls directly into my wife’s heart and ricochet again before they exploded in my brain. Sending shrapnel-like particles covered with my aspirations everywhere. She having uttered those words, stuck in our memories like Velcro on a tot’s shoe, so it never becomes undone. They took hold and set up shop inside, fused with every fiber of me. I couldn’t separate those words from my vocabulary anymore and they became the rest of my story. Her prognosis opened a window with a limited horizon and nothing short of x-ray vision could sway that view. So, all that was left for me was to prepare for the ride ahead.

I mean really, my DNA, like my families DNA was far from pure but apparently perfect for foreign cells to migrate, everything desires upgrades. We had lost so many members, so many descendants over so many decades that it appeared personal. Again, knowing what I knew, I still indulged myself without any respect for the life I was given. Then poked the bear until I got its undivided attention. I surely deserved some of pushback for my irresponsible behavior but that’s all it was. And when the moment arrives, I’ll respect it for what it is, real skin in the game of life and death when it was no longer a game. I held it off for a while, in a display of mad grit and resolve. Fought the fight that needed to be fought, but I was still a bet against. In the many battles my tribe had waged, none hit closer to home than in my sister’s, the last time I saw her alive. Her eyes, her body lifeless but her life force blazed in her eyes and I heard them plead to me in a desperate tone. “You gotta me help, little brother, I cannot help myself.” Her once formidable frame, failed her, leaving her powerless to rally for her life. The woman who swore to protect me, I could not do in kind. I was powerless to help her and myself as well. I looked into her eyes, as her energy slipped through my fingers like so much water from a leaky faucet. Those same eyes implored me to do something, anything but all I could do was accept her fate as our loss, then my knees buckled for the second time. I imagined her, being a prisoner of herself, her mind actively seeking solutions to a life support system gone awry. But confined to a vessel that has taken on too much water…woman overbroad! And in that precise moment, I discovered there were far worse things in life than death. As I replaced fear with a healthy resolve, the club accepted me and I it, for better or worse, until the road ends.

…My eyes, riveted shut as I dangled precariously once more, perhaps for the last time, deep into the mist. Reluctant to give a shit about this, that, or anything anymore, I came to accept that there was no longer yesterday, or now, and definitely not tomorrow. Left with no choice, that there was only this, lost, alone and disenfranchised. Maybe it was as it was meant to be, when you arrive at the end of days. Maybe it’s a good thing, maybe the best thing but anything was better than that nightmarish road leading next to nowhere. But I had chosen my fate, of my own free will, and just when I had, I gave myself to the mist…I chose, to wander in the nothingness of the ethereal. I mutated into the Flying Dutchmen of the Abyss. Having been there before I had a sense of ownership, it fit like OJ’s glove. Every moment that seemed like forever, I intuited my cells detaching, disconnecting from the Mother ship and dissolved effortlessly into the mist. Merging as part of the whole, every particle of me, quit in a steady and fluid deconstruction. No form, no fucking fooling. Then stopped just as aggressively as it started, as a sharp intrusion blasted into the mist, followed by a massive displacement of fluid. Someone or something grabbed hold of me and yanked. Like being stuck in a plunger, while the suction kept me at bay and all I could do was go with the flow. Until I was thrown free, all the while something melodic caressed my ear. A voice? Or images selectively embossed in my memory? More than likely just a dark noise, humming in the mist. As I commenced to come together, no longer splitting like an atom. I was moved by a secular cognizance that surfaced when I surrendered myself. I smiled, as the Abyss revealed some of its secrets to me, in verse and spectacular imagery.

The caretakers of the guild, for lack of a better term, were the heart and soul of the operation. They were like farmers who tilled the land, whether it bared a yield or not. They worked us for all we was worth, with a sense of urgency that never seemed to waiver. If not for their presence, their commitment to the riders more of us would’ve been waylaid by the roadside to the Abyss. Their numbers belied both their strength and dedication; too thin they were to handle their ever-increasing flock. It rang true that death and dying were too big a business to let fail. Inside The Guild, its process was in full swing, where all prepared for the next phase. It was in fact the only phase that mattered, the one that led back to the life. It being a risky proposition at best, requiring the skills and nerves of a professional gambler. So, when confronted with a seemingly losing hand, any savvy gambler would account for all the variables, all the contingencies at play before he renders a wager. He acknowledges there will always be things he can’t predict or control, so he speculates and when no one is looking he hedges his bet like a mother. Then prays after placing himself all in, that said prays don’t fall on deaf ears. Such prayers led me to one concern, okay, make that one concern and one rub. The first being if the receiver of such prayers existed, then I had been grossly misinformed for far too many years. But in spite of which, I stilled played the smart percentages as any gambler would. But the rub being far more disturbing to me, why a God with no name was mad and why was She so mad with me? Unfortunately, I took it personal, which was an overreach on me, assuming she knew me from Adam. Most had trouble with my use of pronouns but she made more sense to me under the circumstances. So, being compelled to accept any deity’s existence, then having no choice, I converted He to a She and in all matters of religion, it’s between me and her? Blasphemy they say? Whatever the truth was or wasn’t, it didn’t brood well for me. In the course of my religious instruction, the only take away that made any sense was that She, was one vengeful son-of-a-deity and not to be trifled with or cheated upon. As with any supreme entity, It was usually their way, which was the only way or be smite, you Pagan!

What I had hoped for once I entered the Guild, was the fear that I suppressed along with my broken spirit, would no longer be a factor, that closure was imminent. I was gravely mistaken, instead an expiration date was extended to me, having added a new concern to an ever-expanding inventory. For that moment time froze and I froze with it, something stupefied me from the neck up and in that split second, nothing was more important to me than that second at hand. I was left with a slither of time, give or take a moment or two, to find peace and some solace in the life I led. The way I counted it, there was 1,440 minutes in a day and I needed to use them all, wisely. I stopped looking at time the same way, and sliced it as I would a pie, and then created subsets and sliced them up some more. Until it looked like I had time to spare.

Had I abandoned this receiver of all prayers, what would’ve been left for the likes of me. I remember reading Sartre in school and wincing in horror at the possibilities he presented. The nothingness of it, I wondered in retrospect had he also meandered in the mist? But at the time, as most Frenchmen should understand my preoccupation was with the smarter gender not an afterlife. “Please, don’t let it be so.” I would sob under my breath to any divinity in earshot. I needed to believe that there was something more benign out there other than heaven or hell, and for fuck’s sake not another Cecil B. DeMille production. Which ultimately led me to deaths door, being the key that unlocks all the veils to all the answers. I was at full throttle with sessions well into my journey, when it truly started to matter for me. The dawn of my ride was at hand and I was ready to roll. The changes were so slight at first, hardly distinguishable like the first few pounds you gained right before obesity smacked you upside your midriff. Over time it built into a crescendo that I could no longer ignore or control. It changed me in all ways imaginable. My descent into decay was the beginning of the end. That was when the Palerider emerged, in all his unsightly splendor. Not one fiber of me was exempt, I was in, with a hand that reeked fold. As a result, I abandoned most of the good stuff that comprised me, I abandoned life, in order to accept my death. A shell of myself was left behind, in lieu a keepsake, It masqueraded as me only to keep up appearances. I was left in a somber state of slumber perpetually, where unconsciousness was the norm. I slept instead of lived and in so doing, found myself awash along the bank of the mist, and that was when I began to feel the burn.

…I was deep into the mist now, almost like I belong. I got close enough to have caught a scent of something and it vibrated from an unlimited flow of energy. This presence surrounded me, it was sweet and pleasant and comforted me. My senses were in session again, a delectable scent was evident and it was both masculine/feminine. I smelled, I sensed but I couldn’t explain why. Images were indelibly fused into my old DNA and became part of me. Everything within the mist had its own timeline, etched in stone and nothing short of a solar blast can alter it. Carved in the annals of time, I was freed on my own recognizance, allowed to finish what I started. I couldn’t say how long it was before I found my way, but it was love for sure, that dragged me back to my senses. I heard her voice call out to me, I sensed her despair and concern and it served as a beacon. To which I could navigate my way back, that was when her love held me tight and ripped me from the Abyss. My God, my mind, whatever it was or wasn’t turned energy into mass, sprouted tentacles and saved me from perdition. I was gone from this place and that was all that mattered, for now…

Love, had to have been, no force stronger than, not even close. What other hypothesis could move matter the way it moved me. Out of the fire, over the pan and into loving arms. Still not convinced of any one thing pulled me from the brink, it was in truth a concoction events. That created wonderful alchemy, when it was needed the most. The smart money’s on, well you know, but first things first.

The burn is to a rider what a fix is to an addict, a means to an end. Where the day-to-day could resume without any of the restraints that bog them down, as we underappreciate our day to day. The ride for me had no reverse in its gear box, there was only forward. Going forward required weekly sessions, to achieve such an end. It required several years of indoctrination to corral the beast and send it packing. I hadn’t a clue about the road to my salvation until, at the same time a global killer swept the planet. When I walked through the guilds’ conclave, I swore that it was the last time. Groucho had said it best, “I won’t be part of any club that would have me as a member.” I noticed, I wasn’t the only one with that in mind but it looked like I was the last to leave the dance. The chamber, emptied except for the remnants of debris, left by a panicked herd of crazed octogenarians. A once booming venue, standing room only had lost its captive audience. With a new menace taking root and diminishing an already reduced town folk. I laid low amongst my fellow riders and tried to wait out the storm. My body began a slow and steady decline that seemed to coincide with the world around it. I had no doubt the two weren’t related but at the time it appeared to be more than just a coincidence. I called it as I saw it, random chaos at its most costly. As the world withdrew, to lessen the spread, so did I. We were both losing ground simultaneously, me and humanity but mine was a greater degree of difficulty. One loss and I was out but the world could handle a little thinning and still continue to thrive, just without me. All the while, I wasn’t paying attention, I started to change, gradually morphing into, and completely fusion with the Palerider. While so many around me suffered in concert. Suddenly, the world and I became as one, we suffered as one and were lessened as one. There was no other choice for me but to withdraw from the ranks, in order to protect the file. Somehow, I managed to stay clear of the other shoe dropping, caught my second wind and somehow allowed continue this life. That was the exact moment I notice what love happened to look like when a notion takes form, and became animated. A USG (Unidentified Saving Grace) for lack of a better explanation, reached out and saved me, again. But the jury was still out on the world.

The cost of my patch, can only be measured in increments of time and the depth of my journey. After many months of riding the road to ruin, I looked the look and walked the walk. And I saw the Palerider, every morning when I was forced to save his face. I knew as soon as I opened my eyes come break of day that I wasn’t the same man who had closed them. I recognized that I pulled the wool over deaths eyes for now, but it wasn’t lost on me either that it had my scent. I wasn’t sure how I got from there to here until the love that grabbed hold, explained it to me in detail. That I had stopped treatment in time with the height of global madness. That I was a new shiny piece of porcelain, akin to the warrior princess, as we sprinted down the road to perdition. I was long past dehydration and fluids left me quicker than constituents fled California to a place called Idaho? The very last time the mist engulfed me, was when I heard her speak my name. She always told me she loved me but I had it confused with learned behavior, until I felt its touch. It became an extension of her and It took hold of me when I needed to be held most and brought me back to the land of the Verticals. That’s what love does, that was how I recognized it and her love showed up in time, just like the Marines. She thought she lost me and was right but I didn’t have the wherewithal to mention it. I tried to explain that she saved me but she wouldn’t buy in. That a warmth cocooned me in a way that both shielded and comforted me and I knew, like I knew the tide would change, the sun would rise and that man would leave this place in ruin. That it still wasn’t my time yet, that I had shit to do.

And so I did. I worked both body and mind back to where I left off, in a mad dash to put some distance between me and the Palerider’s road. I knew this battle was far from over, won’t be till I cried uncle. From that cocoon emerged a believer, someone who knew better or thought so. In lieu of a good therapist, or a cop never around when you needed one; I found faith. The kind of faith that finds you first, when you’re backed up against a wall, where you and rock had hit bottom, together in one massive thump. I had thought the truth would set me free, it had not. But I was back amongst my tribe, and believed it a good restart. So in the end, after facing the ins and outs of both life and death, repeatedly, I came away with more of that precious time, courtesy of a perfect blend of science and theology. Well, I always envisioned a deity akin to a mad scientist, capable of almost anything. Perhaps at the very least, I’ve garnished a couple more tomorrows or maybe a month of Sundays wouldn’t suck either. Still, I had to come to terms with myself, being in conflict with reason and flight of fantasy, born from necessity. I never took sides before, I lived an agnostic life on the hedge cause I couldn’t commit, not then. But in a nano-second of doubt, I decided to balk at logic and trip the light fantastic; embrace what I assumed to be was just an extraordinary gift. Then came that feeling of awe again that I use to feel as a kid playing joyously in the summer, experiencing a peace that was the residual of contentment. All that produced a smile on a face that had no business smiling, until then. It made me feel warm and fuzzy and very much alive. I plan on wearing it as best I can for as long as I can, until the mist consumes me.

–Alan Schwartz

Stories