Caliban's Mistake

Caliban's Mistake

And so Caliban stood up to cry, the tears drifting from his eyes, the speech ready in his mind, brown pupils inverted in his sight. The scars that covered his back sank and drifted, moving across the chocolate sea now white from the lash. He rose up straight, crooked in his attire, the crowds jeering calling him a liar. Slander pasted his nostrils with caulk, he hobbled to the stand barely able to walk. Making it to the podium to an offended roar, they threw things at him, even the common whore. He opened his mouth to speak, he gave out a squeak, the words of thousands, wisdom beneath the sandalwood tree. The squeak spread across the hall filling ears and souls, and with a leer they pelted him once more. He spoke of life with potato in his eyes white from lack of sight. But he saw, as if through a crystal ball, what would happen to these poor and few if the masses did not listen to his crows. "Squeak! Squeak!" he proclaimed, the prophet on the rock, "Jeer Jeer" the masses called back, "Get down you rotting sod!" He spoke of love and death, birth and tradition, the understanding of things un-understandable. He spoke of belief and faith and they closed their ears, he had been empirical in his approach but they held to pagan beliefs. So poor Caliban played shaman chief and they shunned the spells and spilled milk. They proclaimed an Abrahamic way, the one God or so they said. So Caliban took up the crusade, and squeaked his way through death and birth, but like Pontious Pilate, they said no. They called on many things, and Caliban the Chameleon played their game, changing his tune to their every pain. Finally Caliban burst into tears, he had no place amongst the jeers and leers. These people would damn themselves, he did not care. Caliban saw the light, they didn't, he had taken all he could bear. So Caliban left the masses worshipping the Golden Calf, the symbol of power, the way, their path. So Caliban lost himself in the desert, forest, and steppe. He wandered for years. People laughed at the tale of the old disconfigured Nubian who had once came to them, staff in hand, portending a tempest. A text book example they called his claims, the man was a fool, to follow him was no gain. He talked of locusts coming to feast on their crops, hordes of toads defiling the wells, and demons coming to rape man, woman, and child. Caliban the fool the children sang, as they flew their kites in the dusty sands of the roads that lead to the Golden Calf, the temple on the mount, forever stout said the priest, and never not. Soon the people forgot about Caliban's warning, they sang their songs and sacrificed their rams, but to Caliban no one gave a damn, no songs remaining of the man who had come nigh to teach of days to come, and all were content.

Then on a dry night, Caliban dying in the wood, saw the fire burst into the sky, falling sparks in the firelight. Massive in their being they smashed mother earth, the locusts were blazing, the toads spewing from the hearth. As demons arrived from darker times, the children screamed and the men cried. The women stood tall and fought to the last, swinging the hammer and axe. Yet valiant amazon nor high priest of calf could stem the tide of unholy mass. And so they died, one by one, none having had smeared blood of lamb as Caliban had said should be done.

Disfigured Caliban forced out a smile, his voice so vile, he giggled all the while "Those fools never listened to me, :wheeze, even though I gave them warning ample, :whooze, I told them of terror and blight to come :gasp, but they took no heed and laughed at my bum :hack, my unshapely bum :tear:" And with last drop of salt, water, and hurt Caliban died with the rest, his message lying in his heart, he had tried his best...in his own mutilated eyes.

But Caliban had not done his best, he had not stayed his path. Caliban had strayed, exasperated by man. So Caliban so smug in his belief of 10,000 virgins and cotton white sheets, found himself in the flame of undesirable blame. "Why oh why!?" he squeaked as the demons did baste his succulent flesh, "I hath served and I am here now being devoured by sharp mouths and slashing tongues as if I had done Thee wrong!" A demon cackled a condescending laugh, squirting blood onto poor Caliban's chest. "Petty fool!" it called "Your own weakness brought you here. You forsook those you were sent to save, so you find yourself here this day. Destined to save man and himself, you left your post and cavorted in wood with sylvan beauty and nymph, your very own debauchery caused your fall, blame not the Golden Calf or her flock!"

And so Caliban vanished in flickering flame, the world anew came to be. And in the fields slowly gaining green, a single dandelion rose its goldenrod flower reaching towards the sun. A tiger and a magpie ambled along and stopped to admire its ethereal beauty. "What be this my friend?" the tiger inquired, "To grow by itself its ambition so dire?" The magpie hopped and skipped upon the ground and eyed the star making its presence on earth and replied "It marks the turn of Caliban from blessed to damned and serves as a stele, a monument to warn the rest..." The magpie drifted off and her voice faded fluttering in the breeze as dandelion seeds filled the dirt field and magically goldenrod petals became a sea, nodding their heads in unison to the winds gentle pulls as if to acknowledge the traveling two. "Warn the rest of what?" the tiger inquired. The magpie with a start looked at her large companion and with a pause replied in a steady voice with eye of lye and amber, "Of Caliban's Mistake". The tiger nodded in mock comprehension and the magpie hop scotched onto her companion's back. As the two ambled on to who knows where, passing through fields golden like the sun, the flowers turnd white and with a breath the clouds sent the children of Apollo drifting towards river, mountin, and field and in this flurry of white, the companions two walked as one, a warm snowstorm that would not delay them for the night. And all the while, the tiger nodded his heavy head, bony in its attire, black stripes softened by white tufts seemingly put to fire, saying to himself, as if to console some past wrong, "Caliban's Mistake" until they had gone...

Fin