La Petite Mort

A Short Story by Kyle Casey

December 20, 2012. 11:58 pm The one-vehicle caravan trekking across the lonely Floridian highway was reminiscent of earlier, more western American pioneers blazing along the Oregon Trail in chase of riches, open land, and the better life which surely awaited them. Yet, it was safe to say that the Land of Milk and Honey had seen better days than the present. In these desperate times widespread panic had swept the nation, markets were down and sensationalized terror was up, $50 USD could barely get you an item from the value menu at McDonalds, but a few Yen could feed a family of four in a swanky New York restaurant. The chariot of upward mobility had transformed itself from hard work and business acumen into a pair of fake tits and a reality TV deal. Here in 21st Century America, pretending to care had grown clich, and fucking had long since lost the lure and mystique of the forbidden fruit. The astrological prophesies of the Mayans had become an afterthought to the apocalyptic proselytizers of this day and age. Irans burgeoning nuclear program seemed closer and more realistic than any ancient calendar, and the U.S. cyber defense network had been exposed by web hackers as vulnerable and inefficient. This was the world of 17-year-old Jacob Francois, who was currently seated in the back seat of a Chevy Avalanche. His fellow travelers were his father, mother, and older sister. The familys destination was the coastal town of St. Augustine, Fla. where they had vacationed in greener pastures, and which now represented hope and freedom of a different sort entirely. The nations collective mindset was somewhere along the lines of Get out while you still can, or burn with the rest. Using some old business connections, Jacobs father had reserved the Francois space aboard La Petite Mort: a refugee ferry of sorts, a barge set to depart the coast the following evening and set sail into the Atlantic, drifting far away from a certain and impending doom. Dark silhouettes watched in the distance as the modern-era pioneers left a trail of dust in their wake, broken promises and hollow ambitions not far behind.

December 21, 2012. 10:30 am When Jacob awoke in a dimly lit room the next morning, the curtains were drawn and hints of sunlight were peering in around them. He hadnt slept particularly well in the cramped hotel room which his family had booked last minute. The others were already stirring. Jacob rose out of bed to face the day.

Your father and I are going into town to buy a few things for the trip, Jacobs mother told him and his sister Rose. The two of you will be on your own for a while. Here are your vouchers for the boat. Stay in the room; things are starting to get pretty crazy out there, and the ferry leaves after nightfall. Rose glanced at Jacob mischievously moments after their parents had closed the door behind them. Well, what are you waiting for? she asked him. This could be our last day in America, maybe even our last day period. People are talking about all kinds of things that might happen after we get on that boat. Lets go get fucked up. Jacob obliged without so much as a shrug, and the two siblings stepped outside the hotel lobby and onto the dusty streets of St. Augustine. The yellow Florida sun beat down upon them as they roamed off in the direction of trouble.

4:15 pm Jacob rested his head against his hands; his eyes were glazed over, his mind numb, his heart empty. A few seats down inside the dimly-lit barroom, Rose was chatting with some local patrons. Jacob began to take-in the ambience of the room where he and his sister had spent the past few hours idling in. It was an eclectic group of people which crowded the bars and walked the streets of St. Augustine that day. There were three pretty distinct classifications: those who bought into the rapture completely and were already mourning the fall of the world, the joyful revelers who were not treated well by Life welcomed the notion of the End Times, and those who were largely indifferent but knew an excuse to party when they saw one. The melancholy hobnobbed with the jubilant, the lively bought rounds of drinks for the lifeless. There were no bouncers checking I.D.s at the door that day, and sure enough Jacob was not the youngest person in this particular bar: a young, parentless Asian girl who looked no older than 10 had crawled up into a ball in the corner, and was silently spewing a stream of vomit onto the cement floor. No one else seemed to take notice. Jacob began to realize that he was not faring much better than the girl. His alcohol tolerance was not that of his older sisters, and 5-plus hours of purposeful drinking were beginning to take their toll on him. His vision was blurred, and his memory faded to black as he tapped his glass on the bar wood, signaling to the barmaid for another shot of whiskey.

8:02 pm When Jacob came-to he found himself ensconced in a sea of neon lights and vapid bitches. In a back room, deep within the depths of the Fantasy Island Gentlemans Club, he was seated on a sofa, surrounded by strippers. He looked to his left and saw a familiar face. His memory now refreshed, Jacob began to piece together the events which had led him there: while downing shots of tequila back at the bar, Jacob had befriended a wealthy young Persian named Biglari. The Persian was intent on spending more money than anyone else in St. Augustine that night: not because he believed the world would actually come to an end, but because he wanted to show up the people who were only dropping cash because they thought there would be no tomorrow. It appeared that the dancers at Fantasy Island either werent aware of the apocalyptic undertones outside of the clubs doors, or they were more concerned with the money being tossed around to actually care. They were tending to Biglaris every wish and scrambling for the $5 bills which he casually dispersed amongst them. Having recently moved on from tequila to a bottle of absinthe, Jacob was beginning to buy more and more into the nights hysteria. He wondered what would become when ancient prophesies collided with the realistic threat of nuclear warfare. As Jacob looked around at those around him, he felt they were beginning to form a cynical microcosm of modern times: plastic, and fueled by oil-money and silicone implants. He experienced a sudden longing for a deeper connection with life before he got on that refugee boat. Maybe the greenish, mind-altering liquid in his glass was beginning to take a stronger hold on him than he realized. Jacob stumbled off the couch and down the hall towards the main stage. Fending off forced, unwanted advances and reeking of stripper-powder himself, he was beginning to think that gentlemans clubs brought out his inner misogynist. Then he noticed something bright and distinct across the bar. As Jacob looked closer, past the well-oiled women dangling upside down from poles and blowing bubbles from their crotches, he saw a lone oasis of beauty in a dark and loveless place.

8:06 pm Michelle Jimenez, 22, had just finished her shift at Fantasy Island and was hanging around the bar room without any particular sense of direction. She was distracted by the thought of the barge which she knew was currently anchored at the dock, and the prospect of escaping St. Augustine for good.

She felt someones eyes on lingering on her, which struck her as odd since the on-duty strippers ought to have been commanding all of the attention in the room. She followed the gaze across the crowded room and attributed it to a boy standing off to the side of the bar. Leaning against the counter, he held a glass filled with bright green liquid; he was younger than her, wore a tattered charcoal pea coat, and had was a devilish twinkle in his eyes. Something about him made her realize that she needed saving, but that maybe he was the more hopeless of the two. She strutted over to him, confident, and sultry. He stammered over his introduction and she found his nervousness to be an endearing change of pace. She told him how she danced here at Fantasy Island and he immediately deemed the venue undeserving of her presence. Jacob listened as Michelle discussed her family background: her grandparents migrated to Florida from Mexico, and her lineage traced back to the Mayans and Spanish conquistadors. She moved on to how she moonlighted as an online adult film actress, but that her real aspirations were of one day becoming an X-ray technician, and it wasnt complete bullshit when Jacob seemed more interested in the latter. He was drawn to her bubbly, effervescent personality contrasted against her checkered past; she saw him as sensitive and vulnerable, a spirit which had not yet been crushed by the numbing charade which is society. Their personalities seemed to complement one another; they got along swimmingly, if not critically. They discussed life and love; politics and philosophies; vices and passions; fears and pleasures. This is our America, Jacob said as he bemoaned the fall of an empire. This is where our notions of Manifest Destiny have brought us, and there will be no Return to Normalcy-- the American Dream died a long time ago. The truth is that this nation was built on more than that. Every great civilization crumbles eventually, but the ideals were meant to live on. It seems to me that often times peoples great aesthetic moments are their deepest lows, how they cope when they hit rock bottom, Michelle observed later on in the conversation. One of the great misfortunes of real-life is that these moments often go unseen, and thus wasted. Thats why I think its healthy to indulge in your own misery every now and then. Just as true love goes unrequited, real tragedy goes unnoticed. Whenever you share the goodness in your heart, you always end up winning; life is an echo: it gives back what you give, Jacob pulled out his trump card, stoically quoting Akon. Behind the bar, television sets featuring footage of devastating hurricanes sweeping across the Pacific Rim were abruptly cut off. A broadcaster came on and offered a brief disclaimer of graphic and dramatic footage, and then the screen showed what appeared to be the White House erupting in an explosion. That was when all hell broke loose in America.

8:50 pm Across the globe, dreamers wept and hipster prophets nodded their heads all too knowingly. In Egypt, the Pyramids sunk into the desert sand; in both the North and South poles, giant glaciers lost their shape and collapsed into the water; deep within the jungles of Africa, mighty lions cowered in fear; and from Sea to shining Sea, bombs burst in the air, rockets cast a decidedly red glare upon the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave, but when one looked to the sky and squinted, there flew no Star Spangled Banner.

9:10 pm There was a better time once, Michelle said forlornly. When things were simpler, old adages rang true, reality meant more than simple tangibility, and greater things were possible than there are today. As she recalled the good old days which she never really knew, Michelle walked down the street hand in hand with Jacob, who led her through the crowd. They were marching uphill, against the grain of people, who were running en masse in the opposite direction. Soon they stood at the base of a hill, past where everyone else was. Jacob thought of his family and felt the ticket for the refugee ferry inside of his coat pocket, and the look on his face must have betrayed his indecision. Now is not the time to be a sycophant, Michelle told him. A people-pleaser, she explained, noting his puzzled expression. This is your life, do something because you want to do it. Jacob looked past the throngs of people mobbing downtown St. Augustine, towards the giant ferry looming in the distance. Maybe the two of us should just run away together then, he said. Of course things never are that easy, Michelle decried knowingly. But we can run, and we can fight, and maybe-just-maybe we can live life by our own terms. At the hilltop stood a great tree contrasted against the horizon. It was neither a palm nor willow tree common to the state of Florida, rather it was a giant oak. From here, a path lead below to a lagoon providing inlet to the Atlantic Ocean. In the middle of the lagoon stood a tall stone fountain sculpted in the likeness of a beautiful young woman. The fountain was shrouded in mist, and spouted water out to its sides. The giant tree rose out from between a large crack in the earth, and unlike all the other trees at the time, its leaves were in full bloom, almost as if to purposefully defy the bleakness of winter. Perhaps most remarkable were the colors of the leaves: some were yellow, amber, and orange like in the fall, but many others were ripe green as if it were spring time.

There were two parallel strings of rope dangling out from one sturdy tree branch. Attached to the bottom of the rope was a single wooden plank which served to form a makeshift swing set. From the edge of the hilltop, the pair looked down upon the town, at all of those who had heeded some unspoken warning, and were running to and fro in panic. In the distance, smoke billowed up into the night sky, illuminated by flames, and thunderous booming could be heard across the land. We dont need any of that, Jacob cried out suddenly, gesturing wildly across the burning horizon. Everything that we need, we are.

8:40 pm Jacob took Michelle on the wooden swing set dangling from the regal tree. He sat his bare buttocks on the wooden plank, his jeans were pulled down around his ankles. Michelle planted herself on top of him, legs straddling his torso, dress hiked above her waist. The tips of his feet reached the ground, and he used them to push off the earth and move the swing back and forth, rhythmically thrusting himself into her. Michelle moaned breathily as Jacobs wood entered and re-entered her clean-shaven sheath midcoitus. She dug her fingernails into his shoulder, pulled on a clasp of his hair, and bit her lower lip. Jacob thrust harder, faster; passionately, desperately. Michelles tan skin glistened with sweat; it began to pool in the small of her lower back. Jacobs blood was pumping and Michelles feminine juices were flowing. She was skillfully riding his every movement, her insides soft and sensitive to his touch, her hips circulating like a belly dancers and rotating like a hula-hoop as Jacob plunged deeper inside of her still. He placed his hands on her round hips and pulled her in tighter, her curves fully displaying her Latina ancestry. She grabbed the ropes on either side, whipping her thick, black hair over, and leaned backwards, exposing her ample breasts and primed nipples skyward. Jacob now got to his feet, picking Michelle up by both legs and placing her down on the swing. In one final crescendo, he heaved his pelvis into hers. Worldly sensations gave way to a transcendent synergy. As Michelle let out a gasp of ecstasy, the tree branch snapped in a violent crack, and the swing set came tumbling down upon the two lovers in their moment of climax. They hadnt noticed it at the time, but the tree had sunk softly into the earth, gently inserting itself further inside the earths crevice in one flaccid movement. Then, in an explosion of foliage, multi-colored leaves sputtered downward. Michelle fell gracefully to the earth as Jacob came inside her and the leaves simultaneously splattered across the bridge of her nose.

Sweaty and exhausted, the pair lay side by side in the dewy grass. As Jacob held Michelle in his arms, they were engulfed by the night, and became one with the cosmos. Entwined beneath a lavender sky, two nave young hearts were content in the world, if only for a passing moment.

11:50 pm Down below the grassy hilltop where the oak tree grew outward from the deep cuts of the earths crust, out beyond the foggy lagoon, a mass exodus was beginning to take place. On the hectic dock abridging St. Augustine to the sea, Jacobs parents were coercing Rose onto the ship, they had but no choice to believe that Jacob would meet them on board. They flashed their vouchers and heavily-armed security guards nodded them through to the boats boarding zone. Back on the pier, an unruly and desperate mob fought with the guards who threatened to shoot while fighting them off the deck. Jacob sat up in the grass and wiped his eyes just in time to see La Petite Mort sailing off into the distance. Formerly a cruise-liner, the ship had been converted into an evacuation vessel. It maneuvered across choppy, staggered waves, slowly but surely disappearing into the darkness. The angry ocean tide crashed violently into the sand back at the coastline. Those stragglers left stranded on the dock let out a singular cry of anguish as the ship became obscured by the night. Many of them had not yet given up on salvation, and took destiny into their own hands. Into the ocean they swam. Come on, said Michelle as she pulled Jacob to his feet and led him out from under the tree. Theres something I want to show you. She walked over to the edge of the hill, directly overlooking the lagoon below, and pointed out into the distance. The legends have it that this is where Ponce De Leon once discovered the Fountain of Youth, Michelle told Jacob as they looked upon the misty lagoon bordering the vast ocean. Her finger hovered above the tall statue in the middle of the lagoon: granite, feminine beauty rising out of murky waters. Let us bathe in the umbrella of the fountain. For us, the night is still young. And just leave the rest of the world behind us? Jacob asked her doubtfully.

The rest of the world will catch up eventually, Michelle assured him. But what if it doesnt? asked a skeptical Jacob. Then fuck them, Michelle replied, with finality. Jacob reached out to wipe away a single glistening line which had begun to stream down the side of Michelles cheek: a tear shed for the loss of innocence and the resiliency of hope. Because here in the south-eastern corner of America, things might still be alright by nights end. Jacob conceded; at this point, it seemed only fitting to swim away from the sins of humanity and into the fathoms of eternity. For here, in an emotionally bankrupt generation blinded by its own vanity, there remained few activities as poetically-refined or inherently natural as swimming naked in the dark. And thus, arm-in-arm, glasses of absinthe in tow; Jacob and Michelle were cast from the Garden of Eden out into the night, in search of the Fountain of Youth.

December 21, 2012. 11:59 pm Michelle tugged on Jacobs hand, leading him along the beaten path towards the coastline and an uncertain future. Alarms rang out, their sirens reverberating across the hollow grounds: a cryptic message echoing itself over and over again. Jacobs mind was racing; desperate to make sense of the days events, he found himself searching for some greater meaning inside of his own head, perhaps one final self-revelation or moment of redemption. His attention was piqued by a single red leaf floating past him in the breeze. Wafting through the air, it brushed against a piece of burning ash rising from the earth and caught fire. Now a mere flame in the wind, the leaf circled down in a spiral, landing at the base of the ancient tree from which it had fallen. Here the waning flame flickered light once more before simmering out, giving way to nothingness. The oak tree which had blossomed so defiantly only hours ago had suddenly grown barren and lifeless; no birds chirped amidst its arms, no leaves dotted its branches, the gnarled oak appeared exasperated and withered, as if it had seen too much and grown weary from the weight of the world. Jacobs eyes slowly rose from the ashes at the trees roots, tracing where ivy and moss had once grown along the trees base up its long trunk, and in a single instant, he noticed the trees empty branches fluttering aimlessly in the wind; corrupted, and unadorned.