Rudy

Lucille Wright

Colorado State University

Clutches his train ticket in shaking hands. White fingernails cutting his palms. Bleeding onto the ticket. His ticket to nowhere Rudy descends into the train station. God’s voice thunders over head, declaring the terms of His covenant. ‘Mind the gap.’ Rudy cannot make out what He is saying. Deafened by the grinding of machines. Stifled by the heat. Jostled between strangers. Stale air passed between brown lungs.
Waves crash against Rudy’s throat. Yellow tears cut through the soot on his lungs. The water rises. Heat powers what once was cold. Too hot for the living. Trains screech to a halt. Ants disperse from their meal. Carrying crumbs of food to their hill. And Rudy.
Out of the train station. Into the blinding sun. He can hear their footsteps. They fall in time to his watch. Rudy’s feet don’t move. The ticking has nowhere to go. So it echoes in his chest. Crescendoing until his body is humming.

People walk by. Their heads look down. Travelers on a path Rudy cannot see, following their parallel lines into oblivion. They march. Collecting pieces to assemble a home. How long do anthills last undisturbed? Maybe a hundred years, weaving deep into the earth. Filled with the bodies of the ants who worked to build it. Husks of ants built into the walls. Catacombs for the next generation of builders. When the anthill is disturbed, the ant can survive without its home. But what would it live for, if not to build a new one? The ant will either die building the ant hill or with it.

Rudy seeks escape. He flees into the darkness. A cinema. Rudy buys a ticket. Exchanges paper for space. He sits and watches the projections slice through the darkness. Green blue and pink separating the smoke. Blood on a knife. God speaks to Rudy. He can hear it behind him, coming from the walls. Cocooning him in sound. The screen dances with the illusions of people. Their heads come together to kiss. One of them shoots the other. The bang shakes him to his core. Rudy half expects the corpse to drop. A fly swatted against the wall. But it fades to black like everything else. Rudy kisses his finger pads. They are coated in grime. His calluses catch on the dry skin of his lips. Rudy wishes it had been a stage. With actors and costumes. Embroidered and gold, adorned with feathers. Noses covered in blush. Real kisses. Crying without tears. A duel where only the victor survives. Until the bows, anyways. A miracle. Evading death via applause. But there is no applause in the theater. Rudy is alone. And the ticking of his watch fills the silence. Ticking. Ticking.
Waves, one after the other. Crashing on the shores of his mind. Rudy lets himself fall into the water. A body shredded against the cliffs. Red seeping into the blue. Blue fading into black. Light dances over his skin. Shattered by the waves. Until there is none left. And the darkness swallows him. The water floods his lungs. Rudy lets himself drown.
He runs from the theater. Into the blinding sun. Searching for a blessing. For a miracle. But there is none. His eyes fill with sky. Overflowing with blue. He crumples. Hands and knees to the earth. Rudy coughs up the water, chest heaving. The air stings fresh wounds. The leaves are made transparent by the sunshine. Yellow and green overlapping, solidifying as they come together. He can hear the birds, their song caught on the breeze. Grass seeps into his clothes. Rudy is hollow. Gentile.