(CONTEMPORARY) Appalachian
NOVEMBER 2017
CHARMED
BEN WHITE
CHARMED
BEN WHITE
Today would be the day. Selection day. No one believed him because they were all just a bunch of snakes casting forth their evil onto him without consideration of his ability. But today; today would be the day.
When he was little, he had heard the footsteps in the woods, and a fear inched along his skin making him crawl into the thicket with his muscles tightened into a coil waiting silently for the booted crunching of leaves and sticks to pass. He hated the feeling, while the teasing of the others made him want to slither away into his loneliness and disappear.
If only he could get the chance to face that fear again. Then he would show everyone his courage. The courage of old, told so many times in so many ways to reflect the culture of pride and natural fortitude.
He had been taught the biblical stories of how the cunning and persuasive could demonstrate power over adversaries to survive and thrive in even the darkest of places. That was what he wanted to do. That was his destiny. Why had he been scared when the footsteps of those same kind of adversaries walked through the woods? Why had he responded in such a way? Why did he not face his fears?
All that was when he was young. Now he would show no fear; respond bravely; face his fears. Today would be the day. He could feel it. He knew it.
And then, almost as if his thoughts had been sent to the universe to be delivered back unto him, he heard the distant footsteps. Electricity went through the nerves of his long, strong body; pulsating with excitement. His skin quivered.
Yes. Yes. Yesss. Today would be the day. He headed in the direction of the walking; closing the distance as his strength and fortitude built with every inch of the way; getting closer, and closer to face the danger with his own presence; his own steadfast intentions. He would not be scared; not this time; not today.
Suddenly, there they were. The men carrying their long tools and bags. The tools they would grab him with, and the bags they would slide over his head with the purpose of increasing his fright in the darkness of not knowing. But he knew.
He knew what these men were about. How they would capture him and his kind for trade into the rituals of a distant society. But he would not be afraid. He would be taken today. Taken to the place where he would face them and their sacred practices with sacred practices of his own. The practices of his kind; his honorable kind.
This day was to be his day of destiny. He would not crawl away; would not hide.
He faced the men. Raising his head proudly in defying silence. Take me. He did not move. Take me. The men saw him, and gleefully surrounded him. Take me. He felt the cold metal of their long tool squeeze into his neck, and he was held upright until the dark, inside of the bag took away his sight, and the tool released him to be taken back. Yes, taken to their place of torture; the ritualized torture they cherished – worshipped – in their traditions of belief. Traditions he would disrupt with his own power; his own seduction fighting back against their practices.
And he knew that same bunch of snakes that had ridiculed him for being scared those many years ago had now watched from beneath their shivering, quivering shelters. Amazed at how he had gone right up to those men and faced their intentions with bravery, they would talk about him and forever remember him in their legends and myths. He would be the one who was taken; the one who went. Today was the day he fulfilled his destiny. They all watched and were in awe of his actions.
And he did go. Into the pit of those men where he was introduced to the ceremonies he had heard about. Now he saw them for himself. He was lifted in the air; squeezed; dared to react; danced with; shaken.
And he stared into the eyes of the one man who held him while he felt the heat of the others frenzy up into a feverish motion of a gathered crowd – the congregated crowd aching for a release that they so much longed to feel. The ecstasy of religious fervor moved them into the swaying transcendence that fed the absolute fearlessness of the man that was holding him. He looked at the crowd. The collective motions were merged into one giant undulating behavior, and in the center there was only him and the man who held him in the air.
He refused to be taken into their fervor. He would not back down. He would be the legend; the myth; the one who went and returned to tell the story. He would not be diminished. He would be the conqueror.
He leaned forward and saw the chance. The man’s neck, wet with sweat, with veins just beneath the skin pumped full of pumping blood. The bloodstream ready; rich and ready to receive. He opened his mouth and lurched forward; his fangs ready to puncture. And he grasped on with his mouth open wide, fangs buried deep pumping his venom into the bloodstream; the helpless pumping bloodstream.
The man tried to pull him away, but it was too late. The man fell, paralyzed by the venom already headed for the heart.
Someone jumped out of the crowd, and pulled his fangs away from the man’s neck. He closed his mouth. Success. Today was the day; today was the day of his destiny. He looked at the crowd falling into individual pieces of fear and fright; afraid now.
And he slithered, satisfied, away from the revival light, out of the canvas tent, into to the night. And he knew; he absolutely knew.
He had left them godless.
BEN WHITE was going to be a centerfielder for the Cincinnati Reds, but that required arm strength and foot speed, so that dream ended at the University of New Mexico. With an AA in Social Science, a BA in Creative Writing, a BA in Philosophy, and two years in the infantry, he did what anyone would do: he went back to the military. After 20 years in the Coast Guard, he retired with an MBA, an MA, and an EdD. Since retiring, he has earned an MFA in Poetry. Everything he writes is written behind the wheel with the windows rolled down.
Chila: "Charmed" is a unique take on an old Appalachian religious practice. Tell us how you came to write the story - what prompted it? Do you have direct (or indirect) experience with this practice?
Ben: I was raised in the rolling hills of South Central Kentucky; close to (but not part of) the practices of holy-rolling and speaking in tongues. Snake handling was just a little deeper into the woods, but it was there. Along my journey, I developed a theory that consciousness is a shared substance (like gravity) and all things therefore not only have a point of view on existence, but that the points of view are accessible to others.
Chila: Talk about your one or two of your current projects.
Ben: I have three manuscripts written and ready to go! The Mermaid Skeleton is about a small town centered around Cap'n Bob's Museum of Nautical Oddities (which includes a recently stolen mermaid's skeleton). Triggerfish 1-2 is about a young lieutenant wounded in Vietnam who travels through time with a broken PRC-77 radio. Saving Oksana is a tribute to the Ukrainian writer, Oksana Zubuzhko. Otherwise, I write an average of four poems a day.
Chila: What interesting tidbit should we know about you or your writing?
Ben: I served 22 years in the military (US Army and US Coast Guard), and that's not bad for a Philosophy major. I also have come to the realization that I am not a poet; I am a witness. What I write is testimony.
Chila: "Charmed" is a unique take on an old Appalachian religious practice. Tell us how you came to write the story - what prompted it? Do you have direct (or indirect) experience with this practice?
Ben: I was raised in the rolling hills of South Central Kentucky; close to (but not part of) the practices of holy-rolling and speaking in tongues. Snake handling was just a little deeper into the woods, but it was there. Along my journey, I developed a theory that consciousness is a shared substance (like gravity) and all things therefore not only have a point of view on existence, but that the points of view are accessible to others.
Chila: Talk about your one or two of your current projects.
Ben: I have three manuscripts written and ready to go! The Mermaid Skeleton is about a small town centered around Cap'n Bob's Museum of Nautical Oddities (which includes a recently stolen mermaid's skeleton). Triggerfish 1-2 is about a young lieutenant wounded in Vietnam who travels through time with a broken PRC-77 radio. Saving Oksana is a tribute to the Ukrainian writer, Oksana Zubuzhko. Otherwise, I write an average of four poems a day.
Chila: What interesting tidbit should we know about you or your writing?
Ben: I served 22 years in the military (US Army and US Coast Guard), and that's not bad for a Philosophy major. I also have come to the realization that I am not a poet; I am a witness. What I write is testimony.