a parable

I just wrote a very short piece: a half-pager. It’s about curing cancer of all things. I tried to write it in the style of some of Kafka’s brilliant parables, which is always fun to think about but depressing to attempt. Don’t try to beat a master at his own game…  I hadn’t thought to post it, but, well, here it is.  It’s called “Mr. Cancer’s House in the Woods”:

The clerics tried to keep us from you.  They staked out different parts of the forest, clenching their maces in one hand, their lanterns in the other.  Their robes rippled in the night wind.  We’d see the slivers of light through the branches and give chase only to find crucifixes held aloft and hear them intone in strange languages.  When we’d try to push past them, they’d push back, grabbing at our legs if they’d have to and we’d have to kick them away, and more than once there was a nasty fight and the maces were bloodied.

But we’ve found you: hidden away on the soft slope of the hill.  A yellow light is on and glows in the windows.  Shadowy smoke winds its way from the chimney into the night sky.  Behind it the moon gives it an eerie blue glow.  We advance on all sides.

We carry torches and pitchforks and picks and long knives, some with cruel curves.  We wear our hair long and uncombed though some of us have no hair at all.  We’re missing breasts and testicles and ovaries.  We’re children; our eyes gleam; we smile.  We hope you can hear the stomp of our feet outside, the cracking of branches and leaves.  We hope you can hear it and we hope you’re afraid.  When we find you, we’ll cut you apart.