So Saxon didn’t stay long, not long at all. One minute he was there: bright eyed and bushy sideburns. The next he was replaced by the most miserable sod I had ever seen: Archbishop Michael Ramsey, miserable git.

Sadly I never got the chance to say farewell to the one who reminded me that a world existed beyond my pigeon filth streaked cave, a world that specifically held a place for me. Saxon, apparently, was taken by the flu – nasty thing it is – all I know is he cleaned the church up, cleaned me up, re-opened the doors and then just vanished, body taken back to the united States of America. Shame really, but thats the thing with life, well with mortal life anyway. I helped out at the church for a while, lost track of time really. We ‘landed’ on the moon, questions of deep space were being asked, even in service. I held my tongue.

The Order of St Oswalds set up in secret. Meetings were held in the town hall, mayor and local constabulary present, of course. But so were others. Capitalists had become the true rulers, dictators, or whatever you want to call them. I was a silent/inactive spectator. None spoke to me and I to none. I did however meet the occasional nervous glances from the fat cats. I fiddled my sharpened pigeon bone expertly and watched on, all the while wondering how long had passed since I last killed a man.

I prayed often. I prayed alone mostly, but when I prayed alone I always kept my eyes open. Never learned how to truly surrender I guess. Not really bothered, I still woke up everyday and saw the sun rise. Still listed to the bird song coming from the lone pine tree by the drystone walling. And I still smarted with the reminder of my saviour. Sometimes I couldn’t lift up my arms properly to get dressed. The scars on my ribs often re-opned and bled. The Archbishop merely dismissed this as a sign of mercy from God, mercy? I often thought about impacting one of my sharpened bones through his eye socket. Never did though, unfortunately. Someone else got to him first. I just got to find him, reverse crucified and skinned before the alter. I had seen this kind of thing before and my heart raced. But I wasn’t so sure if it raced from fear or excitement, maybe both.

The message was meant for me, of that I was certain. Henry Game would not be allowed to fade into a normal existence, I snapped my pigeon bone and rolled my shoulders to the satisfying crack of familiarity. The door stood wide open…

Finally, Henry Game was back.


About Henry Game

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8 responses to “Dormant

  • charlypriest

    And I thought you where gone….
    Now your praying to God and then kill him. Well, Finally Henry Game is back.

  • thesarahdoughty

    Welcome back, man. Stay strong.

  • field of thorns

    HG, there is so much packed into this post. It required several readings and much thought, thank you! Sad that Saxon was literally taken with the flu. Interesting that Henry is reflecting on mortality, also implying his lack of it, and the shame of it really. I think for Henry, he secretly covets a mortal existence, but also fears the ramification of being human, the permanence of the cycle of a mortal man. So Henry has lost track of time, but is time even relative to him? Henry is forever young and forever old. He seems intrigued with the idea of deep space, a place, where the sun never shines, and the moon is present all day. An interesting correlation between “deep space” and “deep thought” by Henry, I like this very much. Yet he holds his tongue, he is a “secret keeper”, and secret keepers do indeed hold their tongues.

    So true, “Capitalists” or “fat cats” are the true rulers, dictating to the mob what they should have and what they should desire. A brain washing technique perfected, and used by many in charge. I love the fact that Henry was a “silent/inactive spectator”, and yet he is still able to be distracted by his fiddle, the sharpened pigeon bone, leading to a cascade of thoughts.

    Again deep thoughts, as Henry has an internal dialogue with himself as to his ability to pray, and “Never learned how to truly surrender I guess”. He states he is not bothered by this, but I question this, again I think he is showing the human side of himself here. The details of waking to see the sun rise, listening to the birds, etc., these are very human like qualities. But then I have to look at the flip side of this, allowing me to see the non-human side of Henry. Is Henry in some fashion the Savior? I think especially because of the wounds to the ribs, wondering about God’s Mercy, and has he been forgotten?

    Then the finding of The Archbishop, a message left for Henry, again I don’t know his true purpose, apparently neither does he. He is being pulled in two directions, perhaps more. There will be no “normal existence” for Henry. I think the cracking of the pigeon bone is a metaphor of how fragile human beings are or can be.

    Lastly, I love the conclusion to “Dormant”, “The door stood wide open…”, this truly goes without saying, but gives rise to so many possibilities for Henry.

    Hg, this is an excellent post as it really gives the reader a glimpse at the turmoil inside Henry’s mind, and how conflicted he actual is. I love the human qualities that you bring to Henry, making him likable in spite of some of his dark traits. All of this is just my interpretation of what I have read. Please forgive me, wow, perhaps I wrote way too much, ha-ha! Please take good care!


    • Henry Game

      This is excellent. And I am honoured and humbled that you would be willing to share your in-depth analysis of this post. I concur with your conclusive findings,you clever girl you!
      Thanks Pippa.
      Saxon gone…well nothing to stick around for really.

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