Greg Mulcahy


You and yours should not have come here, Prophet said. This is a reverse prophecy.

What would you think, Fant said, of being found dead?

Prophet and Fant brothers placed by inheritance.

No one knew why they had or used different last names.

This world, Fant said, is a system from which there is no escape. If you had held my former position, you would understand this. You are not capable of holding or understanding.

Rotten, Prophet said, the fruit that is or was or always forbidden.

Business was down since Hiatt went crazy.

I can taste, Prophet said, the blood in your mouth.

Fant did not seem to notice the decline and expressed no surprise at Hiatt's madness.

If you had labored, Fant said, we might have missed your labor.

You know nothing, Prophet said, of the insect work of night.

One day, Prophet's car blew up.

In the lot.

No one inside.

Things blow up all the time, Fant said. Especially cars. What with all the gasoline.

No division so real, Fant said, as what is and what is not. Everything explodes or collapses in the end.

Fant drank clear liquid from an unlabeled bottle. More and more. Daily. Hourly.

All that can be truly seen, Prophet said, is visible only at the edge. The periphery.

By life accusatory, Fant said, you stand accused.

You think, Prophet said, I am not free of this world.

Prophet disappeared.

Maybe, Fant said, he's wandering in the wilderness.

When the others came to work, the building was locked.

Gallery ran around the second story. Fant was on it.

I ask you, Fant said, is this organization merely a building or structure? Then who among you did my loyalty not betray?

Fant veered and went almost over the edge.

Never told me, Fant said, I'd get a pony. Never got a pony. Never.

What's, Fant said, a pony got to do with anything.

Some time later, the building exploded.

Or collapsed.