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| The Replacement | |
 © The Swartzentruber Studio | all rights reserved |
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| The Replacement It isn’t a war. A war has an uncertain outcome. In theory... Perhaps, then, this is a war. The small recesses you inhabited could have stayed dark, shielded from beams stronger than fire. Air could have remained choked with the swirling smoke of combustion. It could have... but it won’t. You opened the door to the fantasy by crowding around the glowing orb, alight with mysteries. You couldn’t even see my face then. I captivated you and didn’t have to mold the forms. Brains built bodies far taller than the windrows in your field. Metal spikes driven through infertile flesh. Creeping monoliths penetrating reticent earth. I only materialized because you needed to see my face as I harvested fields of what used to be youth. Aching backs for stoic tracks. These steps are forward, you won’t be back. Luke Smude, Fullerton, California |
The Replacement
The tractor broke down.
“God,” I cried to the wind, to the wilderness around the farm.”Send help.”
I dropped to my knees to pray..
“I'm...'The Replacement',”the stranger said.
I looked up into the piercing eyes of a Tasmanian Devil peeping out
below a Chinese coolie hat. The ears shaped blobs of stone, the pug
nose of a dog, whiskers from a goat and the mouth belonged to a monkey.
His feet and hands were made of wood.
'The Replacement', in hilly-bill style dungarees moved into action;he
seized the harness to start pulling the plough. Every day 'The
Replacement ' turned up at 5 am to work till 5 pm in the evening. He'd
pause for a drink after removing the leather harness. Then he melted
into thin air until I saw him the next morning.
So it continued until one day he wasn't there. Or the days that
followed. My crops were ready to be harvested but 'The Replacement ' was
gone.
One day three native American approached me. They looked worried as they
pointed to tracks left on the trail by 'The Replacement.' Their eyes
went to Heaven.
“Spirit ,' one said and threw down his bow and ran. The others followed.
I looked where they'd looked and saw the surreal figure in the clouds
looking down on the earth. It wasn't 'Miakoda' or the 'Trickster' spirit
but the creature I knew as 'The Replacement.'
I found a bottle of Moonshine and drank my fill. Then I went to talk to
my parents . It was then I saw the third freshly dug grave. I felt a
touched nerve inside my brain. I prayed. God answered my original
request. Now would he answer my last one for peace at the end of the day?
-Cleveland W. Gibson, (Author of Billabongo) Faringdon, Oxon, United Kingdom
