The Stone Mosaic

The Stone Mosaic

He measured the skies with his eyes again. Thousands and thousands tiny shiny points dominated the east, while the moon was hidden somewhere in west. Everything was precise, quiet and perfect. A barking came from the woods. Just few more hurried steps and he could kiss the graven image with his face. He tore the jacket. The dagger drew holy symbols with its tip on the pale chest without a single hair. Hard to believe, it was an actual man. The first light appeared behind a green thicket. Screaming and rapid words, insults, laughter. Barking of the dogs.
St. John's flies found his chest and drank the drops of blood in full draughts. Self-sacrifice. Assumption. Another motion of the dagger... The wrist's artery opened and the dark red spout of blood sprayed the monolith. The other hand's fingers were rapidly changing the gestures. His face got twisted in pain. He bit tight his teeth and opened the other wrist's artery. Dampness hung in the air. So that's what the death smells like? The forest and meadow weed smelled stunningly beautiful. He hugged the standing stone and closed his eyes...

It was a strange night. The stars were flowing with their silver shade of blue, the moon was rising from the evening fogs above the muds, dressed in crimson. The lonely driver turned his vehicle to the edge of the road and let the engine rest. The silent and mysterious night bewitched him so much, he had to breathe in few sips of its air, imbued by secret, before he could go on. A cold thick mist was slowly flying out of the morass, creeping along the slope all the way to the car. It was quiet, only the frogs were singing their dark litany.
He got out of the car and walked round it. He listened to the night's silence and stopped pensively. Suddenly, a penetrating flavour hit his nose. Pipe-tree! He looked around, unsuccessful in finding the frutex. He looked at his watch and realised, this hasn't happened to him in years: He didn't want to leave. He didn't have to rush, the night was young and magical. Locusts began playing their midnight serenata and in that instant, a desire to take a walk took over him. He tried couple of steps gingerly. From the wet asphalt, a stunning smell was rising, the quiet and discreet music of the night, masterfully played by the reptile and insect orchestra, pleased his ears, and the gracious, velvety darkness provided a rest for his tired eyes.
The road was waving like a snake, corded by an avenue of idle cherry-trees. The tepid wind was supported by the soft wings of the bats.
But what was it, that disturbed this over too strange, harmonious night peace? Of course! There, among the trees of the weird forest in the back, a light sparkled.
Very weird forest it was. It was like a symbol of death in that living, beating, dancing night. It was inducing fear and cold. The man shook, when he realised. But the light that shined nested in his soul, with a label of curiousity on its neck. Although his senses were betraying him, he continued on towards the deep forest. Now he could more clearly distinguish the light point among the trees. A flame, ever so vigorously interfering the moments of calm with its brightness. He stopped for a while. He doubted his doings, so he glanced back. His car, a peaceful quaky trestle, was still anchoring in the quiet lagoon of the road's elbow.
A steam was rising of the forest, the dampness was quivering in the air, and the cold hugged his calves. The stars kept shining and the beautiful flavour of pipe-trees kept crawling into his head. Mysterious signs were covering both the skies and the ground, reflected in puddles. The animals hushed and the time has stopped. His spirit merged with the enviroment and the man stopped to perceive the world. He hardly realised his lips were singing a foreign prayer...

The snakes and other reptiles writhed around his helpless feet. Brute, strong headache began to overcome him. He ran across the slashed mouth level with his tounge, only to yawn in pain. The night reigned.
"Bitch!" he screamed in the face of the skies from the bottom of his lungs. From the dark clouds a lightning rode, disappearing somewhere behind the forest. The thunder, his brother, accompanied his fall by appropriate cannonade and just like when sluices raise, water began to rush down from above. The man fell to the ground, resting his face on the soil. "Is it my fault?" he repeated like crazy. Tears were streaming down an unshaven face, getting lost among the rain drops. Like a claw, a monolith was protruding on the hill. Its everlasting stony equability enraged the man. "Bastard!" he yelled to the stone pile and stumbled through the silty grass field. The muds under the hillside were boiling and every now and then, a bubble full of disgustingly fetid gas jumped out of them.
The hellish dogs sucked in his smell through their wide nostrils. Their ears flickered, their heads raised, and then they moved off to the monolith. He heard their graceful jump. He heard, how the hot talons tear the humid clay. He heard, how the sharp snouts smashed the damp air. "Come on, bitches! Come on, tear me apart! Kill me!" he screamed into the night, pushing his back toward the stone.

And then, the morning came. The sun disc swinged above the horizon, and the first rays kissed the stony face of the quiet ruler of the country. Everything mysterious was gone. The frogs and locusts, reptiles, snakes, dogs, and even the lights. The day took over the control, the master of everything exact, everything measurable, everything thinkable.

The man was kilometers away long ago. He left quickly without a goodbye, forgetting the night, the prayer, the light, and the forest. He forgot, because he wanted to forget, and he wanted to forget, because he didn't want to understand. He understood only once, long time ago. But he was a child back then, allowed to understand...

The old man woke up. He opened his eyes the moment he discovered his feet are being tickled by the sun. What is he doing here? Why is the monolith his pillow and where are the dogs, which were ever so notably threating him? Why is he still alive? He wanted to die so bad last day, he wished so much to get rid of everyone! To stop running somewhere...Nowhere. But something was caressing his hands. It were the drops of blood and drops of dew, rolling down to the tepid damp ground. The broken bottle layed right next to him. He licked the shard and smiled. Then he moved off to the village to buy another.

They crucified a heretic in the village.

And back there on the hill there it was standing. Unchanged, intercessor in the skies, mighty and helpless, eternal and volatile, the dark obelisk.