THE ONLY REVOLUTIONARY WORMS ARE THE ONES GOTTEN BY THE EARLY BIRD

Friday, May 4, 2007 6:17:21 AM

He is about to lose everything. He tells himself it is a sacrifice, sacred in the eyes of God. But he gets no comfort from this. Would you cut out your own heart and sacrifice it to some pagan god as a final act if you knew the sacrifice would make the heart of someone close beat stronger? How much is too much to give? He reminds himself why he would and could make these sacrifices and how the willingness is a good thing, but it all sounds like a Eulogy to him.

"Here lies Fiddler the magnificent, now considerably less magnificent owing to his now being decrepit, cadaverous, and covered in six feet of mud. May his sacrifices lend him shade in hell, or keep him warm in the devil's bosom." *shrugs*

All he knows for sure is that as he walks across the threshold, his heart dies, and everything that once matters becomes a dull, ringing memory in the furthest back of his mind. He imagines the moment and can see his eyes grow blurry. A subtle burning in his vision that takes him a few moments to recognize. Tears! He is crying, but to himself, for it was ever the way of ample and magnanimous, nay magnificent, Fiddler to mourn alone. How would he deal with grief? Perhaps he would become a soldier and kill the enemies of strangers, or perhaps he will, as gluttons are want to do on occasion, stuff his face with delightful pastries and that Godsend ambrosia called the donut. But he is thinking ahead of himself. He makes the sacrifice for one important reason: it is important to the other. At the end of the day Fiddler does not deserve to be happy until he sacrifices every ounce of happiness he can muster to make the world of the other better. At that point Fiddler no longer has need of happiness and all is right with the world. The Queens sit on their thrones, the birds take to the skies, and he is in the dirt with the rest of the worms no longer bold enough to reach for the light lest the early bird get him.

So the decision is made then. Should we read out a judgment or a eulogy for him? "We the people sentence you, Fiddler the Magnificent Esq., to a life of cold shoulders in the service of one. You shall have no warmth or succor from your peers. You shall sacrifice, forever, your right to that curious tingle you get before the outburst of joy, and the irrepressible smile that assails your face. Since you have shown repeated contempt for the sanctity of the blessed ignorance that the rest of humanity walks under, you shall be burdened with a fog of self loathing that will follow you all the rest of your days. Your sacrifice shall be put to good use and its final effectiveness shall be left in the hands of the other, whether it is used properly or not. Happiness cannot belong to you. You can have no respite from the world, and may God have mercy on your soul."

Now Fiddler the Chastised feels much better. All is as it should be. Everything in its place and he is home with the worms. He calls out to them, but blindly, they dig. This is going to be a long life sentence.