Magenta Monster

The Blue Cave was blue but at its opening, its mouth was a cat, it was pink. Pink Cat was glittery, a shiny sparkling iridescence and it gleamed. It waited, it had waited a long time, with its tail looped in a figure of eight. It would wait a while yet but the time was drawing near, the sky was clear, completely clear with not a drop or eddy of turbulence, it was a dead thing, a ragged skyscape becalmed.

Once there had been sunset and showers, sometimes great storms. The sort with thunder and lightning and a fizzle in the air, the sort that made the world oppressive and hot and skies so dark so quickly it was as if the world were ending. And now the world was ending, becoming nothing, dissolving and crumbling into chaos and peace once more. It was not as spectacular as the storms, it was boring.

Pink Cat was bored but would never move from the observation point, never leave the Blue Cave. It was the entrance, the escape route, the door and Pink Cat needed to make sure it was used by the right entities. It was a long vigil and Pink Cat’s memories were held in thought bubbles upon its fur, that was why it glistened and caught the defusing light of the unraveling sun. Memories that could be lost, memories that were essential, memories that could change the end into something… else.

An ear twitched at the remembrance of remembering and the fear clutched the small creature, always the same – that the Forgetting would come and steal away its purpose, and that it could not allow. It never slept in case there was a thief, it never wavered, except once.

The child had come, small and wretched, alone and lost and soulful, it had stopped to stroke Pink, Cat catching the memories in it’s chubby little fingers, instinct had won and purrs had rumbled. The truth of the child was wrought in wounds and the cat was angry at those that could hurt such a thing. It had turned rainbow eyes on the child’s suffering and shown it the map through the Blue Cave.

Dirty little feet had followed the path of destiny made for another and had promised to return with a fish paste sandwich. The sandwich had never arrived, Pink Cat was mostly glad but sometimes remembered the clumsy too hard strokes that ruffled the fur unpleasantly, but somehow was nice and needed. It thought on the child and the consequences if it had indeed found the door and the sorrow if it had not.

The cat could not bear the thought of the child alone and lost and dying for all of the end times wrapped within the time splinters of the cave. It would rather risk the whole of existence. Its pink ear twitched once more – there was a noise; it scanned the horizon, hills and mountains long eroded to dried up seas, the stars burnt out long ago, a haze, a fog over the night and the day no longer shone. Everything was grey and armageddon was a drag.

It took far to long for it to realise the sound was from behind and the smell…. like the death of the oceans, the reek of sea life washed ashore. “Meow?” it churrped as a man stopped and knelt. A plate of fish paste sandwiches, Pink Cat stared for a moment and consumed in hungry fervour.

“We have a while yet, my friend,” said the man, “for this world, this universe, these dimensions but there are so many… some know kindness and other have forgotten… I…” but the man did not finish his story and instead stroked Pink Cat until the deep deep rumbling and slit eyes of satisfaction came. Then he stood and looked at his hand, covered in glitter memories, laughing he blew them to the wind. His wounds looked as fresh and raw as ever.

He did not say goodbye but slunk back into the dark depths of Blue Cave. Pink Cat licked the drew drops of memory from where they had been scattered and sat once more as sentinel – yes it remembered now, the child came in many forms how could it have forgotten?

This was its 1 millionth fish paste sandwich, the memory formed and glinted and evaporated as if it was too hot for the cat to handle. The boring long wait of eternity continued.

Posted: Wednesday, August 5th, 2015 @ 10:05 pm
Categories: Flash Fiction.
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