The Fallen Land of Ozymandias
(from the flash fiction collection Upon Waking)
She was angry
with her mother for buying a beaten down cape in New Jersey, half a mile from
an overpass, three quarters of a mile from a beach littered with abandoned
cars, old tires, and discarded clothing. It was ugly and she hated ugly. She
lamented her mother leaving the well-preserved beauty of the New England
landscape, but her mother could no longer afford it. She told her daughter if
she had to move, she'd go south, to the mid-Atlantic states where she could be
closer to extended family. So she did, and her daughter begrudgingly went to
visit her and walk the coarse sand of the polluted beach where someone had
dumped cabinets and suitcases. Her mother said it might have been the mob. The
daughter regarded the tall smoke stacks as they belched fumes into the gray sky
and felt ill.
After lunch, she
took a ride east. It was sunny and she drove with the windows down, the songs
from the radio hampered by the din of the wind. The land, with its enclaves of
reaching blue water, was buzzing with summer activity; people were out jogging,
riding bicycles. She passed a carnival with a Ferris wheel and games of chance.
Tickets littered the streets; people waited in lines for rides and concession
stands where food associated with fun—cotton candy, ice cream, fried dough—was
sold. She passed this place and came to a bridge, a contemporary slender and
elegant structure in decks, towers, and fanning cables that spanned the inlets
of blue, connecting the polluted modern world with the eroded ancient ruins of
the old world. It was a fine summer day now. Indeed, the water is blue,
she thought. On the other side of the bridge was the abandoned land of
Ozymandias, its once enchanting sandstone structures still in place. Here
people wandered through the ruins and pocketed ancient gold coins embossed with
the King of Kings.
She parked the
car, got out and squeezed through an opening in the giant gate. There were
people carrying stacks of books in the ancient streets, looters with scraps of
fool's gold in their hands. Vendors were selling trinkets of the once-great
kingdom; you could buy a t-shirt with Ozymandias's eroded face on it. She
remembered the pope they dug out of the Catacombs, his well-preserved body on
display at the Vatican, the face looking calcified.
The earth
shuddered and she thought Did I imagine that? The great gate creaked and
leaned forward, spreading its arms out to the forgotten world. The people
carrying books dropped them and started running. Chaos and mayhem ensued as
each of the ancient sandstone structures started to crumble. Why now? she
wondered. After thousands of years of being upright, why now? Then she saw a
high school friend on her cell phone just outside the gate. She was still thin,
with long black hair, a cigarette in her hand, imperturbable as the world
rushed by her. She must’ve been talking to her high school sweetheart. She
would take him back, despite what he did, despite what she did—a forgiveness
poised at the end of the world.
