The Book of Revelation, Appendix A

“Je n’écris pas pour être lue, mais pour être moins seule.”
— Suzanne Martel, Fille du Roy
(I do not write to be read, but to be less alone.)

1. 1. SUN’S DAY

   [Transcription of a letter written during an unknown time period.]

   My dear— 

I don’t doubt that you’ve heard, by now, about the last unwise thing our peers did. At this point, I’ve formed the opinion that they only participate in such ridiculous undertakings out of some perverse desire to imagine how we must seethe. Do you happen to know how to contact them? It’s become very tiresome to be scandalized left and right and yet never be able to respond. 

And truly, it feels as though such a long time has passed since last we were all together, and I want it the way one craves a rainbow after a thunderstorm. Butterflies after the chrysalis. I want the beauty of brightness, even if it’s something like sunrise on steel, so crimson it’s blinding, and you remember that, don’t you? They were dancing across some devastated war-ground a hundred years ago. A thousand, perhaps. Who knows? They were dancing, locked like an ouroboros, and (unintelligible) tried to spin (unintelligible) around; she caught his wrist and smiled more vicious than any swordpoint, and tipped him back herself. And then they laughed, both of them, like they had a hundred, a thousand times before. 

Beautiful things don’t change; they’re stone-still and oh, yes, there must be emotion, but it’s emotion in flash-freeze and not in movement. Listen: I watched the Winged Victory of Samothrace rise out of the marble. Every fold of her clothing, every line in every feather of her wings. If you had asked me then, I would’ve said the world was ready to end. I would’ve said let’s stop it now, let’s immortalize it in this glory. Who wants to watch a downfall from the loser’s side, anyway? 

What I’m saying, really, is that I want to see you again.

Yours, (unintelligible)

1. MOON’S DAY

[Transcription of a telegram sent on September 20, 1943.]

VIA TORONTO

FROM OTTAWA ONT SEPT 20

(name of recipient, unintelligible)

MISSISSAUGA ONT

D51208 REGRET TO INFORM YOU (rank and name of victim, unintelligible) HAS BEEN OFFICIALLY REPORTED KILLED IN ACTION SEPTEMBER (day and year, unintelligible) STOP PLEASE ACCEPT MY DEEPEST SYMPATHIES 

DIRECTOR OF RECORDS

III. TYR’S DAY 

[Recording: The caller you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message after the tone.]

[Message left 12:32 A.M.] (sharp voice, staccato syllables spat out)—stupid, that’s what it is. I don’t even know why you’re avoiding me. You can’t be angry that I was—that I was doing something, for once. Just once. (beat) It’s not fair. You watched the—the other two just, just waltzing across battlefields for millennia, and you had that same indulgent expression that made me furious, every time. So what’s the difference? Why does it matter so much more that I stood up and fought? (harsh breathing, click) 

[Recording: The caller you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message after the tone.]

[Message left 2:56 A.M.] (with controlled tension) I mean, yes, okay, I died. So does everyone. They’ve died, doing exactly the same thing I did. You’ve died, yourself. (beat) Besides, you knew I’d come back; we always do. We—we’re the only ones who do, of all the souls you watch slip away, and I know you’re around but you won’t talk to me, for some reason, and it’s been nearly fifty years now and I—I don’t even know why I’m doing this, and you’re the one who always loved change, anyway, so what’s your problem? Just talk to me. (click)

[Recording: The caller you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message after the tone.]

[Message left 3:18 A.M.] (subdued) It’s not like I’m asking for much, am I? Just acknowledge me, I swear, just acknowledge the fact that I exist and you exist and we’re here. You’re not allowed to disappear on me like this, do you hear me? You’re not allowed. (humourless laugh, click)

[Recording: The caller you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message after the tone.]

[Message left 5:34 A.M.] (stiffly) This is—this is highly embarrassing. (sardonic chuckle) See, I’m not in fact sure if you’re the person I was trying to reach. Or, perhaps more pertinently, if you (jumble of distorted syllables and static). Anyway. I’m sorry if I wasted your time. (beat) Goodbye. (click) 

[Recording: You have four new messages. 12:32 A.M., Tuesday, June 4, 1985…]

QUINN LUI is a Chinese-Canadian student whose work has appeared in Occulum, Synaesthesia Magazine, Half Mystic, and elsewhere. They are the author of the micro-chapbook teething season for new skin (L’Éphémère Review, 2018). You can find them @flowercryptid on Tumblr, Twitter, and Instagram, or wherever the moon is brightest.