The Key
Casey Flynn
It isn’t at all clear that the meat lives in a drawer when I bite into it.
Tiny crunchy sacs burst between my teeth like tightly-woven fluid-filled bubble wrap. It’s a suspicious texture for meat, for sure, but I eat what is offered. The hunk sits on a lightly soiled plate, waiting to go home. After the meal, the temple caretaker opens a dresser drawer and places the meat inside.
Someone said the key to the mountain is here at this temple. I don’t really know what that means but I’m going to the mountain, so might as well bring the key. Maybe it’s the meat.
Later, the meat inside me wants out and succeeds by way of mouth and anus. I make it outside before many-colored fluids grace the ground beneath many-colored flags fluttering from branches and splash stacked stones etched with prayers. Inside a monk plays a hand drum and chants. Later he watches TV reruns of Chinese children outwitting Japanese soldiers—if it wasn’t for those meddling kids!—and laughs. I sour-curl on the floor.
Earlier, I read of three ways to walk around the mountain, three ways into its secrets: outer, inner and ultimate. Most go outside in, a gradual revelation. A sensible method. But perhaps there’s also inside out, a volcanic approach, the violent eruption of innards in which acid lava secrets burble out of burning bodily fluids. All you need is the key, the drawer meat, the ultimate shortcut.
Retch defecate desecrate. I am now empty of everything. The temple floor and walls escape the paint of my insides coming out. The grounds do not. What secrets I leave behind in those chunky puddles is unknown; I don’t go digging. Since I can’t eat, I walk. Swallow the key it sets you free, the mountain says in my fever dreams. Or not. We’ll see.
Casey Flynn is a Colorado-based writer, artist, and father. His work has appeared in Vallum, Amethyst Review, and Novellum. He is working on a PhD in religion and likes to play with his kids, play outside, and play banjo. Learn more about his work at caseyflynn.com.
 | A guest post by
|
Boy, do I like that ending!! "Since I can’t eat, I walk. Swallow the key it sets you free, the mountain says in my fever dreams. Or not. We’ll see." The sort of rhythm (and yeah, content) that makes you lift your feet in step with it during a long walk. (We'll see!)