[ Dwelling Of The Doorknobs ]

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| Death in Dorian’s Citadel |

They said that once someone was gone there was no bringing them back.  That’s just the way it was – simply the way of life.  Or rather, lack of life.  “Death is not something to be feared, but eagerly anticipated.”  That is what They said.  They, who must not be named (yet were always spoken of), liked to emphasize this, and would engage in deep conversation about it until the last stars were devoured by the first illuminations of dawn (or so They said but never seemed to do, partly because no one was brave enough to approach Them and ask Them to explain it and partly because They were rather vain and wanted a lot of beauty sleep).  When anyone was captured by Death, the few moments of mourning and sadness were immediately followed with festive celebrations.  Not because everyone was rid of another being – usually – but because now the one Done For by Death could rest and relax, rid of respiration and relentless ridicule – the Dead One could now lie in eternal slumber (and never had to get up for the work in the morning ever again).  During these celebrations, everyone supplied their best food and their most prized possessions (including all the precious china, which was particularly difficult for some of the elderly ladies – aka Old Bags – to part with).  To a mere outsider, this would have appeared rather foolish and inscrutable, but to the people of Dorian’s Citadel, the reason for this was quite simple – because They said so.

Dorian’s Citadel, located not far from Hell, was home of the notorious Devil himself.  Devil, who was announced by thunder and lightning whenever his name was mentioned out loud, was known, dreaded and feared for the immense pain he enjoyed inflicting upon anyone who dared to curse his name…or anyone he disliked, which was everyone but the one thing he was afraid of.  Dorian (or DORIAN DANIEL DWINDLEDOP if his mother was particularly angry with him).  Dorian was not necessarily a man as such, yet he was most certainly not a beast (except when he ate).  He was an Existing Darkness, one that all little children were afraid of (and all the adults as well), one even scarier than the Bogeyman.  Dorian, a Nasty Immoral Contemptible Evil Guy (also known as a N-I-C-E Guy), the one… thing that didn’t tremble in anyone’s presence, was THE most immensely terrifying being in all existence (except for his mummy during PMS).  Even the notorious Devil (crackle, crackle, boom, BOOM!) quivered at the mere idea of crossing paths with this Darkness.  The only people able to come within a mile of Dorian were Them, but even They were petrified and dared not go too close (and only when They really had to).  It was as if there was an invisible force around him, and if it was there, it must have been an absolutely glacial force, because everyone got goose bumps (or were they Dorian bumps?) if they were anywhere near it (or maybe this was because Dorian’s Citadel had never been the warmest of places?).

They told the people that if Dorian and Devil (crackle, crackle, boom, BOOM!) ever joined forces, then life in Dorian’s Citadel would be worse than going to Hell (which would only take a day or two to walk to, depending on how fast you wanted to get out Dorian’s Citadel, which depended on how bad the situation was… which depended on how evil Dorian was feeling).  This scared the Hell out of everybody because Hell was where all the Discarded Dead Bodies were left and no one thought that living amongst rotting corpses sounded very appealing - which was probably why Hell was lacking in housing agents and tourists.  So They decided to organize an escape route in case this ever happened, however They never told the people what the plan was or where and when it would happen because They decided that if everybody tried to escape, the entire population would get caught.  They told everyone that by attempting to escape, They simply were risking Their lives, but everyone knew that all these sagas where simply an illusion of the truth that They wanted a good life for Themselves and Themselves alone. 

Life went on as usual, during the day the centre of the Citadel was full with men and women of all shapes and sizes (some sizes quite a bit bigger than others), couples, some on their first date, some on their hundredth (and some on their last – everyone knew when it was the last because the yelling could often be heard 4 miles away), groups of teens trying their hardest to look ‘cool’ for the other teens of the opposite sex, busy mothers being followed by millions of little kids screaming for a lollipop, business men and women, grandmothers doing the early Christmas shopping (or sometimes very late Christmas shopping), Goths, punks, rebels and sports stars.  All different kinds of people filled the Citadel until it got dark, which was when all the clubbers and late-nighters came out to play, however slowly, people stopped going out at night.  They seemed afraid of something, yet no one would talk about it.  All that the citizens that had always stayed home at night could get out of them was, “it’s happening slowly, just as They said.”  Obviously this concerned the few people, particularly those who practically worshipped Them (surely the people would be better off worshipping Chad Michael Murray?).  To this small group of beings that worshipped Them (whose idea of a fun time was having a huge chess tournament whilst playing an on going game of lawn bowls with the cricket results on the radio quietly humming in the background, uhhh fun?), what They said went, no questions asked (except for “When?”, “Where?”, “How?” or “How the Hell am I supposed to be able to afford this???”).

One thing Dorian’s Citadel was well known – but not famous for, as the citizens liked to think – was their regular meetings.  Quite often, all the adults would congregate (or should I say squished?) into the Hall of Dorian and discuss the Citadel’s matters.  Usually there weren’t many, so for the women the topics often revolved around their children, their neighbours’ children, and their neighbours’ neighbours’ children, etc (but since ALL the women were there, usually the ladies just talked about their own little buggers). All the men talked about the sports game they had watched last night, which usually ended up in a huge mêlée over who was the best team (Mr Ebbing, the gay American – who really was gay – didn’t participate in these discussions, but would sit in the corner and knit, or darn, or engage in other such activities).  Of course, sometimes the adults DID talk about the Citadel’s issues, and occasionally made a Very Important Decision.  Sometimes it was the right decision… usually it wasn’t because the adults were usually sidetracked and They had to yell and scream and rant and rave and cry and yell again and scream again until everyone was quiet.  This often took a while.

On the 19^th day of autumn (or fall as Mr Ebbing called it) there was a huge power cut.  It just happened to be at night – right when all the good TV programmes were on – so the impact was at its greatest.  If anyone did this on purpose, they would have been very pleased with themselves, because it caused catastrophic chaos!  People were running outside screaming, other were too drunk to notice and wanted to know why it was suddenly night time.  All through the streets was commotion, which was so loud, the Dead Bodies in Hell would’ve heard it (that is, if they weren’t Dead…).  The Civil Defence Truck (which had obviously been painted by someone with an IQ the same number as their shoe size, as it read “Sivel Defenz Turk”) went screaming through the streets with a worker at the megaphone shouting, “PLEASE! Do not panic! This is no emergency,” to which he received the reply: “Uhh, we’re panicking here!”  Eventually, the Civil Defence Truck (or Sivel Defenz Turk) gave up and went back to the Station, but were immediately yelled at by Them.  Luckily for the workers, the lights came back on soon after, and the Great Blackout was over.  Little did They know, talk of the Great Blackout would pour from everybody’s lips for the next month.

Over the next little while, the lights had a tendency to flicker every now and then, as if they were playing their own little game.  Of course, this annoyed Them a lot, as They received many complaints, yet no electrician They hired could fix it.  They were reaching out and taking drastic measures.  They were about to make the citizens of Dorian’s Citadel get light the old fashioned way.

Candles.

They escaped.  The people of Dorian’s Citadel were now trapped in a fate more frustratingly antagonizing than having feathers endlessly being stroked up and down the sole of one’s foot.  At first, no one talked about Them without spitting on the ground (until the Health Department told all the citizens in the Citadel how unhealthy this was and how it spread around meningitis), for the people didn’t think They would truly leave the rest of the citizens of Dorian’s Citadel to suffer. But then again, no one had thought Dorian and Devil (crackle, crackle, boom, BOOM!) would seriously combine their power.  At first, life hadn’t seemed too different – the people were as serious and strict as they had always been.  The centre of the Citadel was still packed with preps and skaters and hippies and weirdoes and stoners and musicians and buskers and even the odd ballerina (who would always end up being reprimanded by her – or occasionally his – ballet teacher for getting her – his? – tutu dirty).  After a while, all the pink ribbon in the Citadel began to go missing, until there was none left.  Everyone thought it was just some schizophrenic green mow hawked hooligan who had a secret stash of dress-me-up dolls somewhere and didn’t think much of it.  Until the 73^rd day of winter. <insert dramatic sound effect here>  Alva Benoit Carcer Demitri Eurus Fabiyn Guido Horacio Iphis Julio Kauldi Lartius Montague Nahilus Orban Parzifal Quilinus Romeo Serenus Tertius Ulysses Vitale Wicus Xanthus Yuli Zorian III *gasp* was summoned to the Court of Dorian on his 40^th Birthday.  No one knew why, for everyone knew Alva, and thought highly of him, as he had lived a great (and rather long and at times embarrassing) life.  He was the oldest person in Dorian’s Citadel, excluding Dorian and Devil (crackle, crackle, boom, BOOM!) for they were indeed immortal (or so they had told everyone so no one bothered to attempt an assassination).  Alva was also known as the ‘Old Sage‘, partly because he was wise and erudite (and knew everything… or at least acted like it) and partly because no one could ever remember his full name.  Alva himself even struggled with it and had to carry a piece of paper with his full name written down.  As you can imagine, his birth certificate and drivers licence had slight trouble, as did his passport.  At the exact time Alva was summoned, he just happened to be doing the lunch dishes for his wife (later everyone wondered why he was stuck with doing the dishes on his birthday), but as he had to go straight away, he couldn’t stay and finish them, which, of course, upset him greatly… (Not to mention his wife’s dismay, since she had to finish them!).  As Alva worked his way up the massive steps of the Court of Dorian, the entire population of the Citadel hovered about, waiting to hear the reason behind this summoning (news in Dorian’s Citadel spread fast, as everyone knew everyone, for this reason or that… some good, some not-so-good).  There were news reporters from all 3 different newspapers cat fighting to see who got the best place to get the story (which looked rather peculiar as they were all male), along with TV presenters, radio announcers and representatives from many clubs and small groups.  However, immediately after Alva had stepped into the tall (and rather disturbingly decorated) hallway, behind him, the door slammed shut in everyone’s faces. 

He looked around the Court.  Horrible pictures hung everywhere.  Pictures of battles and pain and death.  Pictures of people being hung, with their necks at a disturbing angle.  Pictures of animal sacrifices with detail over bloody (literally) detail.  Statues stared down at him, their faces twisted in agony.  There was even a portrait of Them (which was rather amusing, as in all his 40 years alive, he had never known They knew how to smile). At the end of the Court, a colossal painting of Dorian wickedly smiled down a toothy grin at him, which wasn’t too bad… except for the bright pink toothbrush and the white and baby blue beanie that sat atop his head, which ironically made everything seem more frightening.  Beside him on the left (or was it the right?  People in Dorian always had trouble with this) was a big (and unfortunately delicately detailed) picture of his mother, who apparently was a lovely dear, but could be terrifying if she wanted to be.  She had a big round face that looked like it was bursting out of the purple and yellow polka dot scarf around her head (which it probably was) that held her bouncy red curls out of the way.  Her eyes were heavily lined with brown eyeliner (or so it looked in the picture), with a bright blue strip of eye shadow on her eyelids that made her look rather like a custom ‘Do-Mummy’s-Make-Up Barbie™’.  On the right (or was it the left?) was a portrait of Devil (crackle, crackle, boom, BOOM!) with his black hair thickly sitting on his thin red sunburnt face (he had recently been to California, must to his dismay).  A thin moustache lined his top lip, which gave him the ‘I’m-incredibly-evil-and-lecherous-so-don’t-mess-with-me’ look that he’d been going for his whole life.  These pictures seemed to gaze at this man who stood so boldly in the centre of the room (not that he had a choice) which, of course, made him feel rather uncomfortable.  Alva slowly rotated, reaping in the décor with his eyes.   He turned slowly as an unseen voiced boomed out, “Welcome, Alva…”

Throughout the Citadel a deafening silence smothered the air, almost suffocating anyone who tried to breathe it.  All was still, not a leaf moved, not a blade of grass dared to be anything but stationary. Then the wind picked up again, and everyone went back to what they were doing before… but not a voice spoke.

"BURP!”  Suddenly there was a burst of laughter, and Dorian’s Citadel had sound once more.

As time passed slowly and painfully by, when people turned 40, they too were summoned to the Court of Dorian, never to be seen again.  Eventually, the population of Dorian’s Citadel was rather small, and was very young.  No one had grandparents anymore, and the word had become quite forgotten.  Those who had been summoned had their names engraved in a huge stone wall on the east side of the cemetery, under the famous title “Memoria in Aeterna,” which meant: “In everlasting remembrance,” in Latin – everyone, even those who didn’t know the language knew this phrase.  Those who knew Latin also understood the almost non-readable graffiti down the bottom which read:

“Te audire non possum.  Musa sapientum fixa est in aure.”

For a while, a few kids who didn’t know Latin went around saying this, and became very confused when people started chucking bananas at them until Alva had told them it meant: “I can't hear you.  I have a banana in my ear.”  Luckily, there was no more graffiti, because Alva wasn’t around to translate any longer… unless you counted his engraved name, which didn’t quite have the same effect (and didn’t seem to be able to speak Latin).

Eventually a meeting was held, to which all the adults attended, to try and discern why people were being summoned to the Court.  A huge brainstorm was created and people began sharing their thoughts.  At first, no one wanted to share, as they were too shy (which was rather unusual) until a big fat lady in a yellow dress walked in.  She went by the name of Missy Julie (whether this was her real name or not was a mystery to everyone) and had no shame.  “Come on people, start talking! Usually no one will shut up, why should it be different now?  Tell me! Tell me now,” she bellowed.

“They get put into an old folk’s home!”  yelled one person.

“No, they get a big cake!” screeched another.

“A party!”

“An everlasting potion!”

“Lifetime supply of ice-cream!”

“Land in Hawaii!”

“Eww, old people dancing around in coconut bras… not pretty!”

“A million dollars!”

“A make-over!”

“YOU need to be summoned early then!”

“A holiday!”

“A private jet!”

“LIP-O-SUCTION!”  Everyone turned and stared.  “It could happen,” mumbled a lady with a bright purple jumpsuit and a matching hat that had a large feather dripping off the top which looked rather like a melting purple ice-cream as she turned a dark shade of scarlet.  “They get killed,” spoke up a posh, proper voice from the doorway.  The people swivelled in their chairs and tried not to let their mouths drop open as their eyes were met by a steady gaze from one of Them.  The room was still.

“BURP!”

Suddenly the lady with a bright purple jumpsuit and a matching hat that had a large feather dripping off the top became the centre of attention again.  “Excuse me,” she managed to spit out and fled from the dreaded meeting room – today was not her day, yet neither had yesterday, or the day before as she had run out of coffee and hadn’t been able to get her plump hands – that had very rarely been seen without at least 2 rings on each finger – on any more until Thursday, which could have been 10 million years away and she wouldn’t have suffered more than she already was.  “I’ve only come back for a short visit.” His voice pierced the silence which caused the every living being in the meeting room turn and once more be captured by a zombie-like expression (quite like what women look like in the mornings before they’ve had time to paint their faces on). Very properly of course, he began to speak again and the entire room leant forward to listen, still in shock that one of Them had returned.  “I heard you were holding this meeting and thought for once you might want to know the truth.  I really couldn’t care less what becomes of you, but I, ahem, We feel that I, ahem, We owe it to you to tell you exactly what is happening.  Try and follow, but I cannot hold it against you if your feeble minds cannot keep up.  As We have always said, Death is not something to be feared or hated, but eagerly anticipated, however, things have changed.  I don’t have much time, so I’ll simply get to the point – on your 40^th birthday, you will be summoned to the Court of Dorian where you will be dressed up with pink ribbon,” he paused as a murmur of realisation rippled through the sea of people as if someone had dropped a stone in. “ahem?  As I was saying, you will be dressed up and congratulated on making it to your 40^th.  They will then inform you that you have become obsolete and useless and are no longer needed alive.  Then, I’m afraid – but really don’t care – you will be killed.  How, it is not necessary to say, but I am advising you to beware – fear Death like nothing else, for it is the work of the Devil.”  He paused as the thunder clapped and the lightning cracked and whipped the night air.  “It is evil and takes you away from those you love, if your simple minds are capable of love.  Fear Death!”  As those last words sank into the people, He slunk away, never to be seen again, but from that day on, Death was the most feared thing in Dorian’s Citadel, save the occasional spider.  Why anyone would suddenly give up everything they had always believed would have seemed foolish and inscrutable to a mere outsider, but to the people of Dorian’s Citadel, it was quite simple.

Because They said so.

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