The Closet

This is an allegorical story I wrote earlier in the year for another course. An abridged version also appears on Flash fiction world. The story itsefl was inspired by the outing of Anthony Weiner (gotta  love the name), a Congressman for New York, for sending pictures of his privates to women on Twitter and Facebook, a process that took several days to properly unfold and involved him making all sorts bizarre claims.

"It's not fair", whined a voice in the darkness. "It's my turn".

"Newbie. Newbie", chanted several voices in a slow rattling disharmonic.

"Silence", shrilled another voice. "You'll get another chance soon enough Amelia... Spotlight".

A cranking sound echoed through the darkness. He was lit.

"Welcome to Ivory Tower", said the shrill voice, amidst a rustle of paper. "We've been expecting you... you're slightly earlier than anticipated. No matter".

He looked round trying to recall how he'd got there but all that came into his skull was something about a school, a business park, and $500,000; whatever that meant.

"Don't worry. You're disoriented. It's perfectly normal", said the voice, "you'll soon adjust. Now, the main lights will come on". He paused and clacked, "house lights up, thank you".

"Bzzzt". A couple of wiry strip-lights hummed into life. He saw that he was in a sparse, tall yet narrow, musky, room. Around three sides, stretching up as far as he could see, were columns of dark shelves on which were large blobs of whiteness. Except for a round knob and coat hook, the fourth wall was bare.

In front of him was a small figure wearing a black cloak with a hood and holding a scythe. "I'm the Director", it said, "though you may call me Gareth. My pleasure", and so saying, extended an arm. He reciprocated and as the two shook phalanges and metacarpi, Gareth said: "Allow me to put some meat on the bones. Whilst you've been on the horizon a while, prediction's a messy business, and besides, rehearsals can't be made to wait for a 'maybe'. Arrival, Revelation, Death... the only valid excuses". He disengaged before continuing, "rules are simple: wait on your shelf - er... DCLXVI, that's you - and when it's your time Tusen here will fetch you", he said pointing at a small figure in a red cloak in the darkness beneath the first shelf. He continued, “I try to fit in as many Rehearsals each as possible but I'm afraid I can only guarantee the one per week. When not rehearsing watch the stage and listen. The Director's very good", and though he could not see a face, he could’ve sworn he detected a wink. "Finally, think of as many questions about yourself as you can; at the moment of Revelation it's your job to plant them. Oh, and more thing", said Gareth looking at his papers, "I see your full name is Bribed Senator Wilcox. I can’t be doing with pretentions; for now we’ll call you Nigel and be done".

Nigel looked round staring at the vast columns and pondering the influx of information when Gareth called out, "Tusen Skär", and the small figure under the first shelf scurried over. "DCLXVI, there's a fellow". Tusen Skär grabbed Nigel's left humerus and hoisted him high into Ivory Tower, depositing him on the appointed shelf. Sitting there, confused, Nigel could hear Gareth giving directions far below.

"...harder questions, dear..."

"...no, no. Relevance. It's crucial, nay vital, to success..."

As he listened someone whispered an introduction in his left ear. "Hi. Affair with First Intern, though they call me Nicole. Good to meet you".

Nicole taught him how things worked: Rehearsals, Friday Chattering, Revelations. As time passed, Nigel settled in: he loved rehearsals but his favourite activity was the Friday Chattering where he could mix with others and hear snippets of their stories. The session always ended with the Tinkling of The Ivories; Gareth would roll out a grand piano and play a tune that called time on proceedings.

Occasionally a flash of light came from the door as it swung open for a moment closing to a rattling chorus of "Newbie, Newbie" until Gareth let out a high pitch shriek of "Silence" and welcomed the newcomer, tasking Tusen Skär with whooshing them to the prescribed shelf.

It was at one of the Chatterings that Nigel learnt there were only two ways out: Revelation and Death, which everyone feared though none knew why. He also learned that if Gareth thought a story too weak they would be despatched by The Cut: Gareth would pass the scythe to Tusen Skär who would slice through their neck, reducing them to dust. According to legend, if the total number of cuts surpassed a thousand Death was possible at any moment. Only Gareth had count of the cuts.

Revelation, Nigel learned, was more likely than Death and whilst Death was only possible once, a single Revelation made more likely.

A year passed. New arrivals came but neither Revelation nor Death occurred. Then, fifteen months after he arrived, the door swung open; there was a piercing light, and a loud whooshing noise. Looking up, Nigel saw Tusen Skär throwing someone out of the door. It was quite the talk at that week's Chattering where he learned it was someone called Prostitute in Vegas (Helen).

A day later, the door opened once more, and another left. This time it was Nicole. Something stirred just below Nigel's sternum. Was it hope? There been a Revelation and his shelf neighbour was gone. He could feel the possibility.

Almost daily someone was departed, sometimes more than one. Then, one day the door opened and the light seemed to be pulling Nigel towards it, a beautiful sound calling his name. He felt something on his shoulder blade and realised that Tusen Skär had hold of him. Then he was falling, falling through the light. After what seemed an eternity, the white began to turn blue, then other colours split from the white and gradually Nigel could see forms, and hear noises, taking shape.

"Congressman Stollen", said a voice. "I have here an affidavit, signed by the Senator Wilcox's personal assistant stating he saw you hand over a half-million dollars in return to develop on a school playground, transgressing local planning regulations. In light of recent revelations about your private life, sir, do you have anything you wish to say?"

Congressman Stollen sat, pale and drawn, facing several dozen journalists. He was confused: where was this coming from?

Nigel knew that it was time for him to perform. He joined Nicole and the others as they flew round the room invisibly planting questions, opening the door, releasing more skeletons from the closet.

The Congressman winced; denying this, refuting that, and all the while the avalanche of questions grew, bringing more skeletons.

As the questions reached fever pitch, Congressman Hubert Stollen III knew what he had to do. With an alacrity found only when at the concave corner of intersecting walls, he stood up and cried out: "Stop". The room feel silent: humans and skeletons stood rooted to the spot.

"It's true", he said. "I did bribe Senator Wilcox. I did sleep with a prostitute in Vegas, andI seduce my first intern.". A tearful confession commenced and a deathly hush transcended a spellbound room.

Looking at Nicole, Nigel could hear the unmistakable sound of the Tinkling of the Ivories. Then, in a flash, Gareth was among them slicing through cervical vertebrae, reducing them to pillars of salt in the aether.

Congressman Hubert Stollen III was unburdened.