“Hey, Chris,” Jay called, “They’ve got you memorialized!”
Chris wandered over. “Damn, my butt looks good.”
“Don’t let your head get bigger.”
“No chance. Look at that leg. Nice.”
“Only you could find a statue sexy.”
“What? You’ve never seen David? Aphrodite and Eros? Venus de Milo? Good god, Jay, what swamp did you crawl out from?”
“Ass. No wait, you think David is sexy?”
“Not in a ‘gotta-have-him’ way, but he is considered rather risque.”
“Newest headlines on National Enquirer! ‘Rock Star Chris Crenshaw in love with statue of David! Begging Italy… Let me take him home!'”
Chris rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll put him right in my bedroom, gaze lovingly at him at night.”
“Wait, you’re never in your bedroom, at least your home bedroom.”
Chris shrugged. “So he’ll get lonely.”
“We could take him on tour. Work him into the opening number.”
“You tell the roadies they have to move his ass cause I won’t.”
“I guess he’ll have to stay in Italy.”
“We’ll visit him when the tour gets there.”
“Hey, that’s right.” Jay grinned. “A night with David. What a great photo op!”
Chris punched him in the arm and walked away.
And they thought it’d really kill me. Twenty-three years. Bah. A heartbeat in my world. Should have cut off my head or put a spike through my heart. But wait… neither of those would have killed me either. As if I was a vampire.
Stupid humans and their stupid superstitions.
Wasn’t easy to crawl out. Soil gets packed down in 23 years, grass has time to dig in roots. Not to mention the coffin and the vault. Those were the easiest to bypass. Finally, shaking roots and dirt from my hair, I pushed through to the surface and rose, looking grandly around me.
The folks at the graveside service two graves over didn’t take to my appearance so grandly. Typically, they screamed and ran, flowers and dirt flying everywhere. The minister held ground for a moment longer, looking as if he wanted to be brave, save his flock from the demon.
As if. Nor was I a demon, but I guess one can’t expect humanity to know the different. But ghee, my skin isn’t even red! Don’t demons have red skin? Glowing eyes.? Horns? That sort of thing?
Anyway, I waved as the minister ran, heels flying, then kicked up some heels of my own.
The sun was shining. Clouds drifted lazy. Green grass except around the dug grave.
A beautiful day to be alive!
Welcome back to the world, Loki! Welcome home!
~Terri Guillemets, “Rather, shape a delightful morning,” 2007
~Horace Fletcher, Menticulture, 1895
~C. Northcote Parkinson, 1958