Amador the Fool

And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first day.

And the first day was proclaimed the day of Chaos. He didn’t know exactly why Harriet had chosen to start with Chaos. Unlike God, it seemed. Or was it — as opposed to God? At some point she had simply ceased sharing with Amador, her thoughts, her ideas, her warmth. Until yesterday. Harriet’s message didn’t catch him unawares. They had known each other for quite a while to allow for all the freshness and unpredictability to wither away from their connection. Relationship was too grand a word. Harriet didn’t do relationships. What they had, or rather, used to have, was lovingly called “a connection”. And here he was hoping to become more than just a fuck buddy for someone someday… Big hopes and great expectations for Amador Jack, the Mask Maker and owner of the Big Smiley. He didn’t return her message immediately. Nor did he do it in an hour or two. The reason for this was almost equally divided between the lack of words and a bitter poison of offence. The ceremony hadn’t started yet, but Harriet was already poisoning him with her cold attitude. As if she actually needed his consent? Ever? “When you die…” In an hour he would still find himself pressing pause after these words and rewinding back again as if in hopes that next time they wouldn’t be there. “When you die…” Anything else beyond that point didn’t really matter. She was asking him to sacrifice himself for her own brilliant ideas’ sake, knowing well enough that in the end Amador would agree. He ventured into eternity for her, with her, after her, and even though Harriet’s request crippled him like a kick in the stomach, what choice did he have? Back out now and keep distance forever? Better do what she wants and hope that when he loops, she would be back to Harriet Morse, not Harriet Morose. Dammit, he was trying so hard, he even made his mask relatable, resembling him at least in a way, not just a plain clown-face the others were wearing, and it still made absolutely no difference. Harriet needed him, but only in a very practical way. His — how did she describe it? — energy, his brilliance. He switched on the recording. Hey Harriet. Should I thank you for your voice message? We used to speak in person, you know… Wonder if it’s worth letting the crowd know we also used to fuck, just to get them more aroused. Should be saying that on the invites, perhaps. Tell them, how every now and then we would go just a little, just a tiny bit further, with a rope, with a belt, with a whip, with something sharp, anything, you know? A-ny-thing. Oh we’re sick in our heads, aren’t we? We were both so handy, so industrious, and creative. But always knew where to stop. And now… you’ve finally loosened your grip on reason, Harriet, haven’t you? No limits, absolutely no limits here and… I just… He switched it off without saving or sending. “When you die… I asked Wenjie. She assures me that when you die you’ll instantly loop.” Ah for fuck’s sake… What would it matter if he won’t? Would it matter really if he won’t? “Harriet! It’s Amador! Well, yeah. Obviously.” “Look, I don’t know why we have to exchange tapes like this. You know we used to speak in person and… I… I’ll do it.” “Fuck it. You want 'energy? ' I can die real hard and fast for you. Just don’t treat me like an employee, okay?” Later, in the hangar, he didn’t even notice, but he started crying out nonsense, bravado to compensate for the gnawing fear, long before she started to lower the hook into the greenish mire. He was trying to give his energy and brilliance after all. Couldn’t mess up when she was looking. So intently, so much excitement in her eyes. But probably messed it all up in the end by dying too fast. Who knows. Thus ended his first day of Chaos. And it was good.