An Early-Morning Rant

In the new period of being confined to one’s home, Lewis felt his time spent with this washed-up man who called himself “Poe” was that of a double-edged sword. Yes, getting him to still wear a mask and wash his hands despite being immune to the ongoing virus was a pain, but at least him being around the era of smallpox outbreak was at least a means of translating severity and consideration to the man. Rather, it was the fact that his knowledge and witness to the fluidity of time that seemed to be the rocky area Lewis wasn’t quite sure how to deal with.

On one hand, it was always interesting to his eyewitness accounts of the events that have occurred in years past--especially for projects; on the other, he tended to ramble on unrelated topics and then obsess over the permanence of death and how the world has lost its touch. While Lewis understood the sentiment, at times, he couldn’t help but want for Poe to talk about other subjects.

“It’s a crime, Hawthorne, a crime!” came the loud, distressed yowl from the downstairs living room.

Lewis heard the heavy footsteps coming up the stairs heading towards his room, and, groggily, checked his phone for the time.

‘For God’s sake, Poe...’ he thought to himself in exasperation and let out a small, tired groan, ‘It’s 0400, people aren’t even awake yet!’

The door opened with a loud wham as the undead Russian man stormed into his room, flicking on the light and waving the smartphone in the young man’s face with a flurry of emotions, “It’s disgraceful, Hawthorne, dis--nay! I say not that, that word is far too much of an understatement; it is a catastrophe, a tragedy, a Shakespearian play gone awry as if the man discovered the cursed poppy of fever and illusion and let eat away at his brainstem!”

“Poe...” Lewis drowsily raised his hand, gesturing for the vampire to slow down, “What are you on about now?”

Abruptly, Poe grabbed Lewis’ freehand and plopped the smartphone, “Do your ‘zoom in’ that you speak of, and cast your eyes upon this travesty! The nerve, the horror--do you have a rope for me to tie? A pedestal to stand on so it may tighten around my throat?”

Rubbing his eyes, and stifling one last yawn, Lewis squinted at the bright screen light and read what appeared to be a Twitter post about staying up late and procrastinating on schoolwork, “Okay, yes, so this person stayed up ’til ... 0400 playing videogames and is now having regrets? I don’t understand what you’re--”

”‘Scroll’ up as they say! Scroll through this person’s ‘history,’ you’ll see it!”

“Hah...” Lewis followed, noticing that the poster’s previous messages were repeated cycles of procrastination then panic over and over again minus the occasional complaint about dealing with the mundane aspects of finding a job and being asked to make something for themselves. “Okay, yes, so I do see that this--”

“Precisely, Hawthrone, it’s nothing more than a glorified, whiny whelp barking about meaningless nothings because the owners failed to take its muzzle and shove it into its mess to teach it discipline! Rather, whoever was responsible for this whelp, they opted to just let it mark its territory all over their precious abode, instead! What kind of age is this? I’ve never seen such foul, poorly-written, lackadaisical pieces such as this where what is considered profound--‘deep’ as you daft hooligans say--is nothing more than shallow, trite, one-offs with no format, no structure, and no prose ranting about menial pain and normal life. Do you know what a man can be doing at 0400? Why, he could be going out to tend to his garden, tend to his family, buy food, write a lushi about the seasons and Confucian philosophies, or praise what has been granted to him in life. But nay, nay these people say! There need not be a need for an insightful poem, paragraphs of a tale to simmer into the mind, vocabulary to display the education granted to society--nay! Rather, simplified, ‘short’ sentences with little depth are considered to be such high standards!”

The grin on his face widened as he snatched the phone from Lewis and tapped another area on the screen, “What was once the glory of the printing press has now turned into a hellfire of trash, avarice, and filthy swine! Whelps that were granted far too much riches, wanton, and materialism now overrun communities and mock the notion of hard work instead of seeing it as a necessity. As this new plague--”

“Pandemic, Poe, the term is pandemic.”

”--As this new plague pushes us further into self-contained isolation,” Poe continued to ramble, causing Lewis to rub his temples and sigh, “The grammar-phobic, the slothful, the will rise and soon I will be told a picture of horse dung says so much about human nature as opposed to something written properly! It’s a horrid nightmare, no wonder death seems so fanciful!”

“Poe...” Lewis took a breath of composure before staggering up and resting his hand on the vampire’s shoulder, “Yes, I understand, given your background of ... about four hundred years of history, and coming from many, many periods that could consider what we’ve got today ‘easy’ or ‘too privileged’ in comparison, it’s very easy to see how people are conducting themselves in writing or social class can be grating.”

He yawned again before continuing, “However, time changes, and, yes, given the influence of machine since then, it only seems natural things like this would happen. And while it is discouraging, there are still the few that likely still value most of the things you value.”

Lewis paused, recalling how certain things Poe had said were “off-beat” at best, “Yes, mostly. A lot of people are easily discouraged in this time period because they’ve become dependent on wearing personas--er, masks--and having approval. But I truly believe that if you keep going about your way and not getting wrapped up in all of it, not only do you spare yourself some trouble, but you stand as a figure for those in the shadows, afraid to still show those values you preached about for fear of being mocked, ignored, etc. You show them that none of that has to matter. So...”

He handed the phone back to Poe, ”...It’s not all as bad as you think it is, Poe. At least our ability to choose to write well despite the ‘cesspool’ around us is still there and nothing’s happened to take that way. ...Also, it is really early in the morning, so may I please go back to bed now?”

”...” Poe stared at him incredulously; the awkward silence hanging uncomfortably between the two before he up and announced, “I shall be going for a walk, then!”

“Okay, but--” Lewis began to raise his voice as he saw the vampire quickly heading out of the house, “But don’t forget your...”

The slam of the door cut him off, ”...Your mask.”