Path of the Sinned [FANTASMICAL 2023]

A Vision of the Past (Retold)

The box imprisoned me in a vision of the past

I saw it, my mother's home. 

My sister, Blanche, sat outside, darning my socks. Again. My stomach roiled with guilt and anger at myself. I saw myself--my gangly, pretentious excuse of a boy--come out carrying a sack. Mother always told us to go wash the linens in the river. She had enough to do, minding us with Papa gone, and it was necessary for us to pull our weight. 

Blanche always did.    

I watched us take the familiar path, watched as my young self inevitably dove out of sight, leaving my sister to find her way alone. She never complained. Not that Mother would have listened. She only had heart to spoil one of us.

My present self could do nothing, say nothing. I merely kept up behind my sister while she struggled with the heavy sack, a witness to how my selfishness made her suffer.

She came to the riverbed. I stood by her as she took each linen out and carefully washed it. So often I tried to hand her an article of clothing, keep her hair from falling in her face, embrace her...I tried to. She couldn't feel me. 

Hell would have been more merciful.

I heard her little voice begin to hum a hymn from church. I could have cried, she sounded just as I remembered. However, the initial joy of hearing my baby sister became poisoned with a jealous anger. The kind I'd felt as a boy.

No matter how mean I was to her, how much Mother expected of her, Blanche would cheerfully do what was asked. Never a complaint. Never. 

It drove me mad. Why couldn't she be naughty like me? I wanted a sister, not a goddamned angel.

When finished, Blanche stuffed the wet linens in the sack. We would always hang them beside our cottage to prevent any thieves from making off with them. I say 'we' because that's one thing I would do for her. I enjoyed climbing trees.

She'd stuffed the last rag when she saw she had forgotten Papa's kerchief. It belonged to Mother now. Before Blanche could pick it up, the small cloth was snatched off by the river currents.

I heard my sister cry out in dismay. She set off at once after the cloth. It bobbled along the surface of the water. Even in my present build, I couldn't keep up with the currents that swept the kerchief downriver.

Several townsmen passed Blanche as she searched. None of them had seen it. Until one kettle-faced woman said she'd seen a flash of white in the river gully. Blanche sprinted off towards it.

As I followed her, I noticed her little feet were bruised from the dry rocks of the riverbed. When she came to where the waters flowed into a cave, I detected a shiver of dampness in her voice. She rubbed her eyes before trudging to the mouth of the cave. 

I heard her pray aloud that the kerchief was safe. And from the depths of the cave, an old woman's voice answered.

I saw Blanche torn with fear and hope. A frightfully old woman emerged. When she hobbled out, Blanche crumpled onto the embankment in tears. The old woman kindly asked her what brought her out so far. I heard my sister explain what had happened, how she'd spent hours searching, and how her mother would be furious with her when she got back. How she had so much work to do and it wouldn't get done because her lazy, uncouth brother couldn't be bothered to help. Ever.

Rather than being devastated by her words, I felt a certain pride in watching how animated she was. I had believed Blanche to be an angel my whole life, one who never spoke ill of anyone; yet here I was--albeit in spirit--listening joyfully to her lay bare my sins to a woman who likely escaped from Eden itself. 

The old woman listened then assured Blanche that the kerchief was recovered. But the old soul wanted to be sure my sister was not a hypocrite. She told Blanche to clear a path for her from the embankment to the cave's mouth.

Of course, the path was finished in short order. As promised, the old woman gave her the kerchief; then she produced two pumpkins and encouraged my sister to choose one. Blanche chose the smaller of the two. She wasn't the greedy sort, and it's easy not to be when you don't care for pumpkins.
 
When Blanche returned with the soured linens, cloth, and pumpkin. Furious, Mother was certain she'd stolen the pumpkin and made Blanche tell the story repeatedly. My prickish younger self taunted Blanche for choosing a pumpkin when she hated them. And I dashed it to the ground. 

Instead of seeds, fine pieces of jewelry tumbled out of the husk. Shocked, Mother berated Blanche for not choosing the larger one. She stowed away the riches and sent us to bed.

I remember how the thought of more wealth churned in my mind all night. I saw myself rise early and steal out along the path Blanche had described. I witnessed myself confront the old woman, demanding the bigger pumpkin. She asked me to clear a path. I kicked a few errant stones off Blanche's path, then demanded my reward.

Glory be, I wanted to box my own ears.

The old woman obliged me and my young self rushed home with my treasure. At the door, the pumpkin slipped from my hands and broke open. Enormous black serpents leeched from the pumpkin innards, swarming around me. They covered me, whispering words in Latin. My screams alerted Mother, who hurled a cross at the serpents. They disappeared, never to be seen again.

I saw my young self and Mother begging Blanche's forgiveness. I could not hear her reply.

The box loosened its hold on me. The vision faded away and I at last woke up in the infirmary. 

I've recorded this as well as I can remember.