“Fuck the Family,” I yelled.
One Bold and Strong Sheep
The horror of a single crowd can shape us to think individually.
There was once a sheep, so bold and so strong that the other sheep looked at this sheep and said: “Wow, this sheep is so strong and bold, we should follow it.”
“What about the sheepdog,” said another sheep concerned.
“That dog is not one of us. Follow me; I will lead the way,” said the bold and strong sheep leaping over the gate and into the woods. The other sheep did likewise and followed after the bold and strong sheep.
Once the flock had gotten deep into the woods, they started to bleat in their newfound freedom. All thanks to the bold and strong sheep. This attracted many wolves. At first, the sheep were scared, but the bold and strong sheep reassured them;
“We are a flock of two hundred, and they are of six. Let us make history and show them that with numbers, anything is possible.”
The wolves began to chuckle at these stupid sheep. They laughed so hard that they began to lose balance and fall onto their backs.
“Who do they think they are,” said one of the wolves.
“We are sheep,” yelled the bold and strong sheep leading the flock.
♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙
Mary, my fiancé, brought me to the Royal Abstract theatre, downtown Edmonton. It was recently opened by some professional actors and actresses that Mary liked. Apparently, they had traveled the world preaching and transforming nations with their play called ‘I’m Still Hungry.’ I never had a liking for theatre plays; it was always too far for me to see. I never liked how big and fake the actors always got. I also never enjoyed how bland and straightforward some theatres could be. Why not give the place a little life?
The Royal Abstract had life. Too much for my taste. First, there was the line that wrapped around the block just to get inside. I was worried that they might not have enough space for all of us. I kept expecting the manager to come out and tell us so. He never did.
Once inside the Abstract, I found myself blown away by the red and gold wallpaper and decor. It had a sense of luxury. Mary and I aren’t wealthy people and don’t plan on being filthy rich in the future. She is a journalist, and I am an accountant. Yet the Abstract made us feel wealthy, not to mention this was a black-tie event, so you can expect that we were dressed to the nines. It was truly something to see Mary dressed up. Her black faux fur dress worked perfectly with her pixie cut and her high cheekbones. She was perfect, a lot better than her t-shirts and jeans she would wear every day. It was a nice change, and I finally got to wear my tux that I had spent too much money on.
The line continued straight into the theatre, no need to order snacks. They came with the ticket. Mary didn’t want anything when we bought them, but I ordered a wine called The Abstract Touch. I thought it was pretty neat that we could order the ticket and the food ahead of time. This all just added to the wealthy vibe we were getting. We found our seats in the middle of the theatre, G-10, and G-11. Mary didn’t want me walking out like last time.
I told her I didn’t like rock music, but she still took me to a concert. Once the music started to play, I left—no more surprises for me. After which, I made sure to research everything before going anywhere with her. For the Abstract, though, there wasn’t a lot of research. In fact, there was almost nothing about the show, only good reviews. This gave me some red flags, but after asking some friends who had seen the show before, they only told me that it was life-changing.
I relaxed in my seat and asked one of the ushers when the food would be served. They politely responded;
“At intermission, sir. Enjoy the show.”
I pulled out the playbill and looked through the actors and directors for the show. There was absolutely nothing inside, except the actors’ names, their characters, and the director’s name. There was nothing else. No run time, synopsis of the play, or even credits to the writer or stage designer.
“It’s about to start,” Mary said, trying to contain her excitement.
“How many times have you seen this play,” I asked.
“Oh, you know, maybe a dozen times.”
“A dozen?”
“Don’t worry. I paid for it out of my own pocket.”
“Well, I expect you to explain it for me once we get home.”
“Jason Carmichael, if you fall asleep, I will make sure you walk home,” Mary said sternly. Her cute little nose flared up a little as her eyebrows made creases on her face.
“It’s not that far, only a couple of blocks,” I said, smiling. She punched me in the shoulder. “I’m joking.”
The lights dimmed and drew my gaze back to the stage in front of us. Then I noticed that the red and gold wallpaper wasn’t inside the auditorium. The walls had a more geometric pattern of different shades of grey-brown. Some parts of the walls jutted out, and the lights were in some of the crevices. What a change, I thought.
Soft music started to play as the red curtains started to lift, revealing a white backdrop.
On stage were some moveable set pieces like a window, chairs, coat racks, and tables. The first scene was the interior of a house. The main character came on, and the play began. I remember thinking to myself that the main character looked healthy, like he was brimming with energy.
♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙
The wolves quickly regained their composure, but it was too late. The sheep were already close enough and trampled the wolves to death.
With newfound courage, the sheep began to charge forward, ripping and destroying the land around them. They ran for miles without stopping killing whatever got in their way.
Back at the farm, the sheepdog, out with Farmer looking for a lost sheep, returned to find the sheep pen empty. The Farmer dropped the newly found sheep and started to investigate the area. The sheepdog did likewise.
“Fido, I think those blasted sheep jumped the fence and headed out into the woods,” said the Farmer.
“Do you think they would get far,” asked Fido.
“I don’t know, but I’m hoping to cut them off on the other side. I want you to chase after them.”
The Farmer wasn’t an athletic man and over the years had gained a couple of pounds, but Fido was sharp and quick. He could catch up with them in no time.
Immediately Fido jumped the pen and started to pursue the flock. It wasn’t hard for him to follow.
♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙
I struggled to keep myself awake through the first half of the play. It wasn’t bad, and the acting seemed real. It just wasn’t my kind of story. I think the plot was about a family that had run out of food and went hunting, searching for a boar for dinner. I remember sad music starting to play, but I drifted in and out.
The auditorium lights came back on, and the food was finally served. I noticed some people had ordered a full course meal. The aroma of chicken, turkey, rice, and gravy filled the room, and here I was with a single cup of wine.
I took a sip and paused. Tasted funny, like there was iron in the drink. Maybe this was how they washed their cups. I’ve had it happen before when I did dishes with just tap water. I placed the cup back in the holder on my right, and I nudged Mary.
“What do you think,” I said.
“It’s good. I like it. Maybe I’m biased since I know how it’s going to end.”
“Maybe, I’ve been trying to stay awake, so forgive me.” I looked up to her to find a look of disappointment on her face. Looks like I was sleeping on the couch tonight. “I’m truly sorry, love.”
“It’s okay,” she said, and fellas, that means it’s not okay. “Take one of these.”
Mary passed me some gum and a caffeine pill. The gum, I wasn’t going to eat. I hate it when people chew during shows, movies, or even plays. The pill was the only option left, and that meant drinking more of the wine. I weighed my options and downed the pill. As I took another sip of the wine, I felt something cold bump against my lips. Immediately I backed away.
“They put ice in my wine,” I said as the light dimmed. Though I couldn’t see what it was, I knew for sure it was ice.
The show went on, and I started to piece together the story. Apparently, the main character had a daughter, and I did remember seeing a little blonde girl on stage, or was she a redhead? Either way, there was a girl on stage. She was killed by the boar; tragically. Maybe you shouldn’t have taken your daughter hunting. This infuriated the Father, who went out and killed the boar. The little girl who died was taken back to the house. The Father tracks down the boar. Kills it and brings it back home.
At first, everything seemed fine, but as the story went on, the music started to change from this solemn piano piece to a guitar piece that was at a faster tempo and had a harmonica in it. Now I don’t know all the things that go along with music, I’m more a numbers guy, but I would have to say the music didn’t truly fit the scene. In the context of the story, yes, but the actors were still in a negative state. What I’m trying to say is the music was happy, and the actors were sad.
“Are they going to eat that boar raw?”
“Yes,” said Mary.
“Why, that’s barbaric.”
“In order for the family to honor Maybell’s death, they must eat it raw, just as the beast did the girl.”
“What the fuck, the boar ate the girl?”
“Aren’t you paying attention?”
“Apparently not. Listen, I’m going to use the restroom.”
“You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“They lock the doors during the show.”
If that wasn’t a red flag, then I don’t know what is. I felt the room get ten times smaller. I looked around for the emergency exit because this just became an emergency. I don’t know why Mary likes these sorts of shows, but I am totally against it. In fact, I don’t even think art is that important, just like my father used to say, ‘Art is a waste of time.’ He more or less crushed any dreams of me being an artist when I was young. It was the greatest thing he could have done for me.
The sounds of flesh-ripping pulled my attention back to the stage. They had started devouring the beast, and it wasn’t that bad. They cut the creature open and placed its guts on plates, and passed it around. “That is the most realistic boar guts I’ve ever seen, kudos to the guy who made it,” I thought.
“It’s not that bad.”
“It gets better,” said Mary.
“Shit.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I did not want this to get any better. Every bite they took made my skin crawl. I despise the sound of people eating, and these actors chewed with their mouths open.
“Father,” said the little boy on stage, who I had to guess was the son. “I’m still hungry.”
The mother took the boar off the table with the Father’s help. The two went off stage and then returned with some knives and forks. “How are you going to solve this one,” I thought.
“Shall I ask the heavens for more food, or hell,” asked the Father.
“Hell, sir. For it would be a sin to eat what is holy.”
“Smart boy.” The Father walked to the edge of the stage and stopped. “Everyone, please look under your chair for a red ribbon. If you have it, please come up to the stage.”
You know that feeling you get when you are praying to every single god in existence so that you are not the chosen one. Well, take that feeling and crank it up to eleven because, boy, was I sick. Slowly reaching under the chair, my hands were shaking like crazy. I don’t really know why I felt this so strongly; perhaps it was my instincts telling me something.
“I have it,” said Mary standing straight up from her chair gripping the ribbon.
A sigh of relief swept over me. A selfish thought, not one of my greatest moments. Mary shuffled her way out of the row and briskly made it up the stairs to the stage. I noticed the phrase ‘For the Family’ being said around the theatre.
The Father took Mary’s hand and brought her to the table. Mary began to undress. Shocked, I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out. My brain wanted to know what the hell was going on, but my body had already figured it out. Once nude, she laid herself on the table, and the Father took the knife.
“For the Family,” the Father said and swung down, decapitating Mary in one clean cut.
“No,” I said, standing up. Terrified at what had just happened.
“For the Family,” said the audience. I turned and jerked around, looking and trying to make eye contact with the crowd, but their eyes were focused on the stage. I collapsed to my seat, weak in the knees.
The boy had gotten his food.
♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙
The flock continued to follow the bold and strong sheep even after they had cleared most of the forest. All that was left for the flock to obtain true freedom was to traverse a dangerous path that had two large boulders on either side. The rocks were so large and long that the flock had no choice but to enter through it.
“It’s dangerous,” said one of the sheep.
“We could die,” said another one.
“Trust me, I will lead you,” said the bold and strong sheep dashing forward, leaving the flock behind. Afraid of being left alone, the flock chased after the bold and strong sheep. The path was tight, and the flock could only enter by forming a single line. The bold and strong sheep could feel freedom getting closer and closer as the end of the path grew brighter and brighter. This is what the bold and strong sheep had been waiting for. This was what he was born to be, free. Free from the Farmer and his shears, free from the sheepdog and his barking, free from the pen that he had known all his life. Freedom.
♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙
I sat there broken as the family devoured the love of my life. As they cut into and drank her blood.
It lasted an eternity for me, but only thirty minutes had passed. Each second felt like someone was slamming nails into my heart. “Something better,” I thought.
It didn’t take long for the play to end. Just a couple lines of dialogue from the Father, and everyone began to clap. I slowly turned around to face the faceless crowd. I did not know these people anymore. These monsters were no longer human. They were no longer anything. Only the sound of a multitude clapping seemed familiar, but even then, it felt wrong. Everyone was clapping in unison, like a thrall. A sound ingrained into the very fiber of my being.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
I glanced down at my wine cup to see a ball float up to the surface of my drink. It stared at me. Ice doesn’t stare, only eyes stare, and this one was no longer frozen. A fire of rage erupted inside me, ripping past all common sense and decency. I grabbed the drink and threw it towards the stage. It fell upon the crowd in front of me, staining them.
“Fuck the Family,” I yelled. They turned to face me, but I held strong. The doors to the room opened, and I rushed out of the theatre, knowing that I had changed.
♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙♙
The Farmer parked his truck at the edge of the bridge and looked down into the great ravine. Fido had just made his way to the other side of the forest and was now carefully making his way to the Farmer.
“It’s almost a straight drop once you make it out of the forest,” said Fido.
“Yeah.”
“They had tried to stop but were pushed right off.”
“Yeah.”
“I wonder what happened.”
“One figured out that it was death and stopped.”
“Then-”
“One can’t stop a multitude,” said the Farmer getting into his truck. “If you want to know where they went, just look down.”
Fido walked over to the edge, and do you know what he saw? A white pile of sheep, stained in red.
