Summer of 83’ and some pals and I stole a car, an overseas foreign beauty that weren’t common for our Louisianian streets or cities. We drove it, and my heart was just about full of adrenaline, cause’ I was littlest of the four of us and had never done none further than trash a window with a baseball and weasel one peek under some girls’ skirts.
But halfway through our ride, Rocket One-eye looked at us with both the milky white of his left socket and the green of his right, as if he could catch all our excited, high glares in his mirror, and he said he’d now be taking us to the Yellow River. I asked what’d we’d be doing there going to no such river and seeing it weren’t time for no swims, and I got frightened some, cause’ I thought he might jump the car there and crash it for the bottom, but “No,” he said, “We’ll go down there and swim, swim till we find lost Carcosa.”
We shared a giggle at first, but when he said no more, we shut and sat in silence with this unsettling, uneasy stretch at our backs, like we weren’t wanting to sit in the car no more, so we asked him to stop, so we could go out and maybe walk the way back to town, but he said “No,” and we heard no giggle in his voice, nor nothing, like it weren’t even his voice, “We’ll be sailing down the Yellow River till we find dim Carcosa.”
And he locked the doors, mad as he was, and Pig, like we called Luke cause’ of his tiny misshapen ears and his broken boxing nose, he tried to take the wheel and stop it all, but Rocket held it straight; he pushed Pig aside and Pig did nothing more, for we saw from the back seat, me and Gray, we saw that he had none of the will he possessed a minute ago, cause’ maybe he knew there was no other way but down to the Yellow River to find lost Carcosa, maybe just like we too knew it, but Gray had some guts left and he blew his brains out with the small caliber he carried from time to time.
I sat at my end of the backseat, thinking if I was excited or nervous to be soon meeting the King in Yellow, and I tried to imagine the sound of his voice, but it were no match and my nose bled from the struggle, so I just kept sitting, watching the greenery of the Louisiana outskirts turn coal, for when we drove past the Lake of Hali all was such in color, like his eyes, Rocket told us, a black just like in them stars above, without any shades, an all-consuming cosmic void, all-seeing, all-knowing. I watched the waters stir with no reflection, but that of Aldebaran from above, red and growing, burning with coldness against my chest with submission.
But then Rocket says we’re nearly there, near the Yellow River and I feel a new need to escape stir in my belly, like that pallid King is truly seeing me, inside me, through me, and I want none of that now, excitement taken away by the pressure of his presence on my soul, wrenching within me; I want to hide, conceal my face and have him see nothing, nor strike me and mark me with his ugly sign.
But we’re already in the Yellow River and I can see the moons, three of them, and I can see the high towers and the flags and I know we’ve finally arrived. We have finally found the city outside of this world, and we sail for its gates, and we’re pure and unmarked yet, and maybe we’ll stay so if the King says so, because if we don’t we’ll parish in the vastness of that land.
Dim and lost, just like Carcosa.