Certain Ancient Sects

Certain ancient sects, who some scholars bitterly—most often around bedtime, it seems—argue never existed, were known on the third night of the circuitous tiger, in the month of the many-mirrored bull, to don cloaks, slide through the night as one conjoined insectile thing, perhaps with sickle knives drawn and thrust from their slithering bulk like stingers or fangs, to slip silently along cobblestones—listen, do you hear something?—and then snatch up little boys, even those with locked windows, or, yes, an armed G.I. Joe guarding their doors, to steal them away up to the crooked hill north of town, perform rituals with names forbidden by daylight, names so foul they un-brush a boy’s teeth and invite cavities—rituals of long division and spelling words—that may only be undone by zipped-up backpacks double-checked for folders and books and placed at the foot of the most mischievous boy’s bed.   

Certain ancient sects, who some smart aleck scholars might dismiss—and let history be judge and jury of that—were everywhere, existed to uphold the three commandments of the seventy-seven-sided star: that Legos are always returned to their toy chests, and teeth are always brushed when bedtime is called, and…shoot, that Lego one again—seriously guys, that hurt; I think I might be bleeding; it’s not funny—alright, shhh—always remember to turn your homework in; guys, I’m tired of getting emails from your teachers: We don’t stay up late doing this stuff for you to just leave it in your folders, okay?

Certain ancient sects love you guys very much. Seriously—they love their two scholars. And, they’re tired; they really don’t want to fuss at you to quit giggling in here all night. Go to bed. Get some sleep. Big, long day at school tomorrow. Come here and give your mom hugs. Oh—that’s a good job, thanks. Lights out, guys. Good night.

Travis Flatt (he/him) is an epileptic teacher and actor living in Tennessee. His stories appear or are forthcoming in HAD, Ghost Parachute, Bull, the Bulb Region, and elsewhere. 

A Song for Travis