The Three Fates

Filling in the Blanks

To ease our minds, we clip coupons for baby powder, toothpaste, paper products. Canned food for our pet boa constrictor. An ant farm. We embroider comforting homilies to decorate our walls: “We’re born into this world crying, and we leave it vainly gasping for air,” sayeth Schopenhauer.

Upon your arrival, we distribute crossword puzzles. You will believe that if you answer all the questions correctly, if you know the word for six across, a reprieve will be granted. No reprieve will be granted. It is merely to fill in—not words—but poor attempts to reweave frayed tapestries once rich with silver horses, twilight, and fate. But the tapestries are now distributed to lost clouds about which you once dreamed.

Twenty-three across: It makes no difference.

Nothing makes any difference. All the lions’ beards are tangled. All the dots on dominoes fade. The scent of a city in summer hardens. Thoughts are truncated in the middle of a line. No, no, nothing.

The blanks will always spell “adjourned,” as prescribed by Death’s Rules of Order.

Caskets line the horizon like oil freighters heading out to sea.

We watch Wheel of Fortune. We, just like you, hope for grand prizes, free cruises. Washers and dryers. Subscriptions for life.