The Legend of Lancelot

Here's a story I wrote for WASHPub last week. Perhaps people will enjoy it here.

They sat down at the dining room table. They crowded the room, all sitting in our round chairs. Waiting.

It was cold. Rather the knights were cold. Another week at the flash freezing factory had left them barren and frigid. But yet they didn’t sit and warm themselves. Lancelot had not returned with them from work this day. For that matter, he had never showed up.

They first had been standing. For twenty minutes they stood. Staring at one another in silence. They stared first at their regulation red beanies; then the floor; then their eyes. They grew nervous. So they turned on the television.

The news babbled. Then curdled.

It reminded them of their neglect: dinner had been missed.

Schedules always got lost when Lancelot wasn’t around. Lord knows they already had forgotten their own names.

Three of them went back to the kitchen.

-The milk is bad!

-How will we make the soup?

The rest of the group huffed and puffed. They instructed those three in the kitchen to place the dinners in the oven. The three did as they were told and then came back to the den. There they sat and watched the television.

They used to go to the oracle to know the future; now they watched the Weather Channel.

Lancelot always liked his dinner prepared after a night on the town. It had been a good many years since he’d slain any dragons, but he could knock off those Chao Yuan frozen dinners. He always bought them by the month. One month would be duck, the next chicken, and then vegetable.

Of course a king cannot just eat a frozen dinner. He requires an appetizer, such as soup or rice. It would always be steaming. This would be served with his first meal-time drink, heated Tang. Upon finishing, #6 would take the dishes and #2 would bring the dinner. The top would never be opened. Defying the instructions, Lancelot demanded that he be able to pouch the cover; using a dagger to cut open the feast of flash frozen conglomerated food. He’d then breathe in the favor of the additives, antioxidants and other agents of the packaging. This would then be followed by a dessert of animal crackers.

He considered this a balanced meal. This made sense; given that neither her nor his compatriots knew how to cook. And the meals were free.

For the knights hadn’t any money. They came to the present, only to burn through their novelty fast. They had one hope, #3, but he was killed after reading Marx and saying the word “compatriot.”

-“We are knights! Slay the traitor!” said the crowd. Lancelot was out of the building, search again from Lady Guinevere. So #2 decided, since voting was not allowed—particularly after #3 suggested it. And so they cut off his head.

Unfortunately he was the on that had learned the financial etiquette of their current location. They soon found themselves penniless. For some reason the idea or reviving the Arthurian jousting didn’t break into the 18-36 year old dynamic.

That and the fact they had all discovered the abundance or modern day opium. That’s how they lost #1, #7, and #11.

Well, there was also another reason besides the price. A reason none of the other members of the now rectangle table talked about.

It had something to do with the cover.

-The milk is definitely bad.

-He doesn’t drink milk, only #4 does!

-Where is #4?

-We feed him to the lion?

-What’d he do?

-Forgot to polish the sword.

Lancelot’s sword was beautiful. The blade itself glowed, humming a majestic lullaby that the world had forgotten well before any of you readers’ respective births. It didn’t stretch from its filler; it lingered, feigning modesty of it glory. The blade itself projected a presence far heavier than any conglomeration of steel. It teased the eye to it, taking it up to the tip and then back down to the tang. There it melded into the bronzed hilt. This was anything but vein. Instead it exuded an annoying practicality, almost tossing any glances away from it. It seemed like a grandfather who was tired of carrying his youngest descendant on his shoulders, but couldn’t stop. But the diamond in its middle grew with every moment it found itself gazed upon. Even the hilt’s coldness could not take away from the blade’s smoothness and the diamond’s allurement. The sword was warm and pulsating beauty. But the hilt held the sword’s true character; stripped of false sanctity.

The men of the table had only recently taken notice of the hilt, after finding the truth it had hidden from them. But they couldn’t speak of this to one another. Instead they stood blind to the hilt. Looking instead at the diamond the hilt safely absorbed and the slender blade. Their eyes would go from tip to tang, like eyes turning the pages of the past. Each shifting glance would bring an old air of past memories: destined quests held within ancient scrolls; halls of flame and stone in which they sang of their victories and tragedies; and lastly, righteous battles against enemies.

But while they looked to the blade and diamond, they were always sure to polish the hilt last and longest.

Frozen Saints Freezer Company didn’t offer much, but they did give endless supplies of microwavable food. And the knights needed that after Arthur left them.

Arthur accused them of decadence.

The knights accused him of ignobleness.

So now they were noble-less.

Lancelot stepped into the role; leading the men into the factory every day. At first he had great plans. He took all the old scrolls and planned for a return home. He would speak of the quests ahead, as he would eat Chao Yaun again and again.

And he and Guinevere made sure to be together in holy copulation. This kept the corpulence off Lancelot.

But it faded. Both Guinevere and Lancelot grew tired. They ran out of words. First it started with fewer notes, and then none. This was followed by attempts at group satisfaction, but the low morale couldn’t take many such meanderings. The TV tied them together for a while, but soon they realized that they were indeed the empty reflection of the electronic oracle.

So Guinevere left and searched for Arthur.

The knights were sad. They missed poking their our eyes into their room secretly at night. This was their only form of amusement, aside from the periodical groupie who would pledge to the knights’ serft. [They feed them to the lions; they always take off their beanies first]

There was one night when #3 peaked into the room and he saw the following:

Lancelot: What are you doing Guievere?

Guinevere: I found the fairy dust! I found the fairy dust! I feel as if I am back on Avalon.

Lancelot: Guinevere, you were never there. That isn’t fairly dust.

Guinevere: Silence! I am home! I found the fairies; the world is moving correctly again. No more rotating, everything is straight again; with nice corners to jump right off of.

Lancelot: Stop. [he started looking at his breast-plate on the long and felt profound longing]

Guinevere: Don’t tell me you don’t want to be able to jump off the corners of the world again. To be able to have it tamed all over again, before all this. Fly with the fairies; die in glorious battle, but only after your name lives on throughout time.

Lancelot: [Somberly] Time is different here. Quests are going movie theaters. Sacrifice is watching television. Sin is skipping commercials with TiVo.

Guinevere: Be Silent, Silent, Silent! I see home. I see our maidens-

Lancelot: They all left to work on the street corner.

Guinevere: Don’t interrupt my salvation. We are not in bed. I am home.

Lancelot: Shut up, shut up, shut up.

Guinevere: [with long laughter before] You still think you’ll find that quest don’t you, with the great dragon, eh? To show us you weren’t fooled by that mystic you got to bring us here!

Lancelot: Stop!

Guinevere: But you don’t see, we’re in the dragon now. In its stomach. You just haven’t realized yet that you’ve been eaten. We’re corrupted chyme, Lancelot. That’s all! But don’t worry, soon you’ll...

That’s when Lancelot took the breastplate and smacked her. The silence started that night.

It was after Guinevere left that Lancelot sliced the round table into a rectangle. Suffice, to say, he eats there alone now—it’s so small. The knights stole an old industrial flash freezer. It’s big enough to satisfy their nourishment needs.

That’s reminds them.

-How is the dinner coming you three?

-Good. Have a good fire in the oven.

One of three, when placing down the Tang on our table, noticed that there was a cord stretched along the room. He followed it to the kitchen outlet and then back to the flash freezer masquerading as a table.

And that’s how they found Lancelot. He is kept within the table. They left a written legend of Lancelot on the now barren rectangle table. It took them 20 minutes of effort during commercials.

And so Lancelot had his legend preserved. Well, minus all the stuff they had forgotten.

They miss him.

But they miss our peak-shows more.

Every now and then they murmur about the need for Arthur. Or, at least, a new Arthur.

In the meantime they watch the weather channel, usually while eating Juan Chao frozen dinners. And before they sleep, they check to make sure the hilt is always polished. They never forget that.