THE 33 KEYS: Key 2 - ANSWER THE CALL "Listen for that Perfect Beat"

CHAPTER 80: VOLCANOES OF TRANSFORMATION

Chaos is a baby thrown into a pool. And order is when it swallows its fear, decides to adapt for its own survival. Ebony never threw me into any pool, though. It was a well. Deep and dark like what the seed sees after it's covered up and left for dead. I couldn't possibly know it then but her cruelty was training me for something big. To be someone bigger. Someone great. The kind of person who could adapt to wherever I was thrown and swim in any waters. Then when she finally died, her death cast me into the middle of a raging ocean where, if you return alive, you are meant for greatness.

Now I'm standing here as what? Some frightened little girl? Begging for my ocean to simmer down? Hoping for my life to come to order without the volcano of transformation?

Perhaps what I should really do when chaos visits is fall in love with it. Change my perspective. Make it my best friend. Be grateful that I survived everything that happened. Maybe then it will help me unlock the side of me that was born smooth. Or take me back to when Ebony's love for me seeped into her womb. Back when she could not have known I'd be born imperfect. A happier time when her many songs were about an angel who would one day flip the earth. Shake the laziness off all beds. Strip all foundations of their gloom and doom.

That's when she was in awe of the smooth me. Her miracle baby. The first of my kind. The one who might mean something different for our people. That was until I became the shame of the Dahlyxian race. Something worse than the Hopefuls if that was even possible. But this is no time for going soft, Mary. Not when your picture still lies in the middle of that circle. Now is the moment for covering the blender and selecting full speed. To take the bull by its horns. Let the chaos make all your fruits become smooth. Transform all the disasters meant to topple you. Turn them into multiple opportunities. Like a true alchemist would.

I toughen up now as I remember all the hard lessons I learned since coming out the womb. Then being introduced to Ebony and having to live with her for seventeen long years. I remember too all the jewels I managed to steal from her crown after she died. How I longed to walk around in her shoes and be seen.

Those memories are what push my feet around this circle now. And they are what help me to conjure the lion's spirit for the remaining journey. Yet as I move around the clock, I notice the same thing happening every time. The twelve always becomes six. The three goes to nine. And the eight flips to two.

I imagine that my picture stretches into a pole so the numbers can connect when I think of something. And it's not long before I understand how it relates to my life. I seem to be repeating the same things over and over. People. Places. Situations. It's just that each time the coin flips the similarities fade. The same thing happens, yes; but with a twist.

Is this some sort of test? A multiple choice I wrote for myself long ago? Like with the hidden treasure? If so, does each time I fail prompt the cycle to repeat itself? Either way, I lead my own self to the slaughter every time then line up again for another bashing. And then someone else gets caught in my web of confusion. That's why my Lily died.

Had I paid closer attention when the clock landed on two, I'd have seen it about to flip to the eight. Ebony had been my warning sign. So her drinking herself to death should've alerted me that Lily was next. And what of Debbie from the ground floor? The hand might've never flipped back to the two had I kept the door shut. What about the man who stole Ebony's music? Wasn't he my warning that the castle thief would strike?

Yet, it has to be more than that. I mean, what are the odds that two Rubrums would come to Leer Island, and the both of them end up best friends with Mary Pethiel?

One left me in death, and now I'm leaving Hazel the same way. Oh, my goodness! It's so clear to me now. How everything flips although it remains the same. My eviction from Matron Malika Caine simply followed unwritten ones where others threw me out years ago. Ruby – a fish, crossing paths with a human who also wanted to die. Me not saving Debbie but making sure the beret lady's niece lived. And here comes another flip. The one of me once fleeing Stocatta with Ebony; now wanting back in.

If everything flips, does that mean I can play God? Or should I shy away from that like the Dream Killers advised me to do? Should I find a corner and wait for their handouts? Or wait for their god who never responds? Not to simple expressions from the heart. Not to prayers that encourage others to continue the soullessness. Not to silly girls who rummage through herb gardens. To absolutely no one.

Should I let the numbers flip undeterred just to prove I'm submissive? And to prove it to who exactly? Drowsy people also sitting around with outstretched hands? Or better yet. Maybe to those pretenders who like their witchcraft from a safe distance? The ones who will brave holy mountains to seek favours from generational witches? As long as darkness lends them its cloak? Oh, I've had enough of that; and them, and that whole fake existence.

So from now on, I will no longer make you feel comfortable when you enter a room. I won't downplay what I know and say your truth is sweet. Just so we can all smile at each other in a room where everybody's hand is out.

How can anyone know how to ride the waves then stay on the shore like a coward? Isn't the storm what we all live for? Don't we become one with its waves as they pound the sand? Then surely we can melt into its rhythm. Predict what sound the drum will make in three, two, one. For all of creation moves with its rhythm. So when we tap into each other's reflection bouncing off the cave's wall, we can feel whatever is coming next.

That's why I'm going to master the clock and change my life. I will pay attention to its ticking. Know when it's close to bringing heaven to earth. Then slide to the other end of the seesaw. And I'll fall with the rain. Become the power of the true sun. Bathe all of humanity with my moonlight.

But you. Oh, not you! You won't have to do any of that. You can continue to sit on that counter in your restrictive bowl and wait for someone to dump too much fish food in. As for me, I'm about to exit all these wrong rooms. Inhale. Exhale. Walk out with me if you dare.