The Book of Three

Kathy was attracted to triangles. She thought about them, saw them everywhere as she worked. They were in the cuts on the cutlery she polished; the fries left on dirty plates; the napkins; in girl’s hair clips, the inadvertent strokes in paintings and posters across the way, in the airport gift shop.

Triangles, unlike circles (cyclic, recursive, undifferentiated), reminded her there could always be improvement. Because the equilateral triangle was the perfect shape—it supported itself on each side like the square, but in that regard no part of it was superfluous, and it also strove upward—when resting naturally on a side there was always a part of it indicating “up”: higher, up there—continuance, persistence, and possibly eternity. Like how the triangle fit within itself other triangles, sacred shapes more complex than its outline—inward more intricate and strange, and if one could follow that unidimensional highway long enough one would reach the world of quantum objects—quarks, strings, spirits and pure forms.

Kathy talked sometimes about triangles to the people she served, but always with caution, not willing to alienate or terrorise them with her concepts, which infuriatingly and wonderfully were both reflective of, and products of the triangle. She would receive tips, almost always dollar bills, and casually mention how the pyramid was the triangle entering into the material world, like God creating matter then sitting on the literal mount of Horeb. It had an eye to indicate sentience and status in the ethereal kingdom—it was representative of Lucifer, the light-bearer, and she would gently thumb the woodcut rays of light emanating from the eye, the capstone—certainty, magic, the above being manifested in the below, also the hard sciences, alchemy, the gross visual correspondence between what is believed and what is apparent—the antidote and perfect completion of faith.

The Ascended Masters, she had told a customer from Brooklyn that afternoon, floated exclusively in triangular craft which the UFO community called the TR-3B. It was, in fact, the most advanced lightship to traverse the galaxy, and was made triangular to emphasise the perfect threeness of all the members of that invisible Sanhedrin.

He had smiled and frowned in perplexity and obvious absorption, and Kathy had heard the whisper—”More, tell him more.” The time, she had noted, looking at his bronze or gold-plated watch (gold being blessed with the ternary number 666, considered alchemically) was 3:33am, on the dot, and Kathy had smiled, tied back her hair with a scrunchy and sitting beside him opened as though for the thousandth time, and with great pleasure, the infinite, God-blessed book of three.

Thanks for checking out my short story.

Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can also donate some of your hard-earned dollars down below—that’s money to me, for free!

Gabriel Muoio

$1.00

 

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