I

The sky has a way of reflecting inner truth

That when it darkens and cries zealous thunder

I know, it knows the emotion boiling inside of me

As I follow Derek to 1985 Walton Street.

I was hoping my endless suspicious would soon

Lean toward a nascent confirmation.

I watched him; blending myself within the nights’ shadows as

Nocturnal animals lurked behind my fathom wrath.

Ten years, nine months, eight hours, and two seconds

I have shared my unconditional time with Derek, only to find

Two months, three days, five hours, and twenty seconds

I have waited to find out Derek’s motives and conspiracy-

The late night phone calls,

The shimmering whispers as I appeared

The secret corner upward lifts of his lips and eyes,

When he thinks I’m not watching him.

I trusted him.

Never questioned him for all times, only to find just one

Lingering answer he gave me once has opened

A can of hungry worms, patiently waiting to feed upon

His fleshly lies covering me like truth.

Trust built a great wall around my heart,

For all his cunning smiles, his chivalrous laugh

Bounced of me back to him, feeding him

Resilience to treat me the way he did.

I heard whispers, I heard telling

But I washed them off like I wash my hands of

My families who have told me Derek was no good.

Derek was good; Derek was best at playing me for a fool.

I followed him since his last phone call.

He told me he’d be working late.

He patched the way for me so smoothly

 That I blended with his dirty conscience.

I parked about a block behind him.

The alley screamed with mischief,

While the screeching wind blew my hair,

My hands were dipped into my pocket and I followed.

A 2003 black BMW 6 Coupé with tinted windows slowly drives up Leslie Avenue. The car stops at the red light while the driver leisurely scans the lines of women standing across the street displaying a portrait of dirty rainbow. His eyes critically scan each women from head to toe; leaning against the dirty brick wall, their hips widen with lecherous invitations. Their heads were covered in platinum wigs; and feet tucked into a red four inch heels; was sending ludicrous attempts across the street.

He finds her, enclosed by two ostentatious dressed women with raucous laughter almost as if to conceal her presence. His preference always had the same appearances; a certain taste developed since his forgotten youth. He rolls his car to a stop and patiently waits two minute before the woman starts walking toward his car. Her strides were long and sensual as the wind caresses her black shoulder length hair. Eyes almost black and full lips made for kissing, turns around and smiles at the other two women—who continues shouting empty words.

She stops at his car door; her hands on her hips while her purse smugly hugs her underarm, waiting. He rolls down his window to get a good look at her and smiles; he knew she will not be disappointed with his appearance. She smiles confirming his statement. He knows he made the right decision when he felt desire stirring by her open mouthed smile. He unlocks the door and watches as she gets in the car.  She sits, her head thrown back, and her tight skirt hitches up her thighs- white creamy thighs. If she looks down, he’ll bet his desire was providing evidence at the moment.  Read the rest of this entry »

The following incident takes place Friday night; the time dashing on the PVR is 11:30 p.m. The young lady, Emilia Featherhead decides to watch Inuyaha on Carton Network. Somehow she falls asleep and wakes up to a dog rolling in laughter for a Geico commercial. While rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she catches something moving fast toward the kitchen. Spreading her eyes wide, she turns toward the kitchen to get a better look. Nothing! The confusion that settles on her face causes one of her eyebrows to arch upward. From the corner of her eyes she sees the same movement again. She turns toward the dining room only to shout “What the heck?” Read the rest of this entry »

“I hate this part of the job.” he remarked.

“We all do.”  The voices replied in unison.  “It’s a hard job, Dave.” one of them added reassuringly.

“I don’t think this is what I signed-up for.” he persisted.

There was a long pause and he could sense distaste and disapproval in their silence.  “Just give it a shot, kid.  Try it on for size to see if it fits.”  a voice finally answered.

He wanted to vomit but breathed deeply instead.  “Okay.  I guess what we probably need to do is to waste the parents but leave the girl.” he squinted uncertainly into the shadows.

There was the hum of ventilation as he resumed his awkward breathing.  “Or maybe we just waste them all?” he added nervously.

“Focus on the problem, not the people, Dave.” one of the voices whispered.

“Okay.” he sighed and tried to calm himself.   He could be as cold and as clinical as they needed him to be.

“Our problem is with the knowledge of the kid.” he resumed more sternly.  “That kid is going to solve the point-rules for the universe all on her own, and her parents have enough cash to support her crazy dreams, but, but, now that’s why wasting her parents makes sense!  We could remove the cash without punishing the child!” he gushed on at them.

“Killing the parents DOES punish the child, Dave.” one of the voices replied softly.

“But if we waste the kid we would be punishing her genius while hurting the parents too!” he blurted.

“True enough.” the voice replied simply.

“But THAT’S what I’m talking about!” he blinked nervously into the shadows, “They’re all bad options, but if we waste everyone then at least we’ve removed the grief part from the equation!” he stammered over his tortured explanation.

The silence which followed was interminable.  His breathing was jerky and his ears rang in the heavy air.

“Dave, are you predatory by nature, or only when pressured?” a voice whispered.

“What are you talkin’ about?  I don’t understand how you mean that!” he cried.

“Why would you butcher innocent people; a family that has done such wonderful things whom you now want to rub-out like bugs between your fingers?” the voice asked blandly.

He was stunned that they were somehow making this out to be HIS problem.  “Hey pal, this is your job, your test and your asinine rules of engagement, not mine!” he snapped back harshly, his teeth grating as he squinted into the black void.

“I’m sorry to hear you say that, Dave.” the disembodied voice replied.  “Would you like to hear the correct answer before you go?” the voice added.

“Fine!” he removed his headset with complete disgust.  It was a rigged test all along, he thought bitterly.

“Fair enough.” the voice resumed, “In the actual scenario we removed the girl’s family pets.   Callie became very sad and introverted after that, and we also kept her parents pre-occupied during her time of grief.  Callie lost interest in her experiments after that.   She’s a smart kid, Dave, and we’re not in the business of snuffing-out bright children, or their parents, for that matter.   What Callie needed was a pivotal moment of crisis and diversion, to redirect her away from the course she was pursuing.”

“Isn’t that exactly what I just proposed doing?” Dave snapped at the dark shadows.

“Excuse me?” the voices hissed in unison.

“Her life.” Dave replied, “The one she had earned and deserved to live; you’ve snuffed it out of her completely.   At least I was honest enough to kill Callie outright.” he added.

“Dave, Dave, Dave….” a lone voice scolded as everything in the room ebbed slowly towards blackness.

*****

“Order up!” he cried, his own voice startling and jarring amid the smoky scents of a kitchen.

Dave whirled 360 degrees then, staring at his own grasping hands as a clattering of plates and dishes filled the air around him.

“Frickin’ A’s blew it again!” a dishwasher bellowed from the corner of the room  “Hey dickwad, don’t ya’ EVER hear me talkin’ to ya’?” as Dave felt a sudden splash of water against his cheeks and a nearby door slammed open wide before a waitress bearing wobbly trays.

“I need cheese-steak, onion, pickle and curly fries!” she cried, dropping her tilting cargo near the sink with a loud clatter as she grabbed a handful of hot utensils from the drying racks.

“Callie?” Dave scrunched his forehead and asked.

“Yes?” the pregnant waitress paused to look at him oddly.

“Your name is Callie.” he continued blinking with confusion.

“And your name is retard, but we just call you dickwad!” she snapped back with annoyance.

Dave was very confused then.  Life was confusing and complicated enough, that much he already knew.  Whatever else he knew about life seemed to be eluding his grasp at the moment.

The smoke from his grill was visceral and real, and was the only true sensation left to him, filling the air with acrid scents as his eyes watered painfully.   He rotated his orders then, realizing that most of what he’d been cooking had become burnt beyond all recognition.

“I think I may have wasted your dogs, Callie.  I’m very sorry.” he replied, turning charred frankfurters with an apologetic glance as she continued staring wide-eyed, blinking back tears for a long moment before suddenly cursing and hurling a fistful of hot forks and knives towards his head…

…for no apparent reason at all.

*****

There’s a Farm Up North, Where Dreams Go To Die…

[Tonight's the night - October 30th: Devil's Night. At midnight, it'll all finally be resolved. Let's get going, Bryan. Your hair doesn't have to look THAT good!]

Bryan looked around his room, trying to memorize what it looked like and hoping that everything would be the same when he returned. He shut off his light and left his room, making sure to close the door behind him and went downstairs. His intended path ran that-a-way, toward the front door but he veered off into the kitchen, stopping for a moment to reach into the fridge for a drink and the last of his ammunition. He then slipped into his most comfortable runners and headed outside.

[Don't forget to shut the gate, Bryan!]

He paused with his hand on the cold, wrought-iron fence entryway as it softly clicked its locking mechanism behind him and took one long, slow, deliberate breath - I N and O U T and watched the condensation of his breath melt away, before stepping away from his house and turning left out onto Decker Street. He hadn’t yet walked three blocks before he saw Pete coming around the corner with an overstuffed canvas bag on his back; Bryan could only imagine the arsenal that Pete was packing in there. They said nothing to one another but nodding a greeting, they fell in line and proceeded toward Victory Park – the Town Square in which the battle would take place.

Crossing the Town Hall gardens, Bryan began to feel slightly anxious. Every shadow seemed deliberately placed, every rustle of a tree’s leaves conspired against him to do their best to make him jump just a little and feel a bit more on edge. He cautiously entered the park and ducked behind the stone fountain at it’s head, squinting in the partial darkness, trying his best to determine where his enemies lay and from which direction the attack would come.

[I spy with my little eye... something that is...]

Suddenly – a movement. A glinting of the street light, reflected from something metallic… a coin, a key… a tooth? Bryan stuck his head out just an inch more to try to determine what it could have been. Without warning, something whizzed by his head and struck just behind him with a thud and a crack. A voice from across the park yelled, “ATTAAAACK!!” and the battle was on. The minutes felt like hours as volley upon volley was flung at and around him, striking his comrades and missing others while Bryan ran from spot to sweet sheltered spot, trying desperately to avoid being hit by a projectile and still fire shots with deadly accuracy. He took a hit in the leg just as he was about to dive behind the safety of a bush. Losing his footing, he slipped, landing hard on his right shoulder and rattling his brain around in his skull like a tiny peanut in its shell.

As he lay dazed on the ground, he looked up to see a boy striding toward him with a weapon in his hand. Bryan began to fret – thinking, prone as he was, that this was to be his end. Now his enemy was standing right above him, staring coldly into Bryan’s eyes as if searching his soul but finding nothing worth redeeming. As the boy cocked his arm back and took aim, Bryan opened his mouth as if to say something – anything – that might stop this madness but the sound was choked and stopped abruptly as his enemy began to speak. “It’s nothing personal,” he said to Bryan with an eerie calmness and a glint in his eye. “It’s just revenge.”

[Swing low, sweet chariot... coming for to take me hoooome...]

The fog swirled around him. It danced like a gypsy, swaying toward him, then away – scattering now, only to coalesce anew in fantastic luminescence. Slowly, s l o w l y, it began to clear from his head and he groggily looked around, noticing for the first time since the battle began, the gooey substance practically blanketing the ground all around the town square. Boys lay scattered everywhere, some groaning in pain, others laying still. Strugling, Bryan rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up, using first his arms and knees, then finally up and onto his feet and began to shamble home.

[A few more steps now and you'll have escaped that scene entirely Bryan and with naught but a few pieces of spent shells in your hair and that welt on your forehead. Watch out for the cops!]

Bryan’s ears perked up as they caught the faint auditory whiff of approaching sirens. Rounding the corner onto Helm St, the gruesome view of the park finally gone, having been obscured and replaced by Mrs. Wesley’s Flower Shoppe, he picked up his pace and chuckled as he mused to himself, “Man! This is SO gonna go down in history as the Greatest Egg Fight EVER!”