Tracks

I can hear the clank of the tracks

And feel the sweat on my back

Baby I got the blues

I hear the bird chirping soft and sad

About a lover that he once had

Baby I got the blues

I turned my back on the monsters of hill and dale

And on that blue ocean I set sail

I boarded that train, intent on some gain

But ran into the cocaine blues

With my gun in one pocket

And my drink in the other

Baby I’ve got a gin wall full of clues

And nothing to loose

So let’s solve this puzzle

Sit down by this fire and cuddle

Cause outside the rain collects in puddles

I’m not scared of nothing

Cause I come in pairs

I’m coming home baby

I’ll be back soon

Just the sweat on my back baby

An Ecphrasis Poem:

There’s a man holding his son

Rocking him like a pendulum while

The tears rolled down his cheeks

See the billowing smoke roll through the air

And the fire dancing here and there

Hear men’s desperate yells and women’s frantic screams

He’s holding his hand, choking out a lullaby

Dust and debris floating all around

No reason to calm down, he’s gone 

And now there’s blood on the lawn

Pull him close to your chest

Tell him there’s no time to rest

Tell him you love him

Don’t let go

Somewhere the waves are beating against the shore

Somewhere children are playing in the sun

Somewhere people are laughing, but not here

Cause there’s a man holding his son

Rocking him like a pendulum while

The tears rolled down his cheeks

See the anguish etched on his face

Contrasted by the peaceful being

Wrapped tightly in a father’s loving embrace

HALLOWEEN

A lone scarecrow stands in the light of a solitary candle, grinning ghoulishly. Several trussed up friends wander by, not knowing what soon awaits them.  His arms snake up behind his head and pulls out a large knife. It gleams palely in the moonlight as he pushes himself out of a small hole in a wall.

Of Smoke

A candle. A candle, its flame swaying hypnotically like a snake poised to strike.  A lone scarecrow like candle on a table doomed to smolder down until only holes remain. Smoke curls up, the candles only companion and friend in the void of life.

Satire

Satire

           

            The portly man adjusted his tie, with his two plump hands. He downed the rest of his coffee and looked out his office window on the 1,153th floor. A knock on his huge double doors behind him made him jump. They opened and in walked his three newest advisors. The previous ones had mysteriously died, by accident. They all sat down in the comfortable chairs surrounding a large desk in the center of the room. The man sat down behind the desk. Addressing the fat man behind the desk one of the three advisers fearfully told him that sales were dropping drastically. Another chimed in and said that they weren’t dropping by very much. The last one said nothing but shook in his chair. The fat man then laughed heartily and told them not to worry so much. They sighed and sunk a little into their chairs. The fat man opened a drawer in his desk. The three advisors stiffened, but he brought out a metal case and opened it, holding it out to them.

“Cigar?” he grinned wolfishly at them.

They each accepted one and let him light it for them with a gold and silver lighter. They finally fell into a relaxed conversation. Presently one of the bolder ones spoke up, while taking a long draw on his portly cigar.

            “And, we’ll pull back in front of that darned corn manufacturing plant soon enough”.

The fat man looked up from a magazine he was reading. The brave man stopped dead in his tracks.

            “Oh, DO continue Tom” he said with a deadly calm in his voice.

The once brave Tom shook as he continued with his tale about how their rival company had pulled ahead of them in sales; a fact he had left out previously. The fat man turned red as a tomato. He stood, motioned for Tom to follow him into a side room. The fat man closed the door behind them. The two advisors looked at each other nervously. Some yelling drifted out from the room and soon the door opened and the fat man walked out. He seated himself and then explained that Tom had been fired and would not be returning on account he had left for home already. The remaining two victims were petrified due to the red liquid splattered on his face and hands. He leaned foreword and asked how the stocks were doing. Slowly one of the advisors, shaking so much he was moving the chair, told him that they were very likely to succeed in passing up their rival corporation. The fat man then stood and beckoned for the poor soul to follow him back into the room. A dark stain then decorated his crotch area as he stood and followed the man.  Several screams ensued and there was much clawing at the door, before the fat man emerged. He was even more bloodied than before and was grinning like the devil himself. 

            “Now,” he said to the lone advisor, “where were we”?

The man quickly shut his jaw and composed himself. In a very composed manner he told his boss that they were certain to succeed in overtaking their rival companies. The fat man smiled profusely and reached across the desk to shake the lone survivor’s hand.

Island of Fire (excerpt)

         “Open up your damn eyes, you son of a bitch”

I felt a palm against my face. I opened my eyes. John was slapping my face, urging me to my feet. I looked up into his grime-covered face, taking his hand. We became pals soon after we discovered the commonality of a bad case of seasickness. We were part of the same regiment. I stretched

         The man raised his gun threateningly in my face, yelling in Japanese. Suddenly I slapped his gun away and swiped my “ka-bar” out of its sheath and into his neck. His blood sprayed into my face, painting it red. The man tried to call out but my knife was still lodged in his neck and he just gurgled a bit. I put my hand over his mouth and pulled the knife out with a sickening squelching sound. With his last breath he looked me in the eyes. “Thank you” the pale green orbs seemed to say. Then he was gone.

         “Shit, shit, shit” I whispered.

I let him roll into the bottom of the foxhole. Suddenly a mortar landed nearby, forcing me into a foxhole. My mind raced. I grabbed the rifle, sheathed my bloody knife. I could still see his soul painted on it. Crawling out of the hole I looked left and right. The foggy, battle scarred landscape seemed deserted under the luminous moon. Occasional flashes of light and booms signaled that the main battle had moved away. I stood but walked cautiously.

         “Where had John gone”, I wondered to myself.

Suddenly something big hit me square in the back. I fell to my stomach, the rifle skidding past my reach amidst various limbs and bodies. I drew my knife and rolled over.

         “JOHN!” I whispered “WHERE THE HELL-“

I stopped dead in my tracks. John’s eyes were just staring in a permanently terrified expression.

         “John…” I choked on my words.

         A trickle of blood waterfalled out of his mouth and he wasn’t breathing. I pushed him off. His back was burnt and torn at. His stomach had large puncture wounds. I recoiled when I lowered my observation, for his leg was gone, leaving a bloody stump in its wake. I looked around in horror, wild thoughts filling my head. I scrambled for the rifle, not knowing what to do. Suddenly something above me shot through the black sky. I spun, trying to catch a glimpse of it again. I knew that we hadn’t called in air support and besides; it hadn’t made a sound.

         I wanted to get away from here as fast as I could. Grabbing my rifle, I set off at a slow jog, scanning the distance for enemies, while mist swirled around my feet.

         It had been about an hour after I found John. Suddenly I heard a scream. I pulled the rifle to my shoulder and walked through the fog towards the sound. Out of the mist appeared a struggling couple against a rock face. One was repeatedly stabbing the other. However the man with the knife wasn’t wearing any uniform, making it impossible for me to distinguish him from friend or foe. Tattered robes and a blood red cape hung about him in disarray. I couldn’t see the victim behind him. A crack rang through the air as I pulled the trigger. The bullet sank into the attacker’s shoulder flesh. He let out an animalistic howl and whipped his head around glaring at me. He snarled at me, his face covered in blood. I gasped and took another shot, missing just barely. The man fled into the black night. I rushed to the victim. He was a Jap. I was tempted to leave him, but my Christian up bringing told me to stay. He was bleeding from several puncture wounds and babbling like a madman. I lowered him into sitting position. He grasped my hand suddenly, staring at me with wild eyes. His gaze suddenly looked past me, and his face lit up with joy and he called something out. Pain jolted through my neck as a bullet grazed it, leaving a small trail of blood trickling down my neck. I spun but found the butt of a rifle. I fell to my knees and knew I was blacking out.

          I woke to the intense smell of rice woke me. I opened my eyes. I was face down in the dirt. I couldn’t move my hands or feet. Remembering the horrors of the previous night, I struggled like an animal against my bonds. The butt of a gun pressed against my back. A foot connected with my stomach, rolling me over. I coughed. And tasted blood. Sunlight barely shone. Clouds still dominated the sky even in the morning. A face wavered close to me, coming into focus. He yelled in Japanese. I groaned. His breath was foul. He chuckled and wrenched me to my knees by my hair.

Excerpt from Suburbs

Suburbs

Inspired by the album, The Suburbs by Arcade Fire.

Part I: A city in the Suburbs

                  Chapter I: Owl walks & summer talks

                  I put down my pencil and stared blankly out my window. I sighed. Summer. The sun flitted through the leaves on the tree beside our house in the suburbs. And yet it just wasn’t summer. The cries of children running through the neighborhood, dogs barking, joggers, were missing. I shoved back on my rolling chair. A summer heat wave was currently devastating the suburbs. The grass was making a valiant fight for life but was failing and turning brown. Even my Aunt’s flower garden was withering away.

            “Danny”            

            “Coming, Aunty” I called.

            My parents had died in a car crash when I was 10. Ever since their death I’ve lived with my aunt Dorothy and uncle Rob and their only child, Anna. We had grown to be the best of friends over the long years. I was now 15 a week ago and Anna was 13. A two-year gap seemed to be nothing to us. We biked around and made mischief.

            I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling it across my forehead. I flung my door open and waltzed down my stairs. The hall held pictures of many old relatives of some sort or the other. I skidded into the kitchen and sat down for dinner. Anna came through and sat down opposite me talking non-stop to no one in particular.

            School had been out for weeks. Summer was in the air and burning in my blood. It seemed to me at the time that all of my friends had moved away. I’d had no contact from a single soul. I’d longed to burst free of my prison cell in NO. 4 Washington dr. and that’s exactly what I planned to do.

            “Hush” I whispered to Anna.

            We were on our way sneaking out of the house to roam the neighborhood in search of adventure. We grabbed sticks of various shapes and sizes. They found their way into sheaths and holsters. We were now armed for our adventure! Passing a nearby park I suddenly pulled Anna behind a tree with me. I had spotted an enemy soldier. I gave Anna her orders and pulled my shotgun out from the back of my shirt. I nodded to Anna and she moved her position. Then I made my break for it. As soon as I reached the closest tree I put my back to it and scanned for Anna. She was not three trees away and gave me a hand signal.             I nodded and spun around the tree and spotted my target. I blew him away instantly and inspected the area for additional hostiles. None were to be seen; he must have been a scout. I gave Anna a high five and we howled our victory in shrill voices. Continuing on our way we chatted genially.

            “Danny,” said Anna, “is this really what we waited for throughout the school year?”

            “No” I replied knowing exactly how she felt. “No this is not summer…summer is playing with friends all day and coming home to a nice meal. Summer is biking round the neighborhood and riding up and down the dirt piles that the dump trucks leave. That is summer” I finished chucking my last stick away into the street.

             It bounced several times before coming to a stop under a streetlight. An owl hooted feebly somewhere above us.  We were silent for a long while. The only sound was the sound of our feet shuffling on the empty street.  Then suddenly a horrible screech permeated the air. I knew that the predator had found his prey... 

Rubber Boots

“Rubber Boots”

Blue rubber boots squelch in the mud

A paintbrush weaves up and down

Wiping life onto the

Lonely brown wooden barn

Hunting

“Ready?” my dad asked, gently prodding me into awareness.

“No” I replied as my surroundings came into focus. The smell of coffee was strong as I rose from the carpeted floor.

 “You should eat “my grandma wisely said. I refused mumbling something about butterflies in my stomach. My dad shook his head possibly remembering his first year.

 I reviewed the safety of hunting in my head as I pulled on a thick cotton shirt. Several pairs of pants followed.

“It’s gonna be cold,” my dad intoned as I complained of the warmth. Soon we (my dad and I) trudged deep into the wooded property, guns slung over our shoulders. We had woken up that day at 5am. All was silent in the vegetation surrounding us.

 “It’s so peaceful”, I thought as I stopped to adjusted the troublesome gun strap digging into my shoulder. My father looked back, promising that we were almost there. Soon I felt my legs were going to give out. Suddenly off the ridge came the deer stand. We climbed the hill and each mounted separate stands.

 Hours crawled by slowly. I went between sleep and consciousness. My dad abruptly roused me.        

 “Look,” he whispered. I followed his arm down to the spot where he pointed. There a small figure strutted in the path below us. I was surprised to see the complexion of a fox.

Suddenly I heard gunshots far off and then quite near. I sat up straight in my stand. Fear jolted through me as the thought of a stray bullet killing me found its way into my head.

I guess I fell asleep cause’ I don’t remember much. The next thing I knew I was half way through getting some chocolate from my pocket. I looked up to scratch my nose and jumped.

Finally, the time I’d been waiting for! A doe (or so I thought) stood behind a tree eating the sparse grass. I grabbed my gun to my chest and found my target in the scope. But thinking better of it I leaned over whispered to my dad “Can I shoot it?”

My dad rolled his eyes exasperated. I took that to mean a “yes”.  I found my target again.  As my finger curled around the trigger I wondered what mother I’d be killing.

 “Just do it” I thought. And I did. BOOM!!! The stock of the gun slammed into my shoulder leaving a bruise the size of a small grapefruit.

 “I missed” I thought for a heartbeat or two. Then the deer staggered and collapsed, dead.  I walked down the hill to the spot where my prize lay, my dad on my tail. My dad whistled as we found an 8-point buck as tall as I was.

THE END    

Two Minutes of Truth

Two Minutes of Truth

Introduction:

         I always talk to them before I kill them. Before I ruin their lives. Real deep conversations too. About life and death and salvation, stuff like that. As if they would understand. Anyway, I talk to them like they’re my friends. Lure them into my net of deception. And then…well yes, you understand. And right now as you’re holding this book in your hands I hope as you read this you will become my friend also.

Chapter I.

         There I sat in that coffee shop, in a booth looking round at the deep earthy colors spewed haphazardly on all the walls around me. With the ring of the bell on the door behind me, someone entered. Twisting around and peering over the seat I saw a young woman dressed in a plaid jacket and skinny jeans glancing from table to table. Her rich brown eyes then met mine and she started for my table. Pulling one lock of her dark brown hair back behind her ear, she seated herself across from me.

         “Hi” she said cautiously.

         “Hi” I said with a cocked eyebrow.

         She smiled and blushed deeply. I smiled and sipped the last of my green tea from a cup with the words, Harmony Café, stretched across it.

         “So,” I said leaning forward, elbows on the table and one hand on my chin, “How is your week going, thus far?”

         “Pretty good.”

         “That’s fantastic.”

         “Yeah, I guess.”

          Silence. I stood and walked around to the other side of the booth and sat down next to her. Then I looked into her eyes, big round disks, soft and warm, and rich; it reminded me of coffee beans, but clear and sharp like being immersed in cold water in the morning. I watched her. I watched her start to cry. I was shocked, but kept my composure. Out of all the years I’d known her she never cried in front of me. I handed her a handkerchief. She turned away, and faced the wall while she wiped her eyes.

         “Are you alright?” I asked cautiously as she returned the handkerchief.

         “Mhmmm” she nodded, “It’s……….just my father”

         I took her hand, and put my arm around her.

         “Hey, I love you” I said slowly.

         “I love you too,” she said quickly.

         I knew I loved her. I loved everything about her. But I hated to see her like this. I hated it when she would not tell me when was happening with her. I hated… Hate. Jealousy. Human nature.  I hated our very essence, and it tears at me every day. Telling me to do the things that my conscience contradicts. It has eliminated entire races.

         “Well then” I say standing once again, “it’s a date tonight then, right?”

         “6:00 at Fratellos, with my parents” she says standing also.

         I groan very phony-like and she laughs. I offer my arm out to her and she takes it. I escort her to the door and out to her car. As she drives away I take my grey fedora off and shake the thin dusting of snow off. Then digging my hands deep in my pea coat pockets I trudge down the lonely avenue.

Chapter II.

         I sat in my studio apartment, in a trance, staring at the opposite rich dark green wall. Múm played in the back round of my mind.

…so beautiful to us…we want to lock you in our house…

         I snapped out of the trance and stood.

…so beautiful…

         I walked to the window and looked at the setting sun over the other apartments down by the river.

…we want to feed you with our spoons…

         The sun. A burning ball of gas. So unstable. What worldly power could possibly take something so powerful and paint something so beautiful over the canvas-like sky, I wonder to myself as I make my way to the door.

…so beautiful…

         I turned the old, tarnished door handle and stopped. Twisting my head around a bit I looked at the clock on my Macintosh computer.

…we want to keep you as our pets…

         It was 5:23. I had about a half hour to burn before I had to be at Fratellos.  I hesitated a moment, then grabbed my camera and slung it around my neck. One of the only things in life that seems as if it would be true. Photos. They tell a story; most of the time it’s fact, not fiction. But photos can be altered. Just like the truth. Anyway, I waltzed down my stairs, stopping to greet my jolly landlord. Pushing past his large bulk I opened the door. I stumbled outside and breathed in the crisp end-of-winter air. I turned around and gasped. The setting sun was being reflected off of a million panes of glass on a skyscraper opposite me. It looked as if it was melting into the river. I pulled my camera up to my eye and snapped a shot of it. I re-slung the camera around my neck and then I spun sharply on my heels, turned and started walking down the road next to the river. 

         As I walked parallel to the river I looked out at all the geese collecting on the water. Above their heads rested the fiery trees overlooking the riverbank. Now this got me thinking about the seasons. Winter, spring, summer, fall. It’s all one big circle of life and death, and then life again. I muttered to myself a bit and then dug my hands deep in the pockets of my jacket and marched on towards my destination.

         After about 20 minutes, I made it to the restaurant. I walked in, told the waiter about my reservation and was showed to my seat at a table with four chairs. It didn’t seem very busy; there was just a family sitting in one corner talking peacefully over their meal and a few loners at the bar. I noticed a tattoo sticking out from under my waiter’s long sleeved white uniform. I inquired about his “ink” and he rolled them up to show. He reminded me of my brother. Friendly, artsy and he always had some sort of facial hair. I was admiring his tattooed arms, while we chatted comfortably after he brought my drink. I was sitting there alone for about five minutes before I saw her. She was being escorted to my table by the tattoo guy. She smiled at me as she sat down next to me in our table for four.

         “Hi” she said nervously, “have my father and Sarah stopped in yet”?

I rubbed at the stubble on my chin as I replied.

         “No, they haven’t stopped in yet; I just got here not that long ago though, maybe they were already here waiting, or maybe they’re just running late.”

         She looked nervous now. I sighed and took her hand in mine. She always got so nervous about stuff concerning her dad.

         “They’re fine” I reassured her.

         Just then I looked up and saw them. Charlie, Juliet’s father and Sarah, her soon to be stepmother. They joined us and we order drinks. Charlie pats me on the back as he takes the chair next to mine, while Sarah greets Juliet with a kiss on the cheek. I shake Charlie’s hand and ask him how he’s been lately. He tells me he is great, that he’s never been better. But I can see this is a lie, from the dark pouches under his eyes. I assume he hasn’t been sleeping very much recently. Then I turn my attention to Sarah.

         “Darling” she coos, “How have you been in these dark days of winter”?

         “Great” I sigh sarcastically; I hated it when she acted like she had a French accent.

         “That’s good,” she says enthusiastically

         She is so phony I almost can’t stand it. Her fake French accent and she is always acting like she cares about people’s lives. Anyone could see that all she cares about is money, and herself.

         Juliet’s real mother, Annabelle, had died years back when Juliet was just 16 years old. I had known her two years previous to this incident. Annabelle seemed like a nice, lively, caring young woman. I never did hear about a cause of death. Anyway Charlie was just devastated, as was Juliet. Charlie is a writer. He writes kids books; at least before Annabelle had died; but now he has started writing more serous kinds of books. He made it big with one book directed towards teens. If I remember correctly it was called “Nowhere Man”. It’s about some kids who get in trouble with drugs and get stuck in the woods in the middle of nowhere. Anyhow they were very well off by the time Juliet finished high school. The books sold tremendously well. Then Charlie met Sarah. Anyone could see that she was just into him for the money. I judge that she’s maybe six or seven years older than I am. And I’m 22. And Charlie is in his late 40s. It’s so obvious that it’s disgusting. Sarah started acting like Juliet was her real daughter, talking to her like she had the right to order to around, and she didn’t. Charlie hadn’t even made plans to marry her yet.

         When our drinks got there we ordered food. I ordered a slice of pizza and the rest of them ordered various kinds of Stromboli, a specialty sandwich of pizza dough wrapped around fillings and baked in a stone-fired oven. While we sipped on our drinks we chatted genially.

         “Oh dear,” Sarah addressed me, “what do you do for a living”?

         “I’m a photographer for the Times” I say stiffly.

         “Oh really” she says quite loudly “and how is the pay?” she says rubbing her fingers together.

         “I should think it would be pretty darn good,” Charlie pipes in.

         “Yes, yes it’s decent,” I say.

         “Oh yes it is, he is saving up money for our house” Juliet declares proudly.

         Sarah and Charlie look at me, a surprised expression on their faces. I smile and try to explain.

         “Well we…. do have something to tell you guys” I say grinning and look at Juliet.

         “Or show you” Juliet finishes and puts her hand on top of the table.

A single diamond ring sat the encasing her slender finger. Sarah squealed loudly and very phony-like and Charlie boomed with laughter and patted me on the back with his big meaty hands. All of us were beaming round at each other. Hours later after many drinks, I kissed Juliet goodbye and said adieu to her parents. Then as they drove away I started walking back along the river against a strong northern wind, whistling while I went.

        

Chapter III

I woke up in a cold sweat yelling my head off. I took a few slow breaths in and out through my nose. I looked at my alarm clock. 6:03. Calming down, I untangled myself from the vine-like sheets and got up to make myself some coffee. Cleaning out and drying the coffee grinder I looked out at the sun rising over the choppy river water. I traced my fingers over the scars on my chest and abdomen, remembering the war and the hot desert. I opened up the top of my espresso maker. I pulled up the page month of the calendar that read April 2025. Now it was May and getting warmer outside.  Down in the street I saw a man walking his yellow Labrador, chatting on his phone and smoking a cigarette, all at the same time. I glanced back at the water rising in the blue measuring cup I was using to fill up the reservoir in the back. Now the man was bent over picking up the dogs poop and still talking on the phone and smoking. I scoop the coffee into the coffee filter and put it into the container and let the coffee compose itself. Back down in the street the man wasn’t doing to hot. Suddenly he stood straight up and started cursing dramatically and shaking his hand back and forth. His phone was lying on the ground next to his cigarette and the ominous pile. I chuckled a bit as I turned back towards the cupboard and got myself a coffee cup and a bowl for my cereal. Five minutes later I sat down at my table to a bowl of granola with blueberries, strawberries and a cup of espresso. Then I pondered my dream the previous night.

            I looked back over my left shoulder into the dark alley fearfully, waiting for something so pop out. Nothing did. I looked to my right and jumped. Juliet was standing next to me, walking along with me. I hadn’t even noticed her.

            “That’s strange”, I said to myself inside my head as I put my arm around her while we walked.

            “What is?” Juliet asked.

            I looked her in the face. How she could have possibly heard that, I wondered to myself.

            “Well, you are talking to me, aren’t you”, she retorted at my query.

            “Y-yes I am, I guess”, I said slowly not knowing what to think.

I turned and looked over my shoulder. The dark, barely lit street we were walking in was deserted, except for a lone figure walking up the stairs to an apartment behind us. We turned a corner and nearly ran into a man. I saw his face clearly. Neat and clean-shaven with a scar running from just under his long nose to his chin. Really quite disfiguring of his facial features.

            “Sorry” I mumbled as we brushed shoulders.

            He grunted and pushed past, pulling his trench coat collar up and his bowler hat down.

            I looked over at Juliet, with raised eyebrows and a slight grin on my lips.

Suddenly light blinded me. I raised my arm and squinted through my fingers. I couldn’t see a thing. Then as my eyes adjusted I found myself in a park, with Juliet still by my side. Then Charlie was there, grinning at us and holding a camera up to his eye.  I looked at Juliet, happy and she smiled at me. The camera clicked and Charlie laughed jovially. Everything looked perfect, people playing Frisbee, others walking their dogs. The sun was shining, without a cloud in the sky. I hugged Juliet close to me. Then from over her shoulder I saw a dark clad figure walking towards us. He had a long trench coat on, and a bowler hat.

            “Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her goodbye”, someone whispered next to me.

I looked over each shoulder. Nobody was there. Then I looked back up in front on me. The man in the trench coat was holding a pistol out in front of him. I screamed a silent scream as I shoved Juliet out of the way as the gun went off. I felt the bullet rend my flesh and delve into my gut. I hit the ground, shuddering. Above me I was Juliet screaming, and the black figure walking towards her. I pushed the pain out for one second. Forcing my arms straight I pushed myself to my knees and to my feet. I stumbled at the man. BANG! BANG! I fell back again with two more holes in my chest. Juliet screamed again. Two more sounds reverberated around in my skull. Juliet’s final scream and the final bang of the gun.

         As I thought back over the dream, I realized I’d never had a dream that detailed. I downed the rest of my coffee and grabbed a towel for a shower. After getting fresh and clean I garbed myself and left for Juliet’s apartment.

         “I have a surprise for you honey,” she said sweetly as she got into my car.

         “Okay” I replied, “what is it babe?”

         She pulled out a picnic basket and told me to drive to Spring Park. Once we pulled up, Charlie greeted us warmly and we laid out blankets and started eating. Soon enough we broke out a Frisbee and tossed it around a while. Then Charlie pulled out a camera and brandished it while telling us to pose for a picture. I pulled Juliet in next to my body and smiled at her, and she smiled back. With the click of the camera a gunshot rent the air. Juliet gasped and dug her fingers into my back. Charlie yelled and Juliet sank to her knees groping at me. Behind her a dark figure in a trench coat stood out like a beacon on the horizon, holding a large revolver out in front of him.

         “Juliet” I whispered.

         Her eyes were closing. Slowly but surely. I looked around for help. Charlie was dialing on his phone and several people were now staring at us in awe. The man in the trench coat had disappeared. I told her to hold on.          When the cops got here they loaded Juliet into the ambulance, closely followed by Charlie, and sped off into the night leaving me standing alone in the now deserted park. Driving off into the night back to my apartment I wondered about the man. His scarred grinning face was still burned into my mind. I turned the cold-water faucet on in the bathroom sink, leaving it fill up. While the water was still running I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked empty, like a husk of something that used to be. I submerged my head into the icy water.

                 

Chapter IV

         “Joshua, you need to sleep,” Charlie advised me, “it’s been weeks and I know that she’s still in critical condition, but this isn’t what she’d want.”

         “I know Charlie but I’m fine, really,” I reply not knowing if it was completely true.

         Charlie sighed and told me to follow him. I trailed him to a mirror.

         “Look at yourself” he said desperately

         There were large bags under my eyes and it looked like I hadn’t shaved in months.  I sighed and turned around scratching my thin beard.

         “I’m sorry Charlie, I just need to get out I guess,” I say, hoping to get out of this tight situation.

         “Okay but maybe later we could go to that movie at 12; the popcorn will be on me”.

         I look at my watch. It’s only about nine. I’d have time and it would make Charlie happy to see me doing something for once.

         “Alright that sounds like a plan,” I say and we shake on it.

I pull into the bar slowly and turn the car off. I lean my head against the steering wheel and wonder if this is the right thing to do. I sniff a little bit, wipe my eyes and walk into the bar. It’s real smoky inside and there’s some shitty country song playing that makes me feel even worse. I sit at a stool and order a shot. I put my head down in my arms while I wait for my drink.          That’s when I realize just how tired I am. Screw it. I down the first shot and move onto a second one. Several later I’m on the verge of loosing it but catch myself and order a bottle of water instead. Now there’s a better band playing but it still makes me feel sad. I ask the bartender who it is and he looks over to the stage and says it’s a guy called “Conor Oberst”. I nod, sip my water slowly and listen to the song. It’s a sad song about a little boy with cancer and his mom doesn’t want him to die.

 I enjoy the music greatly though, and catch him while he’s packing up his guitar. I tell him that I greatly enjoy his music and that he’s very talented. We sit down in a booth and he orders a beer as I sip my water. We chat genially for a few minutes.

Then I remember Juliet in the hospital and a tear quickly rolls down my cheek before I can wipe it away. Conor quickly writes something down on a piece of paper and slides it over to me. It says:

“And I came upon a doctor who appeared in quite poor health. I said, 'There's nothing that I can do for you that you can't do for yourself.' He said, 'Oh yes you can. Just hold my hand. I think that that would help.' So I sat with him a while then I asked him how he felt. He said, 'I think I'm cured; in fact I’m sure. Thank you stranger for your therapeutic smile”

I gasped as the words hit me one by one. I look back at him and he smiles at me. I felt a little bit better. I smiled a bit and he tells me he has to get going now. We stand and shake hands, and then he walks out, the door slamming behind him. Instantly I walk over to purchase one of his newest albums, “Lifted”.

I went back to the bar, clenching the piece of paper in my fist and the CD case in my other hand. I sat on a stool and look at my watch. It’s almost 11:00, I need to get going to I can get to the movie on time.

Suddenly I feel a tap on my shoulder. I look up and it’s the bartender. He tells me that there’s someone to see me. I follow him into a backroom that’s filled with cigarette smoke. He shows me a seat next to a table. I can barely see 4 feet in front of me. I have no idea who’s on the other side of me.

“Hello…” I say.

“Hi” says someone across from me.

“Who are you”?

“Would you like a cigarette”?

A cigarette slides into view from across the table under a gloved hand. I take it and light it myself, not completely trusting whoever was opposite me. I didn’t know exactly what to think.

“Who are you?” I repeat.

“Someone of coincidence to you.”

“Who”

Silence. Something I hate almost as much as the noisy streets I work in. I want to scream at the man and punch him, to kill him. I look at my watch again. 11:15.

“So I don’t know who you are but you know who I am,” I say angrily.

“Correct” came the response.

I clench my hands into a fist. I knew that Charlie wouldn’t be too sad if I got to the movie a little late.

“Then tell me what you want from me!” I exclaim.

“I want you to feel pain”.

         I freeze, remembering the man that shot Juliet.

         “You-you shot her,” I say barely restraining myself.

         “Correct again” came the monotone response.

         Inside my head I’m furiously working to put together the pieces. The smoke cleared a little bit and I could see his outline. He was silent, blowing smoke and tapping a coin on the tabletop. There we sat in the dark room together. Smoke curled up from my cigarette. He sipped the clear liquid in his glass. His face was shrouded in shadow due to his bowler hat that sat on top of his head.

         “So I’m giving you two more minutes of my time and then I’m getting the hell out of here” I said, blowing smoke in his direction.

         “Then here you go” came the reply, “you ruined my life, you killed my wife and children, and above all”, he said leaning foreword, “you screwed my looks”

         I ground my cigarette into an ashtray and looked up. The smoke cleared a bit as he leaned in towards me.

          I stood bolt up. It was him. He was pointing a revolver straight at my face. Stumbling backward I reached for the door but it was so cloudy now I couldn’t find it. I heard the screech of chair legs against the wooden floor and I knew he was coming for me. I felt around with my hands on the ground making my way along the wall. A foot connected with my stomach and I hit the wall hard and fell back to the ground.

         “I can’t defend my fiancé, I can’t defend my family and I can’t even defend myself”, I thought as I lost consciousness. 

         I looked over my shoulder at my fellow soldiers sitting in the back of the hummer. I laughed at a vulgar joke one of them told and then I turned back to focus on the road. I took a puff of my cigarette and slowed down to allow a farmer to herd his flock of goats across the dusty road. I gazed out at the horizon over the barren countryside.

          Adjusting my helmet strap I beeped my horn impatiently. Suddenly there was the boom of gunfire. Then the man in the gun turret above us yelled and fell back into the hummer, bullet holes in his chest and face. Blood was dripping and splattered everywhere. Everyone was yelling and I sped foreword along the dusty road. Then an explosion ravaged our vehicle. It flipped and rolled many times before coming to rest upside down. I felt blood dripping down the side of my face from a cut on my face. I unbuckled myself and fell up against the windshield. Groaning I reached behind me, my fingers grasping the cold hard metal of my automatic rifle. I squeezed it tightly, kicked open the door and fell out into the hot desert air. With the M16 pressed up against my shoulder I looked around the side of the fallen hummer. Sparks flew as bullets ricocheted, and I pulled my head back around hastily. I squatted in the dirt, checked my ammo and looked around for some kind of cover. About 20 feet away was a small run down shack. I made a run for it, sprinting as hard as I could. Bullets whizzed past my face and body. 5 feet to get there. I burst around the corner and leaned back against the wall. There was movement to my right. I spun and saw the tip of a gun emerging up from a cellar. I pulled the M16 tight against my shoulder and pulled the trigger.

          The gun rattled and the man’s body convulsed, his blood splattering on the wall behind him. One man was down. I cautiously turned around the corner of the cellar, the muzzle of the gun going first. There was nobody down below me, just the darkness. I ran down into the darkness, flipping on my night vision goggles. I looked around there were several men with guns sitting around a table arguing over a game. I slowly turned back up the stairs back into the light. Spinning to run across the now deserted dessert I ran into someone. He yelled in a foreign language and I heard other voices yelling too. I broke away from this enemy embrace and sprinted away back down the dark stairs. They kept yelling and one threw something down after me. I heard it clank and roll on the floor next to me. I then realized what it was with a jolt. The grenade exploded sending the shards of shrapnel shooting into my chest and torso. My padded helmet hit the hard stone step and I felt my blood pouring out as I lost consciousness.

         I started and tried to get to my feet, but I was sitting against a wall and my hands were tied behind me. I looked around, but the room was still so smoky I couldn’t see a thing. Peering into the darkness I saw a pool of crimson spreading out towards me. I rubbed my bonds against a bit of wood franticly until they broke. Standing I walked over towards the pool of blood. It was the man with the scar across his face. There were several holes punched in his chest and clenched in his fist was a small black cell phone. I walked around the table my head spinning. A small leather book was sitting there. Next to it was a large revolver, still smoking from use. I picked up the book and tucked it into a pocket into my coat. Then I picked up the revolver, it looked just like the one that had killed Juliet. Just then the door behind me burst open. I heard the click of weapons and thudding of feet on the floor. I spun.

         “NYPD, drop the weapon and get your ass on the floor”!

I stood speechless and looked behind me for who they were talking to.

         “Drop the weapon, and get on the floor”!

          I looked down at the revolver in my hand and dropped it like it was a poisonous snake, shocked at what was happening. I got down on my stomach and one of them kicked the revolver away from me and another took my hands and handcuffed them behind me. They dragged me out of the bar and into a squad car. They didn’t speak to me but grasped their rifles anxiously. After I was dumped in a cell for a few weeks I was taken to court by the state and was charged with the murder of the man with the scar across his face. I was then sent to a high security prison for life.

Chapter V        

Lunch. The shittiest part of my day. The inmates are rude, most of them smell like shit. There are gangs left and right. People get in fights all the time. Right under the prison authorities’ noses too.  In fact sometimes they have their own little gladiator fights. And I guess today was my day. As I was taking my lunch tray back to the return basket, a wave of orange was forming a circle facing me shouting in loud voices. Then I heard two things at once. The roar of the crowd reaches a crescendo and the shuffling of feet behind me. I turned and saw a large fist heading straight for my eyes. Using the appropriate timing I sidestepped, and as the man’s arm as it passed across my body, I delivered a severe kidney punch. The man doubled over, but straightened and came at me again, roaring in fury. Throwing punch after punch the man kept coming, and I kept dodging and blocking them. Even though I had more agility than the brute-like man, he had more strength. And as I felt his fist smash into my left eye, I almost thought I’d pass out. Spinning around like a top, I fell into the ring of people. They yelled and cheered, and pushed me back into the fight. So the fight was even. An eye for an eye. Literally. I was having trouble seeing, with the blood dripping down into my eye. I shook my head, clearing it and with renewed energy joined back into the fight. We circled. He grinned, showing his ghastly rows of rotting teeth. I wiped the blood from my eye once again, and grimaced at the pain. Then he charged, when he got near enough I crouched, jumped, and whipped my leg around. My foot connected with his jaw and he collapsed on the ground, groaning profusely.

         I faced the crowd, letting my guard down, believing I was victorious. Suddenly from in the crowd I saw a face I knew, a horribly disfigured face. The moment I was distracted was almost vital time lost. Spinning around I leaned back as the ham of a fist whizzed past my face. I grabbed his arm and drove my knee into his stomach several times and then with all of my might clasped my two fists together and brought them down on the mans back. He buckled into a heap on the ground, not moving. As I walked out, the once solid wall of orange bent under my stare like grass in the wind. I grabbed a towel from around someone’s neck as I passed and mopped my bleeding eye.

         I lay down in my deserted cell bed. The words from some old Beatles song were running through my head and my eye was hurting like a bitch. It had stopped bleeding now, but there was a large bruise spreading across my face. I threw the blood soaked towel across my cell in frustration; I had seen him there at the fight, I knew it. Suddenly a rough voice woke me from my reverie. Someone was here to see me. I stood and followed the guard to an interrogation room. A disheveled detective Dave Robertson (a man I had once worked with in the war out east; he saved my life once when I had gotten riddled with shrapnel) was there, sitting in a chair with a cup of star bucks coffee on the table surrounded by scattered papers. His tie, hat, and suit coat were sitting on a small couch in the corner of the room. He looked up as I entered and nodded to dismiss the guard. I ask him if he’s been staying here lately. He tells me to stop being a smart-ass and points to the seat opposite him. I sit and he sighs, looking at his watch.

         “Nice to see you got a good job after the war” I told him

         “Yes, and I’m sorry about all of this Josh…okay let’s get down to it” he said.

         “ Wait, one thing first Dave, how is Juliet”.

         Dave sighs and shuffles his papers nervously. Then while stroking his mustache in a nervous manner tells me the story.

         “ She was in recovery but last week there was a break-in at the hospital and all we know is that she went into a coma afterwards.”

         It was him! I knew it! Anger burned in my veins but I didn’t let it show on my face. I just thanked Dave for keeping an eye on Juliet.

         “Okay now tell me all about what’s going on here.”

           “Alright so after Juliet was shot, I went out drinking and while I was at this bar, the bartender pulled me back into a back room; telling me that someone wanted to see me” I recount.

         “mmmmm okay…” Detective Dave says vaguely scribbling furiously on a pad of paper.

         “And there was someone back there but I couldn’t see his face or anything, so we talked for a while, and then I asked him if I knew him or not…”

         “mmmmmm” grunted Dave.

         “And then he told me that he wanted me to feel pain, so I asked him if he shot Juliet and he told me that it was him. Then I saw it was him and he attacked me and I got knocked out. When I woke up he was dead; shot and I picked up the gun apparently used just when the police walked in…and here I am, with nothing left.”

         I could barely take it anymore. I put my head in my hands and sighed deeply. Dave put a hand on my shoulder and told me that I’d told him enough for today. I looked the Dave in the face. He scratched his balding head, thinking about what I’d just told him. With my handcuffed hands I placed an old leather book on top of the cold hard metal table. I told him to flip to the last page. There was a picture of Juliet and I, in a park, the sun was shining bright and she was beaming at me. I don’t think she could have ever known what was going to happen to her next. I tell detective Robertson that the picture was taken just before she was killed. I also tell him to take it with him and find some clues. He snatches it from me and says that he’s going home for a good nights sleep.

         “I always talk to them before I kill them. Real deep conversations too. About life and death and salvation, stuff like that. As if they would understand. Anyways I talk to them like they’re my friends. Lure them into my net of deception. And then…well yes, you understand now, I have already explained this to you. And right now as you’re holding this book in your two free hands, I hope as you read this you will become my friend and believe, for my sake, for your sake, and for her sake too”.

Yours,

J. Clark

         Detective Robertson put down the book slowly. His mind was reeling.

“What the hell is going on”, he wondered to himself, “The girl, Juliet, is dead”, that’s very clear”.

         He gasped suddenly. Grabbing his coat, hat and scarf he ran for the door. With the slam of a door and the revving of a car engine, the Detective Dave sped off down the suburban street.

To be continued…