Untitled Poem

Tell me did you feel The Fear
When your spirit left your body
Free from skin, flying into the cosmos
Searching for itself in another.
Or did you feel Alive?

No more distractions, only reaction
Each moment is more vast than the last.

What did you see when you looked in the mirror
Did you see anybody? Did you see who you are
Free from self, did you feel emotion
Like a child and a mother
Where love can never die.

Feel interaction, searching for traction
We all know the past, is the past.

At the universe's center
Looking out on it all
Tell me what did you feel
At the moment you felt the call.

Tell me did you feel anything at all?

M.

The Bus Station

The boy was seated in a bus station in downtown Baton Rouge. It was maybe six o’clock and the station was busy. The vibrant orange beams of sun coming from just above the horizon spilled through the big windows, filling the lobby. It was his favorite time of day, dusk but now he hated everything. He scanned the area, watching family members awaiting arrivals; an old woman with balloons, busy travelers coming and going, a few clerks behind the counters and a single janitor was mopping by the back door to the buses. The boy hated it all. He had used a lot of his money on alcohol, grass, uppers and downers, a hotel room. Some for food including a sandwich which he pulled from his bag before slipping his headphones on; he didn’t want to hear their world anymore because it added to the cluttered flow of thought that bounced around like an escaped Superball within his skull. Wild and uncontrollable like the hurricane Neil Young was singing about, adding a score to the boy’s thoughts.

He couldn’t locate the point where it had gone wrong and he thought about the Sundays when he would bring home new albums and they would lie in bed all afternoon, listening and sipping poorly made sangria, it was heaven. Instantly his head filled up with shouts; she had screamed at him and he had screamed back at her. He had thrown the engagement ring at the wall behind her which made her duck. The impact sent the tiny diamond across the room, catching the light like a shooting star. He was only so angry because she didn’t love him anymore. And while she had broken his world in a matter of minutes, he hated him self as much as he hated her. But he loved her. How could there have been someone else? He had said nothing to her when he gathered some things before storming out. There was nothing important to say.  She tried to hug him, which he absolutely hated and he left without catching a final glimpse of her. He already had the image of him on one knee like an idiot, which conjured up an awful feeling in his chest. He didn’t need another mental image to haunt him. That was five days ago. He turned up the music in attempts to drown out the noise inside in his head. Little help. He had done everything right, dated for a while, it had been a long distance relationship his parents were stunned when he announced his moving to Louisiana. Too far from home they said, too dumb, too young, too poor but he had to have this love everyday. It made him feel like a giant.

He shook his head and lifted his sunglasses to rub his eyes. The remaining rays of the setting sun were strong, his sunglasses found their way back to his face. He preferred his rose colored world and through the shades he could watch the half sun inch its self below the horizon. He looked to the old woman and thought of popping her balloons before looking to the man in the sports coat and their gaze met, sharing eye contact for a few seconds until the boy felt the darkness squeeze around his heart and looked away, his eyes beginning to water. He stood up and gathered his bag (because even if he was going to bathroom, he couldn’t leave his bags unattended, not in today’s world). The bathroom was under kept to say the least and he found the cleanest stall, the handicap stall, and locked the door behind him. Dropping his bags as far from the toilet as he could he put the seat and lid down and sat, he didn’t even have to go. Outside the stall people came and went. He could only hear the door open and close and see the scuffling of feet. He waited for the worn brown dress shoes to wash their hands and exit before he began rummaging through his pocket. From his back pocket he pulled out a twisted up plastic baggy wrapped around a small white ball. It wasn’t his scene but in his remaining days in Baton Rouge he had started to experiment with doses of self medication; alcohol, grass, uppers and downers. He didn’t really have a scene, a sense of self anymore; he basically gave up an old life to start one with her. He left home for school in California and California for love in the south only to have it come crashing down around him. How could there be another guy? He inhaled deep, letting his nostrils flare and feverishly blinked his eyes letting out a cough. He took a few follow up sniffs and rubbed his face clean before gathering his bags and exiting the stall. He moved to the sink to toss water on his puffy face, his eyes hurt, so did his throat. He tried to avoid meeting eyes with his reflection but it was hopeless as he caught his gaze from his peripherals, forcing him to look up. Each blue iris was huge, wrapped around each shrunken pupil and the whites outside were filled with tiny red lightning bolt veins. He wiped his forehead dry.  

Reemerging in the main lobby of the bus depot it had become dark outside and the artificial white of glowing fluorescents filled the room with the buzzing of a thousand bees and gave it the look of a low-rent hospital lobby. To the boy it might as well have been death’s waiting room. He went back to his same spot. His eyes were wide and he hardly blinked, staring beyond the wall and into his subconscious. The old woman was met by a younger woman and they exchanged hugs; she handed her the balloons as they walked out the door. The man in the sports coat was on the phone, and was the only voice in the emptying station. The boy hated everyone. His glasses remained on the bridge of his nose; the man-made lighting was more blinding than anything natural. He searched his headphones for a fitting song and thought about how the end of their life had been so ugly, the ugliest they ever were together. They had yelled at the top of their lungs at each other as his attempts to reason furthered her frustrations. It had almost turned physical; once he knew it was useless his voice began to rage in anger towards her and his shattering of the ring he had used to propose with was the exclamation at the end of it all. He knew when he marched off that it was the last time he would ever hear from, speak to or look at her and that made him grow sick again. The medication didn’t make things better, it really made it worse – causing even more feverish inner monologue, but the boy was self destructing. He felt like shit. How could there be another man. He had never felt like less of a person than he did right now, it was almost wonderful as his eyes were now open to what was true pain, heartache. There had only been her, the first and final love he had felt. In high school the boy was a dreamer and she, his high school sweetheart, was his dream girl. But she had turned out to be nothing but one of his dreams, a fake embodiment of what he thought was love.  He had already begun blaming himself and as time passed he only grew more disgusted with his actions, his words, his existence…disgusting.

The industrial whines of an otherworldly guitar poured into his ear canals and met in the middle of his brain which sent nausea to his gut, the drip in the back of his throat released a bitter taste in his mouth as both his tongue and nose had started to tingle numb. He thought about his previous homes, his family before he had succumbed to her; but she was here, in Baton Rouge and she had become everything. But everybody at home knew, had caught wind about his blight and was expecting him. They wanted to console him but he didn’t want to be consoled. They wanted him home but he wanted to disappear, evaporate into the atmosphere around him. The boy had only taken what he could fit in his single suitcase, or cram into his backpack and that was all he wanted, all he needed and everything he had. he had sold everything in California before coming to live with her. Why did he have to cry in front of her? He should have played the tough guy card, not shown her his weakness. She didn’t cry and he knew it was because she didn’t love him anymore. If she loved him, she would have cried. He knew it. She loved someone else and that fact had been repeatedly stomping him out over the past substance fueled nights he spent in the Tiki Tiki Palms Motel. The janitor began to mop the floor in the boy’s area and the man in the sports coat was sprawled out on the bench in the corner with his feet up watching the window until his phone rang and he answered it smiling.

The boy’s bus would be boarding soon; the ticket folded up in his pocket would take him all the way to Washington and it would take him a couple days to get there, days that the boy knew would be full of tears, thought, desperation, loathing, medicine. He was already beaten down after fighting with his heart and brain every second of past few days and he feared the idea of three straight days on a crowded bus with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. A depressed boy whose ideals, indeed his entire fabrication of love, had been demolished in the most retched way, a boy who has been putting nothing but drugs into his body for almost a week would not be good company. The boy decide to retreat to the men’s room once again, finding his way into the handicap stall and flopped down on the seat and rummaged through his jeans for round two. He wasn’t excited about the long drive and he wasn’t excited about leaving. Leaving would be the soft period, the anti-climactic closing of his life here and everything that she and they together had meant to him. He needed this second trip to the men’s room if he was going to have the gall to leave any chance of anything in the rearview. In the stall, the boy used the corner of his driver’s license to shovel small piles of snow from his lap to his brain. After five or six times scooping he started to feel a bit better and packed everything up before washing his hands and picking at his nose. The man in the sports coat entered the bathroom as the boy grabbed too many paper towels from the dispenser. The man gave a polite nod to the boy and the boy was oblivious to the man’s presence throwing away his trash and pushing towards the man on his way to the door.

The boy entered the lobby once more as the loud speaker announced the arrival of his bus; the voice said after the bus was cleaned and refueled passengers could board. And then she walked in. The boy stared through his glasses at her, his eyes twitched in sudden confusion, a spasm of emotion. His heart was pounding powerfully; he felt like she could see his chest pump and tried to calm it down. He didn’t walk towards her because he didn’t know if he could move. He just watched. She saw him and looked confused, but not like he looked. She quickly walked up to him and asked what he was doing here.  He knew that she knew he was getting a bus ticket out of town. He couldn’t yet smile but his heart was fluttering, he was shocked that she had come to stop him. He knew there was something strong between them and something must have told her that this shouldn’t end. His eyes wanted to water but they didn’t. “Look this isn’t…” Before the boy could join the conversation, the man in the sports coat interrupted, “Hey babe you made it!” His voice was deep and excited. She stared at the boy and the man in the sports coat stopped talking. The boy was not confused anymore.

How could this be the other guy? The douche in the sports coat at the bus station was his love’s lover. Arriving from wherever he was from to console her in the news she undoubtedly delivered sometime between today and five days ago. She stared in his eyes and the boy did not look away. He smiled. “I got it.” It was all one big fucking joke at his expense. The boy spit out a small laugh. “Look I really loved you. I did.” And in that moment she looked repulsive, she had grown fraud. She had become a lie. He had thought all along she was something else but it was all a joke. He instantly realized that he didn’t love her either. Just what she had represented, the idea of her, what he wanted her to be…but not her, she wasn’t it. It was an odd uncomfortable feeling given the circumstances; they all stood silent, waiting for the boy to speak up. But he only shook his head and smiled; he knew he would never look at love again, he had seen how unlikely it was that a stranger could really love another stranger but he didn’t care, he knew he would survive. God or the universe or the cosmos what have you had pulled a fast one on him but he finally responded by picking up his bags, “I never knew I never loved you.” He turned away and walked outside to board his bus home without the intention of ever going home. Why should he scurry home when he had the entire country between there and here? He could get off anywhere he chose to, and he would decide where exactly that was when he got there.

M.

The Sideshow

The circus was in town. Its noise and neon sizzled into the typically brown town, a heavenly glow of otherworldly proportions emanated from the park at the south end of Main Street. Billy and Jo-Jo’s feet hardly touched the wet cement of the sidewalk as they raced towards the light. They reached the edge of the hill, passing Billy’s dad’s shop and continued down towards the park without hesitation. Their momentum almost got away from them almost sending the boys toppling head over heels. Come on, hurry! Jo-Jo was just ahead of Billy. They had been waiting for this all week, suffering through class and bedtimes but it was Friday. A night for mischievous escapades.

The park buzzed with electric energy and light, scuffling feet kicked up dirt and vendors pedaling their treats hollered amongst the crowds. The boys’ eyes were wide with adventure and then delight for they had swiped cigarettes from Jo-Jo’s brother’s truck. The matches flared, lighting up their faces by the bathrooms. Pre-teen plumes of smoke puffed from virgin lungs. Jo-Jo abruptly tugged Billy in the direction of the games and attractions, away from the rides. Jo-Jo slowed down and slipped his hands in his pockets, walking like an adult.

They both strut to the entrance of the sideshow and unloaded fists of coins on the homely woman at the ticket booth while cigarettes hung from all lips. She handed them paper tickets and pulled the heavy curtain aside allowing the boys enter. They rushed to the next curtain; the curtain that would open to the arena. Inside, the room was rambunctious and the stiff stench of booze and tobacco stung the boys’ nostrils as they rushed to find seats. They were all there for the same reason. The boys stood on the seats to over the shoulders of the tall men. Everybody was there to see the freaks. The boys felt as if they had ascended onto some forbidden plane of grown up entertainment. They had fantasized about it as they walked to and from school each day this week, telling stories about stories they had heard. They laughed at the bearded lady, watched in awe as a grown man swallowed a sword while his brother nailed a nail into his nose.

Then about midway through the show after they all applauded the strong man, the man with the microphone announced the next act. The Dog-Faced Boy. The crowd went wild as this would be the first of the real freaks. All the men shouted in their drunken stupor at the boy covered with hair. Billy could tell this scared the boy. Jo-Jo joined in, and then so did Billy. They all yelled so much and the man with the microphone tried his best to quiet them, but everyone was too in love with the growing reaction of the dog boy. Billy heard slurs and slang he had never heard before. In the moment Billy grabbed a half empty soda and threw it at the stage. The man with the microphone used his off hand to attempt a block but once it struck it his hand it exploded, raining soda onto the boy who, embarrassed, lashed out towards the crowd. He lunged but was met by the man with the microphone’s arms and wrapped up. The crowd erupted in laughter as the Dog-Faced Boy broke into tears and disappeared backstage. The man with the microphone told the crowd to exit, that the show was abruptly over. The crowd spewed out into the night in hearty cheer. Nobody had seen who threw the now infamous soda but it was talk on all of their tongues.

Jo-Jo pulled Billy to the rides and they rode as many as they could as many times as they could; they only took breaks to try their luck at the obviously rigged games. They threw away their parent’s money on dumb animals and posters, jumping and cursing when their rings tinged off the tops of the bottles. Passing the entrance to the sideshow multiple times, closed every time with a hand painted sign pinned to the curtain saying NO ENTRANCE. The night wore on and Jo-Jo yawned while they sat on the curb eating chicken on a stick. It was almost time to head home. Their having exhausted everything the circus had to offer perfectly coincided with an approaching curfew. Billy tossed the greasy remains and the cardboard dish into the overflowing garbage as they slowly began to elevate, walking up the beginning of the hill.

 They passed Billy’s dad’s shop which was long closed by now. Jo-Jo split off at his street; they hardly talked, they never talked about The Dog-Faced Boy. Not once. Billy’s mother asked him how it was and he hardly said a word. Just fine, it was fun. The rides were okay. How was the grub, asked Billy’s dad. Did you get BBQ chicken on a stick? Billy nodded. Well you showed real responsibility, spending a night out there unsupervised. I’m glad you had fun honey, you showed us we can start treating you like more of a grown up. Billy’s mother didn’t kiss him this time as she told him goodnight as he walked upstairs. That night Billy cried in bed. He was just a boy.

Bad Boy

The darkness slowly crept over the hill, crawling over his land and he headed inside for the night. The winds picked up violently. Tonight he sat comfortably in his rocking chair next to a fire, accompanied only by a stiff drink. He rocked back and forth with the bottle at his feet. The storm had picked up significantly with the receding of the light; sometimes the winds spewed forth a heavy gust and the shutters rocked. Suddenly thunder shook the sky. A heavy knock lands against his door. The Father stands up from his chair. Was it something tossed by the wind? Was it just the night playing tricks on his mind, the thunder catching him by surprise? What time was it? These were no conditions for a visitor.  He waited clutching his drink, listening for more. He didn’t want there to be any more knocks on his door; that way he could justify returning to the fire.

Three more, heavier knocks struck the heavy wood, resonating through his bones.

 “Hello?” Barely more than a whisper escaped his mouth, he cleared his throat, “Hello?” This time it’s louder, surely enough for human ears to hear. Two inches of wood separated the Father’s head from the fist that landed twice more. “Can you let me in?” The Father opened the door at the familiarity of the voice, revealing the Son who was huddling in the doorframe, fighting against the wind. His shadowed self stood ragged in the shadows of the porch; his shirt was dirtied, a mix of brown and dark stains. The clouds broke, letting the moonlight reflect off the revolver in the Son’s hand. Alarmed, the Father ushered in his Son. “What’s wrong with you. I haven’t heard from you in months, no letters. What happened to you? You hurt? Thank God your mother isn’t around anymore, you’d have her worried out of her mind.”

“I can’t stay long. My time is stretched thin.”

The Son marched in, opened a cupboard and grabbed a glass. He walked to the fire and grabbed the bottle from the floor and poured himself a drink, wasting no time between pouring and downing his full glass. “Been a while since I had a good drink.” The Son took a seat at the table, poured a second drink and set the bottle down. He lowered his head, resting it in his unarmed hand, “I’m rotten. Ain’t no good. And there’s nothing I can do about it,” The Son clutched his hands, his gun in his lap.  “I can’t stop myself.”

The Father took the bottle from the Son and poured himself a fresh drink, taking a sip, “I don’t want to know what you’ve done. But I know you can make good again. You’re good and you can always work to take back what you’ve done.” The Father took another sip of his drink and looked out the window. He looked to his son, sitting in the chair, chewing on a toothpick in the side of his mouth while attempting to organize enough singular thoughts to spit out a scrambled sentence.

 “Nah, not me. Damn, nothing but hate inside me, any embers of a good heart been shit on, stomped out. Society is black, turned me into some sort of monster. I can’t help it, acting on impulse. Bad impulses. No good voice in me talking me down, no voice at all.” The deadweight of the Son’s stare bore down on the Father. “I just came to take all the money you got here Dad.” The Son snatches the bottle off the table and pours another heavy drink, “I need it more than you old man, got to get going soon.”

 The Father shook his head and placed his glass on the table by the bottle. “But you’re still a human being boy; you have the ability to change. What do you plan on doing? Are you just going to keep on running the rest of your life? You can’t run from them forever. They are always going right behind you; they’re going to catch up. Once you break the law, you’re a marked man. A man’s legs can only take him so far before they refuse to walk.” The Father slides the bottle across the table, away from the Son.

“I don’t have no time for your useless fucking words, I’m passed the point of lessons. I ain’t running from no one but myself. Now I’ve got to get to the train or I’m never getting out of this world. So you can give me the money or I can take it.” The Son dropped his hands to his side and clutched the pistol without breaking the stare, and the Father noticed.

“You’re not a bad boy Son. You know, mistakes will be made. You have to face the consequences. You need the discipline; you could still turn your life around. You got a sour brain but you’ve still got a heart. I know you’ve got good in you, I raised you Son, I know I put good in you.”

Limited light seeped through the shutters, the fire and a small lamp next to the refrigerator enflamed the room in an orange hew. A train’s whistle blowing in the distance broke the silence, and then the Son violently stood up and grabbed and tore at the neck of his shirt with both hands, still clutching the revolver. The Father took a step back when the Son shouted, “Fuck this! If I don’t make that train I’m done for. I’ll be sent to a place full of people like me, but I’d still be the worst.” The Son grabbed the bottle from the Father and took a large gulp. “We’re the ones who refuse to be disciplined or punished for what we do; it’s what we’re meant to do and it’s how we’re wired. Don’t you understand that? Now you really ought to gimme what you got Pa.”

The Father took hold of the bottle in the Son’s hand and the Son resisted giving it up. “You, you just have to get a hold of that anger. You got such a temper on you boy. You got a corrupt brain and a hot head.” The Son let go of the bottle. “It’d do you a great amount of good to learn how to deal with your problems within the boundaries of the real world. The world has laws and rules, you know Son. You can’t expect to step outside of the boundaries with impunity, your soul will be cleansed if you spend time rehabilitating; you can still save your eternal soul. Just because you get locked up doesn’t mean you can’t still go to Heaven.”

The Son yanked the bottle back from the Father. “Heaven ain’t no place for me. I’m something else. I can’t live an upstanding life! There’s no place in this world for someone like me!” The Son waved the gun around and the Father’s eyes followed it. “You’re just a scared boy with a gun, wouldn’t ever shoot anybody down for no good reason. You used to hold my hand when we walked through town Son. You could have robbed or mugged any schmuck on the street for cash but you came here. You came to me. You wanted me to tell you you’re good. You wanted to hear me lecture you. You want my help.”

The Son escalated to a scream, “How many times I got to tell you I’m no good! I can’t find it in me to live a good life. No more than a life of crime and sin, it’s my nature, even if it means constantly looking over my shoulder, constantly running. Just gimme the God damn money!” The Father dug into an old coffee can on the counter and stretched out to the Son with a handful of paper bills. “Fine Son. But I know you still have what I taught you deep in you somewhere. You want to be good again. Even the worst have some good.”

“Nothing inside me! I’m nothing!” The Son’s tone softens, “I feel no pity for my actions. That’s what makes me a monster.” The Son drew his gun to shoulder level, parallel with the wood floor below him, the hammer pulled back. The Father grabbed the Son’s shoulder, “Goddammit Son! You’re good, man is inherently good.” The Father reached for the bottle but the Son grabbed hold of it, it was his now. Both with the bottle in their grasp they pull at it until it slips loose, falling to the ground. A loud clap breaks the moment. A flash. The Father clutched his stomach, and the Son’s shoulder, before falling to the ground.

“I told you old man, nothing good inside me.”

Do You Love Me?

She entered the hotel room, and when she stepped into the light, the glossy blackness around her eye kept her face in the dark. He knew what it felt like to be beaten up. She didn’t give him time to speak, not even formulate a question.
“Do you love me John?” She asked standing in the room unzipping her tight blue dress. He thought she was beautiful, the only thing in this world keeping him happy, normal, sane. But seeing her purpled and tattered made him ache.
“Desi, what are you talking about, what happened?”
“How much do you love me?”
“Are you okay? What happened to you?”
“I said how much.” She peered through the curtains, looking out into the parking lot, still removing her clothing.
“Enough, more than I’ve loved anyone else I suppose. But would you talk to me? Look at you!”
“John, would you lie for me?” This was not part of the regular routine.
“Sure I would, lying is no big deal.”
“Well, would you steal for me?”
“Yeah I suppose, I would do anything for you, you know that.”
“I want to know how much you love me.” Their meetings had become more to him than weekly, sometimes bi-weekly, rendezvous for cheap and dirty sex. It was human contact. And she was all of it he had. At least all that mattered.
“Of course I love you. You’re the only woman I’ve ever been with; that has to count for a lot. I mean…” He left a pause.
“That’s it?”
“Well it’s how much.”
“Okay. Well if you love me a lot, what would you do for me?” She slid the dress off her body, squirming out of it, revealing more bruises, scrapes across her skin.
“I know who did this to you. He did it, didn’t he?”
“I need your help John. I just want to be safe.” She moved towards him. Her naked body illuminated by the shitty desk lamp.
“What do you mean?” he was distracted by the tattered figure.
“I can’t keep living like this, my everyday life is hell.” She moved towards him, somehow her bruises made him want her more, “I just want to be free. I want to be out of here.” He could see the truth, the seriousness behind her eyes.
“I’ll do anything,” he said. She quickly looked up making eye contact, and smiled.
“I knew you’d be the one to save me.” She walked over to the side of the bed and removed his tie before unbuttoning his shirt and kissing him. His hands shook as he made contact with her cold flesh.
Now on the bed together, she could feel his quivering soul. He on his back willingly surrendered to her, breathing in her essence. She allowing gravity to pull her body down, taking safety in. The stiff rough sheets felt cool on their hot bodies. They both writhed, moaning, as they rode on a hypnotic river of pleasure. His couldn’t get his mind off their previous conversation which caused for him to last longer than usual. She felt like home, familiarity to him. And this time when they finished, unlike all the other times, she stayed in bed wrapped around him; clinging to the man who could free her from the confines of a life run awry.
His hands gently moved across her body, which recoiled when he touched her rib cage, reddened and tenderized by the fists of a much larger opponent. Thinking about it only confirmed his willingness, his wanting to do anything in her defense. She was tall with long skinny legs, when naked he could count each individual rib. The man who owned her was large and bulky, and did a lot of drugs.
“I want to help you. What do you want me to do?”
“I need you to love me.”
“I do. I love you Des. I’ll do anything.”
“Kill for me.”

There was a long pause in the room before she said it again.

“I want you to kill for me.” He was just a simple businessman, a desk job sort of guy but everyone’s had their fair share of murder fantasies. He often thought about what it would feel like to kill.
“Did you hear me?”
He was strangely calm. “You’re talking about murder, killing a person.”
“Not a person. My boss Tony is slime, not even human. He held a fucking knife to my throat tonight! He said he’ll kill me.”
“What do I have to do? How will we not get caught?”
“I got an unregistered pistol from my girlfriend, it’s in my purse. She said it’s been passed all over the state; they won’t be able to trace it. All we have to do is draw him to us.”
“How?”
“We fake a situation. If you yank me into your car in front of him, he’ll follow us. The industrial sector won’t have soul for blocks besides us. We go there. Once you get out he’ll come straight for you and you do it. Cops won’t give a shit about him dead and he’ll have money on him so we can get away for a while.”
“What if I can’t actually do it?”
“You have to. I know you’re the one who can save me. I always knew it.”
It sounded like everything was planned out, premeditated, and it sounded like it would work. For a moment he took notice of the wallpaper on the dark walls, sea foam green with a border of clam shells. For a moment he was confused why he would be in such a dirty place until his eyes feel upon her again. She was beautiful, looking so vulnerable, lying naked in the bed longing for someone to stand up for her, a hero.
“Okay, I’ll do it…when?”
“Tomorrow night.”

The next night John sat in the front seat of his Buick on 5th street. He watched out his window while a dozen girls in discount outfits meandered around the streets. Caressing street poles to capture the attention of passing customers and leaning into the open windows of possible buyers, trying to strike a deal. It had been a while since he came out here like this and joined the hunt. He had become such a regular that they would simply meet somewhere after he would call her.
There she was, playing it cool like it was nobody’s business, but she stood out noticeably being the most beautiful. She walked towards his car, made eye contact and tilted her head towards the SUV down the street. That was the car, Tony’s car; the car that would chase after them in a matter of minutes.
Desiree gave John a slight wink, the predetermined sign that it was time. John stepped out of his car, took a breath and marched towards her. He grabbed her by the arm and started to yank her towards his car and she fought back, starting to scream. Her acting was quiet effective as the other girls, as well as Tony took notice. John hurried and yanked Desiree once more for effect before tossing her into the passenger seat. As John walked around the car he saw Tony cruising towards him, on a mission. And when John turned to get in he heard Tony yell at him.
“Hey that’s my bitch you fucking bum!”
But John didn’t turn around. He quickly got in and hit the gas and sent them speeding right by Tony, nearly hitting him. In the rearview mirror John could see him race back to his car, squeal into a u-turn and then the bright headlights close in on them. Things were going as of planned as they moved out of the populated area. Desiree leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“We’re almost there; everything is going to work out.”
They sped into the industrial sector, turned down an alley and, as expected, Tony kept up. John stopped the car and looked at Desiree. He heard the door of Tony’s car slam. Desiree removed the small revolver from her purse, pulled the hammer back and put it in his lap weighing him to his seat.
“Hurry, go now.”
The way she looked into John’s eyes at that moment assured him that he was doing the right thing. John opened the car door and stepped out to find Tony, knife in hand, walking towards John. He stopped maybe 10 feet shy.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing with my broad buddy? I ought to slice your dick off right here.”
John didn’t say anything. His hand gripped the pistol at his side slightly behind his back. John squeezed the pistol tight as the sweat in his palms began to build. His finger slid over the trigger.
“Did you hear you me you piece of shit? I asked you what you think you’re doing with one of my products.” His smooth voice sounded like it could be on the radio but was matched with an overweight, sweaty frame covered with hair and gold. John lifted the revolver from his side and pointed it at the ground. Tony laughed.
“Oh so you’re a tough guy? A real Dirty Harry huh? You gonna make my day pretty boy?”
“Drop the knife.” But Tony didn’t move. “I said drop the fucking knife. You think you have the right to beat on a defenseless woman? You disgusting piece of trash.”
John could feel the power streaming from his palm straight to his heart which passed it through his entire being. Tony knew the feeling and recognized it in John’s eyes. The surge pulsed through John even stronger when Tony finally dropped his knife.
“Your days of beating on this girl, of owning her, end right now,” John continued on his righteous sermon fueled by hatred. The hatred for this unknown man is what could transform John into a savior.
“For too long people like you have been–”
Then in an instant, like a wild fucking west movie, Tony drew and fired from his hip. The hot bullet tore through John’s chest. Desiree screamed as John fell to his knees. With a look of sudden confusion on his face John tried to squeeze the trigger; Desiree had to be saved. But before he could even lift the pistol Tony fired two more shots into John’s chest, stealing John’s power and sending him onto his back in the alley.
“I’m the real Dirty Harry motherfucker.” Tony stood proud. Desiree was still screaming. The industrial sector was abandoned, just as planned. The streets were wet and cold, there wasn’t any movement and the only noise was Desiree screaming followed by another shot, singular this time.

Then silence.

You Are Who You Are

You find yourself standing in a dark and dirty room with rope and duct tape in your hands. It’s time you bring another to us. The room was familiar, the same dark space from the times before. How did you get here; standing in the tool shed, deep out in the woods? You never wanted to be here, in this place of horror. But time and time again you found yourself here. Do it! You look around, standing at your work bench and looking at all your tools. What are you even doing here? This is what you have to do! You try not to think about the times you’ve been out here before, hidden in the woods far from town. The ones who had been here before will always be here. Give them to us! More! It could be peaceful but only after you finished your work. Do your job! You were never alone, and there was always work to do. You try to ignore the voices but they only get louder until you’re brain feels as if it is going to explode out your ears. You pick up one of the small hobby knives on the countertop. The voices had come one night two years ago and never left. You know what they tell you to do is wrong but you have to; it was the only way you could make it quiet. You needed it. It would be peaceful once you finished. The calm would last for a while, but it would always come back. If you don’t bring them we’ll come and make you suffer! You sit down on the lone metal chair that sits in the middle of the small room; the sun was fighting to break through the torn tarps that covered the windows, walls and floor. The air smelt damp and sour, almost bitter, metallic. You play with the blade, extending it and retracting it. I have to stop; I can’t go on doing this. You have to do it! You can’t stop! Do it! You begin to shake your head. No, no, no I can’t. I want this all to end. I have to make it stop. You keep shaking your head. You know you couldn’t do anything of the sort. It was too late for anything to save you. We said you have to! You must! It’s the only way to stop it! The screeching noise in your head brings the knife to your hand, adding fresh stains to the dull blade. Don’t disappoint us! You must kill them! In our name! I could never escape the noise, especially not here, in their wooden shack. Even where nobody knew I existed, where there were no signs of life. There was only dirt and woods and foliage everywhere for miles protecting me from man’s world. They could never find you here, nobody knew about this place. But we can see you here Robert! We always know where you are! But their faces, you can’t bare to look at their faces, so innocent. How can they be evil? No you are the evil. You try to put yourself in their shoes, sitting in the metal chair in the tool shed in the woods. If you stop now we will come find you, we know where you are! Bring us more! Take them from their pretty houses and bring them here! You used to scream when my head would get loud but the screaming turned to crying and eventually gave way to acceptance. This was how it was now. It would always be loud, inside your head, unless you did their work for them. Yes you must! Bring them to us! You sit silent, blood dripping from your clenched fist. You nod, knowing that this was the only way. You have to destroy them or they will consume you! Kill! Bring them to us or you will feel pain! You will bring another one, but this is the last, it has to be the last. Yes! You will earn your keep and leave you when you bring it! Bring them to our shed and make them suffer. You leave the tool shed, ready to head back into town and carry out their task; it was the only way you could snuff out the noise.
You are now in town, peering from the window of his your pickup, surveying the schoolyard. It was almost three now and the kids would soon be somewhere between school and home. The bell rings. It is a familiar sound to your ears. You watch the many children run and play, their faces now mangled and distorted and in this moment you could only saw evil. That one! That is the one! Yes, you see her. The girl in the polka dot sun dress is skipping down the street as your old white truck creeps up behind her.

Neon Sizzle

The pink and blue sizzle of neon sparked, buzzing her body with hot electric light. The pulsating booms coming through the floor filled the space with energy. The currency of sin lay around her. Smell of sweat, breath. Scent of perfume, grease, dirt, booze. Feverish excitement. She sheds her skin and reveals her honest self. Dizzying swings, swaying, writhing, hands on flesh. Her hands on her flesh…a hazy display of societal decay.
The shadows around her have no hands, hands off. They must obey…for the most part, or be forcefully removed from existence.

Up.
Down.

Swing your body this way now.
Drop and crawl to here. Crawl to them, a little more until you’re here. The body knows what it is doing.

The eyes on you, all over your body – moving up and down, in and out. She can’t see but she can feel it. Cleared throats and soft moans escape the mouths. Odd and erotic simultaneously, dirty and glamorous, sinful and heavenly. The epicenter of the room, nothing exists outside the neon glow across her naked skin.
The shadows explode, begging for more. Each dying for a single touch, the feel of moist skin hot, her skin, hot with desire; but to her there is nothing more than the smoky haze and the warm neon light in which she nightly bathes. She is protected on her pedestal in the soft colored light, safe from the wretchedness outside.