Nothing Left.

Dexter strongly suggested she select the sanctuary of seclusion. A Sanctuary in the City, if need be, but somewhere for her sanity and safety.

She thought about it...not long...and, demurred.

Time passed...she thought about it some more. What did she have to lose except for her Innocence, which she was bound to lose anyhow?

The plunge may not have been perfect, but it was over.

New worlds to conquer, if the world would allow her....her fall from grace, a short one. 

He would last five minutes – pawing, prodding, penetrating. It was over in an instant, and while he curled, and whimpered, she fled.

Down the hall, down the stairs, out the door... relief came in gagging wretches as she burst out the back, onto the alley where she (re)regurgitated .

Finally...swallowing the bile inside, so acidic...peroxide...

But before she could conceive it, her lungs exploded, and she had no choice, but to inhale...

to no avail.

­

V

MELATONIN

He found his use of melatonin made him melancholy and depressed. 

He did not know what else to prescribe it to, or what else to blame it on. 

They would be dark corners to clings to, and yet without sleep…he shuttered.

The insomnia is relentless. He would spend whole nights, night- after-night, craving it…instead he dealt with not dreaming, not resting, but thrashing, and stirring, and hours of staring at nothing. So best not go ridiculing that which you do not understand. Something I’ve grown to depend on. Do not deprive me of that. I have had enough. And enough said. So, I guess the answer to your question “ do you want to go for espresso?”  Strikes me as absurd.

 Why would I need a jolt of caffeine before bed….even decaf, ….to sleep on….to mess with my head? Ridiculous. But I’ll tag along and have an herb tea….a chamomile might help. Help me sleep. 

Have I mentioned the insomnia?

v

THE BOX

 

She asked him to make her a simple pine box, nothing extravagant, because she could not afford it. It was to be three and one-half feet long, and eighteen inches wide. The top was to be hinged or slide open and closed. She would need it lined with some simple cloth, and maybe some foam padding. He told her he’d build the box, but the padding would need to be done by an upholsterer. She wept, because all she had, was going to make this box. She realized she could not afford to upholster it. The carpenter said he was sorry and left. But he came back a short time later, and having given it some thought, he told the woman he would do the job if she paid only for materials, and that should save her enough to have the box lined. She thanked him and explained that the box was for a doll, a very special doll that her Mother had left her. She would soon be traveling far away, and wanted it safe to transport. She thanked him again and again, but he was uncomfortable with the outpouring, and excused himself. Before he did, he told her it would be ready in three days. He would discuss the project with the upholsterer, but she would have to deal with the price. She agreed, and the next day she ventured into town to do just that. It turns out that the upholsterer was a woman that had taken over her family business, because her husband had gone blind. She was immediately suspicious about the box. She asked again what the usage was, and the reply was the same. The woman explained her financial situation and asked, again, that it be simple. In that case, the business woman queried, wouldn’t a plain foam lining be enough? The doll would safe enough. The woman demurred, stating, that if she could, she would line the box with red velvet, tufted with gold button - the doll was that important to her. The upholsterer stated that this must be a special doll indeed, and the woman, not able to hold back her tears any longer, confirmed that it was loved by her Mother, and was all she had left of the depleted estate. The upholsterer was a hard woman, but was touched by her tears. She stated that she would do the best she could, that perhaps she had scraps from a larger job that might fit the bill. She would also need three days, from the time she received the box from the carpenter. That was an unexpected delay, and since the woman had only a week to prepare, it would push her right against her deadline. The train will not wait, but what else could she do?

She agreed and they parted.

Six days later she went to the upholsterer’s shop and was overcome by the obvious care and craftsmanship of the box. Not only was it not pine, but oak with inlays, and it also had a lining of red velour, tufted with gold buttons. It was so beautifully executed, she was overcome. The upholsterer fixed her some tea, and had her sit awhile, while she collected her emotions. Once she had done so, she gathered up the box, handling it as if it were magical, and after thanking the woman profusely, she made her way down the road.

Once she arrived home, she took the doll and gently placed it in the box. There was little time left. That night she would bury it, and in the morning, leave this town for good.

V

MILESTONE 7

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V

HIJINX

It had to do with his dissertation. What it was about, we have no idea, but he was keen to finish it. He would spend long days and nights in the library. There just weren’t enough hours. Then two days before it was due, he disappeared. 

He was actually, snatched, as he made his way back to his quarters, simply to shower and change. He had on a dense winter coat, with scarf and gloves. At that hour of the morning, the chill just passes through anyhow, so he was in a frigid hurry. He carried his satchel, which, presumably, contained the documents. We don't know. But we do know, is that he would not part with them gracefully, if at all. So it would seem a struggle took place. There were some witnesses, but be warned, the kind of witness you get at four o’clock in the morning, in that neighborhood, might not be so trustworthy or even, traceable, for that matter.

They, the guys in the van (we think there were three, including the driver) shoved him into a barrel and tightened the top. They had thought to drill air holes in the lid, but he could not see anything except the van roof. How many were there, really? What did they want from him? If they wanted the dissertation why didn't they just take that? Why involve him? They drove for days. By now they had let him out of the barrel. They even stopped to let him stretch and relieve himself. He wore a black sack over his head, and his hands were bound in front. No one was talking. Not a word. He tried to get a response, any response, but none came. He would rattle endlessly, until they taped him shut. He learned to ride quietly.

After awhile it grew too quiet, and when they sent one back to take a look, he wasn’t expecting what he found, and screamed, which shocked the driver into making an ill-advised turn, which sent the van a’rollin. There were no survivors, per se, and I say that because one of the boys (turns out it was all a stunt) spent two weeks in a coma, before he expired.

V

RUN AMUCK

 

Chester Henfield was cast aside at a young age. It was no doing of his, but he had exactly no time to dally. He had to ‘get on with it’, just to save his own skin and survive. No time for remorse, or your hurled curses. Only time will allow that, if you make it*.

So, if you want to talk about ‘tight’, that might be the hole Chester Henfield had to squeeze through, just to survive.

*(If you do make it,

you can unleash

all the hatred

you can muster,

if you must,

but I’d be careful…

very careful.)

Even the bird’s-eye view will be distorted by the lens of life’s experiences. You can’t see clearly from just one vantage so don’t try, even if it’s all you know, it’s never nearly enough.

Get along, flow along, after all, a bird’s eye is not the view Chester was privy to, more that of a worm, so it didn’t really matter. A worm sticking it’s head out of the murk, only to glimpse the real world while preferably in the darkness. Blind to the light, it shudders and withdraws.

So it is with Chester.

But then, Chester was oblivious. Obscured by his harsh, day-to-day, realities, were, The Realities…

Of which he had no idea…or scope.

So, they didn’t matter.

Life exists in the moment for Chester.

Nothing else.

One day Chester found himself, fully exposed, in the bright moonlight. He had no idea it was lunar-something-or-other day… It was a fuckin’ Thursday, 1 AM and the last run to liquor store before closing. But then he was cast in this ‘magical light’ and thought to himself, “ What the fuck ?”

He cowered from it, even though he knew it was not an alien spaceship…it could be. He edged himself along the walls, and into the shadows, all the way to his apartment. It wasn’t far, a block and a half, but it felt a mile, and by the time he got back, he was sweating profusely, and had the agita, you wouldn’t believe.

Once he calmed down it was 3 – 3:30…and he never really rested, he just tossed and turned throughout . Part of it was his wish, and part was his anxiety. But best put those thoughts to rest. If only he could…

Waking up, wasted, with nowhere to turn. He wormed his way out of the hole, but suspected, just the same, something horrific would happen this day. His first day in daylight…

And it did, in the shape of a trash truck, run amuck…

Poor shmuck, just his luck.

Stomped upon, without even being noticed.

V

IMAGINE THE UNIMAGINABLE

 

Reese was at peace with himself. Life hadn’t been that good to Reese, but he’d had it better than most. Could not complain, and if he did, no one was there to hear, so hardly worth the effort. He finally grew lonely after so many years of being alone. Just a ‘twinge’, he’d say, yet a lifetime of loneliness becomes unbearable in the end…. whenever that comes. So best the end not come just yet, there’s time to be made up, as best one can.

Yes, he was at peace, as he lay out his Sunday suit, starched shirt, spit-polished shoes, and new sundries.

Nothing to be nervous about…nothing at all.

Now for the ‘getting ready’ but already he started feelin’ unsteady. He unfolded his shirt, slid the suit from it’s bag…and then it struck. There was no way he was going through with this…this craziness…madness…for what? Entertainment? Company? Companionship?

Ol’ Charley was good enough at that, and comes a lot cheaper…a walk, a scratch and pat, and maybe a soup bone on Sunday.

( If ever there was a hint of any relations of a more carnal nature, it would scare the bejesus out of Reese. Please don’t go proposing he start something “sordid”. He’d fail miserably and with no purpose. Best keep him calm and un-intimidated.)

So after showering, and shaving, and while climbing into his underwear, he hop-ops…slips, trips…and crashes.

While realizing nothing was broken, and no blood was flowing, he got such a laugh out of it, he thought, what the hell, and despite a battle with some buttons, an over-starched shirt that audibly crinkled when he moved, a stiff zipper upper, he managed, and finally he was ready.

And, much to his surprise, the gentleman reflected in the mirror was someone else, someone of substance, but he knew that was only the illusion. Tonight he would attempt it. He was ready, finally, to be the illusion, to someone lonely too. If only for the evening…if not a lifetime…You never know. Imagine the unimaginable…

Tina had trepidation. It was not every night, in fact it was damn few nights, that she would muster the courage to step out of her comfort zone and go to dinner with friends. On this occasion she’d been invited by Amanda and Grace, and even though they were happily gay, and Tina was not, they decided she needed a change and invited her along. It wouldn’t be romantic, so don’t panic, they said they would rather be romantic at home, so come on along.

It’s a night out with the girls, what the hell?

Won’t have the pressure of a fellow hitting on you…as if that’s a problem. At her age, at her weight, she’d rather have the company of women and feel comfort in her own skin. Getting out meant a lot. So the trepidation eased as the ladies assured her it would be casual, discrete and cozy.

The best laid plans went to waste, however, as the club had to shut down due to “plumbing”. So, the girls had to rethink, and in doing so, made some calls…chat chat…until one, overheard, chilled Tina to the quick, and she realized she was the outsider. So she opted out, and felt better for it in the end. No one needs a third wheel. Nothing negative about the hosts, quite the contrary, it’s the load that Tina brought that caused the meltdown, and she wandered aimlessly, finally aiming for the bar and grill just down the street. It was a bit of a slum but it fit…it was fine.

A booth for one hardly seemed necessary, but that’s all that was available at this hour.

– no counter service –

(…had to keep the waitress busy)

So there she sat in a booth for eight, and suddenly her weight wasn’t a problem. She was a butterfly, bejeweled and belittled, by the booth, while in full bloom.  Embraced by tufted red leatherette, with faux-gold button accents, she was a princess in a spotlight.

 (…due primarily to electrical cutbacks)

And, he, found himself a failure floundering on the streets and stumbling into this joint and for no reason at all, except he was suddenly, “really hungry…”

“Would you mind sharing a booth…?” the waitress asked.

“Why?” he wondered aloud.

“They’re very roomy, make my job easier, and cuts cleanup in half. Com’on give me a break, it’s late…it’s past two…”

He agreed to it, but ‘under protest’, and a lot of good that did at this hour. But, he came to be seated at the table with A Princess, and he was Struck. 
Struck for the night…struck for his life.
Sometimes you just never know. 

V