Bars of the Stairs

She sits by the stairs
Listening to each and every word
Vampire bites on her soul
The loud crash of a thrown vase
Screams at the top of their lungs
She wants them to stop
Catastrophe of sounds
Cacophony of hurt
Wraps around her internalized
Becoming her safety blanket
That she will warm herself with
When she gets older

My life apart

I guess it took me 25 years of life and probably one of the worst years I have ever had to learn a few lessons. I am not one for a rampant evangelical religion, however, I think god did have a plan for me this year. It was to teach me some things that would make me stronger. This year as i said before was full of failures with a few triumphs along the way, but mostly full of failures. These ranged from the destruction of my teggy, to the theft of all my things, to setting myself back a whole five years. However, the one sliver of silver light emitting from these drab ominous clouds was that I have learned. I have learned that you don't get do overs no matter how many sci-fi tv shows you watch, once something is done its done. This includes when bad things happen to you, when you make a mistake or when you make a choice. Once it happens its etched in stone in some far away place where you can neither chisel, break or alter it. It happens. And this really goes for choices. Once you set that first step onto a path, you have irrevocable changed your future. Time is irreversible and all it takes is one misstep to fall off the ledge. Now, I am not saying that you can prevent bad things from happening to you by being prudent and/ or staying locked up on your room. However, I am saying that an ounce of prevention is worth a ton of trouble. Bad things will happen to you, no matter what you do, bad things will happen, although less bad things will happen to you if you know how to prevent them. However, dwelling on what happened to you is not going to let you move forward. Rather it will trap you in a hole as time's watery flow slips around you. And the biggest problem with time is; once you try to grab that watery flow it disappears and then you realize that you're not in the water at all, just on top of it on a raft going downstream staring at your reflection like tantalus trying to get a drink of water.

Gravity

It stares back at me
Wrapped in white satin sheets
And my green comforter from college
I stand over the bed
The smell and sweat sliding off my body
Under the light brown cedar fan
It wants to know where my eyes are
Have they left along with my heart
Riding out into the sunset
It stares at me
Hoping that my eyes will return
To the former softness and desire
That was there at the beginning
That seems to have drifted off
Like unused dreams
It asks me, why don’t I come back to bed
In light copper tones, beckoning
Begging me to return to my past
Hoping that it is as promising
After a rainy day
It is full of life, meaning, hope
Destiny, fear, love
And I am empty
Caught in the sea of indecision
Wanting to not have ghosts
Pulling me closer to the window
Closer to opening it
Closer to trying to fly in gravity
Flying is a lie
And I know that
But the ghosts keep telling me different
I am just a man, maybe I don’t know
It screams, calls, whispers
It’s being filling the room
Trying to push the ghosts out
Trying to draw me in
To its gravity
I stand still unable to grasp
It or the window sill
As it and the ghosts
Stare at me
Waiting for me
To move

Life

You don't love me
you never did
you just pretended to
so that I would travel
down your tracks
and fix all of your
missing planks and
make you run smooth
so that when you
pass by, you can laugh
at me and all the others
on the side of the road

It's the money honey

On one of the seedy websites that I belong to, a fellow compatriot of intellectual folly asked me to tell him something that you wouldn't tell your friends or family. And what came to mind was that I am horribly scared of not having money. And that I value material positions and I guess status more than many other things. Of course, that caused me to stir in a vat of self-loathing because of my shallow vanity. However, the more I thought about it the more I realized why it is my fear. I came from a good family where I was really not wanton for anything. Now flights to the Caribbean and G-5 planes was not in the budget, but we were always decent or better. I even had a car on my 16th birthday. So I have been blessed. In the last few years, I have ventured out and traveled some of the world and saw what people were like without money, with money and with nothing but dreams and passion. Right now I have nothing but dreams and passions. But, I want soo much. I want to travel. I want a nice car. I don't want to have to live where I want to live and not forced to live where I can afford. It's these things that are part of the dream. Which is sad to me because when i think of my goals in the future, they don't involve people ; at least not in the first tier. Of course I want people to be around and it would be nice to share my life with someone, but in reality i guess I am selfish and I want things for me. Or is it that I just want people to look at me and say he was successful. As if they can measure my value by dollar signs and quality of living. So now I don't know how to feel and I don't know if I should reevaluate my priorities.

Ceiling

What lesson can be learned
What dream can be found
What pain can be stopped
What joy can be lived

Days gone playing in rewind
Staring at the white dusty fan
On the ceiling
Feeling blocked like the stars
Staring at the white dusty fan
On the ceiling

Not connected to the world
Traveling slower than time
While the black cloud of fear
Creeps up my neck’s back
Being absorbed by
Freshly lotioned skin

Indigo terror, everything darker
The sun is so cold, but the nights
Are colder, lonelier, more quiet
Leaves only me to hear myself
Future demons rising, yanking,
Tearing parts of me away, leaving
Me empty, emptier than usual

Silence, be still my heart
Listen to the bottle of aspirin
Dance with it, my last love

We lay on quilted sheets
Staring up at the white
Dusty fan as the world
Slowly turns to black

Questions linger as parental
Chess pieces move into the room
Wooden and marble tears
Etch the faces as they watch
Their knight lost in the game

(I just found this poem I wrote it in 2007)

Far from You

Like the bright red torrent
swirling around number 5
watching over our dim green world
I am far, distant away
from anything resembling
that emotional strangle
the pleasant asphyxiation
associated with the carnal desire
the sunshine in the rain
that so many people find it so easy
to be in, to live in
to breathe in, as i choke
and cough and spit up parts of my lung
trying to run, to escape
this knife that could kill the old me
and phoenix flame respawn me
into something more caring
more thoughtful, more selfless
more able to look in your eyes
and say four letters that
have sunk ships, destroyed countries
and made some of the most beautiful
art and music the world has ever seen
but again it avoids me, or i avoid it
like a flu during the summer
hoping that if i have enough hand sanitizer
that virus laden ring never
takes a hold of my hand

Black Enough

Since about the age of 5

When rice crispies covered in koolaid made smile

And  clouds made bunnies and jets in the sky

You told me that I wasn’t black enough

You told me that my grades in English class

And on sol tests were not good enough

You told me that being smart is trash

And that you should do like all the other boys

Did and want to, wish for, and hope to play a sport

You said that my pants weren’t dangling

Low like mandingos tip, sag lower , sag lower you said

Even though that breeze that snuck up the creak of my cheeks

Never did feel quite right to me

You said that this music is what makes you

You have to talk with a swang, and walk like you’re the thang

And make sure that your hardcore all the fucking time

And I tried, but you never quite believed me

Said that I was uppity and white

An oreo and not the good kind that is in a Dairy Queen blizzard

It hurt me, like a knife through my culture

Right through to my race that I kept in my heart

The unmistakeable feeling of eyes on me

In electronic shops and Korean clothing stores

The look that teachers gave me the first day of class

When I plopped down swagfull in the middle of the class

That slowly disappeared as I raised my hand

Over and over again, slaying questions

Like Lancelot and dragons

The first choice in PE when football season came around

Little did they know that I sucked

It hurt and hurt and scarred and scarred

Until I left

Leaving the catacombs of high school and adventuring

Into the field of college

Where I learned abolitionist rhymes

And King descendent cultures

Where a black president was possible

And white people weren’t as different as I was

And black people weren’t as different as I felt

Where judgment by the color of one’s skin

In a different culture is different

That we could as easily be accepted or rejected

By our accent than the color of our skin

That you are less black for not knowing

That there is an exit to cultural structure

That we are only hear through our minds

That the physical is a restraint that can be surpassed

Where being black meant nothing more

Than being me

Wondering

How much time do we waste wondering what would life be like if we made a different decision? I feel as if it is a lot. Or wondering why we aren't where we want to be, or wondering why we are feeling a certain way. Are these contemplations useless if we do not make a resolution that we can stick to. I get tired of myself because I always think that this will be the last time i do this or feel this way, but what it boils down to is that it's not and it will not. I am addicted to feeling helpless as if it is a safe place or comfort zone. And it never feels as if I am scared of succeeding, just scared of failure. However, by sabotaging it by not doing what i know i should do, I already have.

Earlier this week, this little runt told me off because i didnt pay enough attention to it. It then proceeded to try to draw blood and shit on my dreams. It probably was the rudest, craziest most out of touch with reality argument. As I look back on it, I wonder why I even paid it any mind. Replaceable, and thats all I have to say.

Writer's Self-Doubt

Who am I kidding
I am following the most unsafe
thing that I could possibly think of
Not singing, not sports, not stripping
Not a police officer, not a fireman
But Writing, of all things writing
I mean there is about as much potential
as a nuclear bomb being created in 204 AD

As a boy, I used to say with these two hands
I will be a great inventor and make spaceships
and hover cars and flying gyroscopic doodads
And now my hands lay limp with a pen
Gripped between my fingers
Am I relegating myself to ideas
And the only invention that I will create
Ones on the paper, words melded together
In conquering mental robots terrorizing
The small town of Normalcy

This is utterly ridiculous
A capricorn, a technical minded junkie
Doing something that is not concrete
That is not sure to make money
That is only potential
I'm scared
So scared
and even more afraid
That I'm turning my back on my future
To follow a dream, a hope, a craving
For plot and subplot, for character and anti-hero
That I'm writing only for myself not for the benefit
Of anyone else, that i'm selfish

Someone once said that writing is the most selfish
Profession that there is,
That for one to write, one has to be caught up in themselves
Enough to not care what someone else thinks
To neglect those that are loved for some creation
That they themselves create to be loved
I try
and I try
To see another path, or a fork
Saying what I really should be doing
But it always leads back to this black marble pen
With a flaming quill out its back
Burning words into the parchment
Desperately trying to reincarnate life

My constant reinsurance, like a 3 year old
At his first day of school, just never comes
Never strong enough to make me close my eyes
And believe that I should devote myself to
Potential

There is no comfort zone for artists
Just questions, just desires, just the story
That has not yet been written

I got a feeling

That tonight's gonna be a good night.....

That's All LOL

Comatose

My eyes opened as the cool air from the window blew across me. The sun shone like a ray of hope across the white hospital sheets. I watched as the nurse came in quietly. She smiled at me. I guess to comfort me, to make me think that things were going to be alright. I hoped that they were, but they showed no signs of improving. My friend, this pale faced man lay in bed, his long black hair resting on the pillow case. I stared at him waiting for a twitch, a cough, a wink, something that tells me that he was still alive. Why wasn’t I there? Why did it happen to him? Who did this to him?
4 days ago, we were out playing a game of basketball. He beat me 12-10 on a hot streak that was uncharacteristically like him. He laughed and said “better luck next time sport.” I told him that he was lame because no one says sport nowadays. He smiled in that cocky way that he always smiles when I tease him. We went into the locker room. I reached up to grab the locker and he laughed. “I wonder who has the key” he says to me smirking. I had forgotten that we shared a locker. After we changed, we drove off our separate ways. We were going to meet at the house so I could beat him in our Saturday video game marathon. I waited for about an hour for him to show up or at least call. I called his cell. The same song played on the ring back, love lockdown. I always told him that Kanye wasn’t that great of an artist. He would always smile and start singing some random Kanye ditty that was on the radio. He never let my teasing get to him. I called him 4 more times over the next two hours. The same song, the same result happened over and over again. Later that day I got a call from the hospital, it seemed that I was listed as his emergency contact. I walked into the hospital doors and was hit by the lovely aroma of Lysol and sickness that floats through every hospital. I told the plump front desk nurse who I was and she escorted me to the hospital room. There was my friend lying on the bed with a bloody bandage around his head and cuts up and down his arms and legs.
“What happened” I asked to the blond haired nurse that escorted me in.
“The police officer that brought him in said that he was involved in a hit and run. They think the assailant was drunk and forced him into the concrete side rail. He was ejected from his car. He is lucky to be alive.”
“Oh my god, it's going to be ok. Do they know who did this?”
“Umm no they don’t know who it was yet and…..”
“Is he sedated?”
“I’m sorry he is in a coma.”
I tried to fight the tears welling up in my eyes; but, I couldn’t. I stood there trying not to look at this woman and cried. The salty liquid streamed down my cheeks leaving wet spots on the front of my shirt. “I need to be strong”, I thought to myself, “What would Charles say if he saw me like this.” As I stood there cheeks wet, the nurse handed me a tissue and quietly left the room. She left me alone to stare at my comatose friend.
I went home that night and lay on the couch until my girlfriend came home. I tried to hide my hurt and my fear from her, but it didn’t work. She touched me gently on my back and asked if I was alright. I told her about Charles. “Oh that so sad, I hope he recovers,” she said and then she got up and went to the bathroom. Again I was left alone.
Everyday I visited hoping to see some sort of improvement. I knew that that the longer that he stays in the coma the more likely he will not recover from it. His body stayed lifeless everyday. I talked to him for hours on end. If he was awake he would have asked me when did I get so chatty. I never was one for garrulousness, but I felt that if he just had someone that was there for him he would wake up. I knew that his family would not come. His immediate family died when he was 17 and he had been disowned by the rest of his family on the eve of him going to college. I remember meeting him while I was moving into the dorms. He wasn’t that big of a dude, about 5’8 and 150 pounds wet. He was moving a bunch of boxes by himself to the next room over. I offered to help him, thinking that this would be a way to meet some more people in the dorm. I didn’t care that he was white and I was black. I was just thinking that a normal person would offer to help. After I helped him, he offered to help me move my stuff and we talked. We had similar interests; we both played basketball in high school, liked war video games and John Grisham books. It has been 6 years since we have been friends. As he was lying there, I couldn’t help to think that it was ending too quickly.
Now it was the fourth day I have came to see him. Everyday I felt like the bed was slowly swallowing him, taking him from me. I wanted to make the bed stop. I wanted to hear him again, but I couldn’t do anything about it.
“What do you want to talk about today? How about me; although, we always talk about me. I have been having some problems with my girlfriend lately. She seems cold to me, like she is hiding something. She doesn’t look at me the same way that she did before. She doesn’t even question me. Isn’t that odd for a woman not to question her man. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I am not doing something. Maybe she knows that I am not who she thinks I am. You always told me that I would be happier if I was myself. I just don’t think I can be myself around her….Man, I wish that you would give me some advice.”
The cold blank look on his face told me that I was not going to get any answers. Even now, I knew that I would care a lot less if it was her on this bed.
“I need to tell her…..Don’t I”
In the hospital parking lot, I dialed her number. The phone rang back a melodious Ciara. “One-two step, one- two step.” She didn’t answer. “Maybe she is busy”, I thought to myself. I drove home through the traffic laden highway stopping to pick up some moo moo gai pan and sweet and sour pork for dinner. I arrived at her house and saw her black civic in the driveway. I walked past the car, but there was something different. There was a big dent on the passenger side of the car that looked to be cleaned off. “She must have got into an accident, but she hasn’t told me anything about it.” I thought to myself.
I walked in the house into her kitchen and told her that I brought food. She walked in calmly and smiled innocently at me.
“Hey, I saw the dent in the car. Are you ok? What happened?”
Her mood suddenly darkened as she opened her mouth to reply. “This jackass hit my car in the parking lot at work and drove off. I came out of work a couple days ago and found it like this.”
“Sorry to hear that. Well at least you are ok.” I felt the tears burrow their way to the surface of my face as I thought about Charles lying in the hospital. I knew that I had to leave. I couldn’t sit there in her house without thinking of Charles. There were just too many things that she didn’t know and I didn’t know what effect it would have on her if she found out. I told her that I had to go and walked back outside. Just as I was about to get in my car, she came to the door. “I know about you two; you can just drop the façade.” I stood there quietly, not knowing how to reply. So I just said, “Well then that’s that. I guess it’s over between us. How long have you known?” “Long enough”, she replied back as she turned, slammed and locked her door. “Great. Now, I really am alone.” I thought to myself.
I started my car and drove back to the hospital. The rain outside echoed my state of mind. When I arrived, there were two policemen waiting by Charles’ room. “Hello Mr. Davis. We have some information regarding Mr. Anderson. A witness to the accident said that they saw a black civic smash into Mr. Anderson’s car. We are currently looking for a black civic with a dent in the passenger side door or fender. However, with the common make and model of the car it is highly doubtful that we will find the person who did this”
Just as the policeman made it to the end of the hall, a shrill beep blared out of the room. “Nurse, nurse, someone…..please”, I screamed at the top of my lungs. The cacophony of people running into the room was drowned out by that beep and straight red line reading off of the heart monitor. “Clear!” they yelled as they put the steel pads on Charles’ chest. The electricity surged through his body as he tensed up. A thump and then a flat line again. “Clear!” they yelled again and again his body jumped but still no constant heart beat. His face still cold looking and eerily peaceful. It was like a dream and all at once it was over. The nurses all left and there I was, staring at my friend, my lover. I guess it was the shock, but I couldn’t cry anymore.
I left the hospital into the cold and dreary night that laid waiting for me. There was nothing I could do anymore. There was nothing I wanted more, but just to have him back with me again. I started my car, while Luther’s “a house is not a home” played softly on the radio. “It’s funny how the world turns towards your mood, if you’re having a bad day it progressively gets worse. It’s like there is a universal law that robs people of happiness and places them back into the melancholy of life.” I spoke to the radio that was taunting my sadness and sanity. “It’s her fault. I saw the dent. She knew about us. I bet she was the one who did this.” Dark thoughts rang like the independence bell in my head. I merged onto the highway and headed straight to her house. Every note on the radio played some stupid love song that I knew I would never feel again. That I could never feel again. The car drifted through the dreary night. The highway was clear except a dark colored car behind me.
Two turns before the exit the dark car sped up. “Wham!” My head jerked forward as I almost lost control of the car. I spent my head back to see he car coming at me again. I tried to slam on the breaks but it was too late. “Wham!” The dark car was grinding the side of my car and forcing me into the guide rail. I tried to turn against the other car and push it back onto the highway, but to no avail. One last push and my car spun out. The world went spiraling around me as the car started to then flip. Concrete, sky, concrete sky, concrete. The car finally stopped. I sat there bloody and trapped. The top of the car was pressing against my head and the steering wheel was caught on my lap. I looked up at my left hand and saw a shard of glass the size of a baseball lodged into my wrist. I tried to move my right hand, but the pain seized control of the muscles causing it to lie helpless. My whole body hurt and the world comprised only of concrete, glass and pain. It started to get darker. I thought to myself that there should be some white light and my life should flash before my eyes, but all that happened was pain. I heard a siren in the distance and some muddled words. All I wanted to do was close my eyes. I felt them getting drowsier and drowsier. The pain was dimming a little, just enough for me to close my eyes. It felt good and quiet, so I closed my eyes.

Photo of a soccer model

All you have to do is take a picture for a moment
And hope that everything that you felt
That was brooding inside of you
Like a tempest dismantling a leaf
Does not show
Can I be you in the photo
Hidden, silent, emotionally dull
Expressing form, fantasy, philosophy
In a few slight movements of the hips, lips and arms
Can I be you in the photo
Allowing the artificial sun to entwine your
Granite body in ghostly warmth
Making the lavender stalk rise to reach the sky
Reaching for an answer that you know
In the pursing of your lips
Naked in the lens, laughing
In the crimson light of development
Never sharing that truth that you know
That is revealed in your eyes
That truth that I want to be just like you

Not a poem or a story just a journal

Most of the times when I start to write about my experiences they begin with "it's funny how" as if there is some divine joke that I just understood. When in reality its just a pensive reflection on how we must laugh to stop from crying. Although, as of right now I don't have much to cry about.

Last week my car was broken into and my gps was stolen. Saying that sucked was an understatement. I have come to realize how dependent I am on GPS. It's like a giant direction mosquito sucked my whole sense of direction out of my head. I found that even on normal everyday drives, I stare at my car console thinking do I turn left here. Obviously, I miss my turn 9 times out of 10. I guess the whole male spatial intelligence thing totally missed me.

And speaking about male things....lol... I find myself even more conflicted when comes to love. So, I was dumped for the first time after two months, which I guess I knew was coming. He said that we were in different places in our lives (which is true) and that he didn't want to be in a relationship ( I guess it happens lol). So I guess I am back to square one. Although, what is going to happen with this beach trip that we and friends were supposed to be going on...disaster

I have also found that I'm quickly changing into something I never thought I would be before. My friends have noticed my hand movements and gestures are changing. Am i becoming flamboyant....more than i already was....insert scary oh face here. I guess you become who you hang out with. I am not saying its a bad thing, but still it's different.

How many loves can there be?

I started off with a flip of the coin

Her hair black roses wilted in the sun

We came together through the electricity in our skins

A mistake, a regret, a grievance that i can never take back

Like the auric bee I moved on to the next

A de-valued daisy that bloomed in the pit of my loneliness

Not an exotic flower in clandestine mud

But a common weed in all its glory

I can still see the leaves, gold with rain dripping

Beautiful in its own way, specially

When her pollen came to meet my body

Like the gilded bee I moved on to the next

Daffodil, tulips, buttercups, lilies, belladonnas

irises, sunflowers, poinsettias, lavender, dahlias,

flaxes, callas, lotuses, orchids, hyacinths and desert roses

I tasted them all, stopping, tasting on their nectar,

kissing their petals and admiring their stems

they all bathed me in their beauty

but i never stayed long enough

i always flew back to the hive satisfied

and by myself, pollen still clinging to my memory

still like the amber bee i moved on

past the flowers, to the trees, to their fruit

tasting their apples, oranges, grapes, bananas

their pineapples, cherries and star-fruit

trying to find the thing that I missed with the flowers

hoping that they treat me better

hoping that they can fill the void

in my heart, mind, soul and body

hoping that i can finally feel completed

even if only for a moment

And now for something beautiful

Thailand…how i miss thee so.

Time

We walk hand in hand down the darkly lit path

you pull me further and further

watching the scream from my eyes

get louder and louder

You never let go

you never let me stop and stay

for longer than a moment

always just a memory

until i forget and the path

fades from view

…………………………………………………………………

Why do moments fade so quickly?

OMG

So, I think I am going insane. The mailbox, the email inbox and my phone are all cursing me from overuse. I have put my whole life on hold waiting for news if I can go to grad school or not. In hindsight, this might not have been the best choice, when I think of my own funds and sanity, but hey it's too late to cry over the milk dried and stinking on the ground.

The Day the Clock Changed

“How many times do I have to say this to you; DO NOT GO OUT BY YOURSELF!” Janet yelled. Her mahogany hair fell recklessly by her worry ridden face. The other families in the cellar stared at the spectacle in front of them.
“I know mommy, I just wanted to get some air. We have been in this cellar for a week. I didn’t hear anything outside. I wanted to see if the city was still there.” Margie cries. Her frail little body made her look younger than her 14 years. The terror of knowing that the country is at war and that it had finally made it to their home turf was slowly wearing away her pubescent shielding. She used to be a happy, normal, moody young girl. Her curly black locks used to cover her head like a crown, telling everyone she was the princess of the world. Nothing seemed to break her. She was more confident then most girls her age. It could have been because she was beautiful and all the girls in school wanted to be her. She would walk through her high school and watch as all the boys stared at her, wanting her in a way that she did not quite fully understand. She liked the attention though. It made her feel wanted and special; but, now with the schools closed and being stuck in this cellar waiting. She no longer felt special. She was scared and tired and anxious. Her mother’s frantic worrying and her incessant pacing around the cellar bomb shelter made it all worse. It was like her world was crumbling around her.
She started hearing small bangs in the distance. The quiet cacophony of sounds echoed off of the shelter. “They’re getting closer.” Her mother whispered to her. The city lay helplessly in the background. Margie could feel the pressure of the world slowly encroaching on her last refuge, her last feeling of safety.
“Mom, why? Why is all of this happening? Why are we fighting? Why hasn’t Steven come home yet?”
“Your brother went off to protect us. We fight because we have to….protect…protect what we hold dear, our freedoms. I want you to grow up not worrying if Iran or Iraq or North Korea or anywhere else is going to attack you. That’s what your brother understood. He left to go fight.”
“But you always told us fighting was wrong. That fighting only led to more fighting. And that we should settle our differences with words. You said that adults don’t need to fight anymore because they can talk and understand.”
“I know, but for some things… talking does not work. That other country won’t talk. All they want to do is blow things up and kill innocent people, like you and me. When talking fails we have to fight. Or they will hurt us.”
“But isn’t that country made up of people too. Do they all want to fight?”
The quiet distant boom grew louder and louder as it made its way to the house. Margie and Janet both ducked and held on to each other as the resounding sound shook the shelter. The echo of automatic fire clanged off the building next to them.
“How did they get so close.” Janet yells to the other families in the shelter. Their worried faces echoed back the same feeling of despair that Janet was feeling. A small white man stood up. Scared and determined, he walked up the stairs to the entrance of the shelter. The sounds were louder now. He peeked his head out into the air. The 5 story building next to him was on fire. The windows were blown completely out. The bricks were charred and smoldering like the end of a cigarette. “This is bad”, he said, “This is really bad.” Another volley of fire rang out from the city streets. The little man stood there, head popped out of the door. His hands were limp and hung by his side like curtains. “Hey, come back in here!” Screams the man’s wife. He didn’t turn around and he didn’t answer. His body swayed for a moment and then tumbled down the stairs. His head was split open. Half of his face was gone and the other half was smeared on the door. The man’s wife started to cry and scream. Anguish, tiredness and hopelessness spread through her voice like a disease, infecting all the families hiding in the shelter. Margie sat there deaf to it all. Her little body was still and her eyes were staring holes, like light through a magnifying glass, into the dead man.
Another explosion reverberated through out the shelter. They heard the cling, cling, cling, cling of bullets ricocheting off the obstacles to their targets. A hard clash brings down the door to the shelter. “Everyone hide!” Janet coughs up through the smoke of the explosion. She picked up Margie and put her into a large red igloo box and closed the lid. Men holding black rifles entered the shelter first. They separated the men, women and children. Margie was the only one not found. The angry looking men in their black uniforms and black rifles tie all of the women and children together. They drag the men outside. Margie hears the muffled screams of the women and children from inside her box. The cold wet interior kisses her legs as they started to cramp up from being in such a small space. “Bam, bam, bam, bam.” She hears over the women’s and children’s cries. The stairs creaked as the uniformed men came rumbling down the stairs. They started speaking in a language foreign to Margie’s ears. Then they picked up the rope tied to the women and children and dragged them outside. The screams became more distant to Margie as she lay in her plastic tomb. The sound of more gunshots snaked its way down the cellar strangling Margie’s mind. She stayed still not by her own volition, but because of the terror that infiltrated her muscles causing them to tense up and paralyze her.
For a long time she sat in her box, unable to move. The quietness that surrounded her was almost unearthly. She picked herself out of the box and stared at the partially destroyed cellar. The boxes with food were torn apart and the stairs were broken. She climbed up the stairs jumping over the cracked and missing steps into the city. The buildings lay wasted around her. Cracked glass and smoldering cars were littered everywhere. “Mom!” She called out, the silence broken by her ragged scared little voice. “Mom, where are you?” She walked slowly into the street. The bodies of her former cellar-mates rested face down on the sidewalk. Mary the florist, Jane the florist’s daughter, Randy the grandpa, Arnold the 4 year old boy who always carried an old worn stuffed rabbit, Francis the gay bartender, Janine the African painting collector all laid face down on the concrete. The blood slowly ran down the street and started to pool in the gutter. Margie’s mind went numb again as she walked past the bodies. She looked left into the bushes and saw an arm hanging out the bush. “Please no,” she thinks to herself.
Drawn to the bush she walked over to it, the bruised hand seemingly reaching out to her. The body of the mangled woman was stretched out on her back. The clothes were ripped off of her and bruises and cuts from the bush were scattered all over her body. One large bullet hole was right in her chest. “Mom….mom…mom….” Margie cried picking up the dead woman. The tears on her face dropped like rain, soaking the woman’s face washing the dirt off in small spots.
Margie got up and then started walking away. A TV in another building managed to survive. Its CNN newscast blared at the little girl.
“With DC, New York, Los Angeles and San Francisco being destroyed, America is in the worst state it has ever been. We are now broadcasting from Denver, Colorado all of our offices on the coast have been destroyed. Our recent attacks on Iraq, Cuba, North Korea, and Pakistan have caused a significant backlash. The axis of evil that was professed by President Bush have banned together because of America’s refusal to have peace talks as long as they have communist countries. I will say that America is at its darkest hour. We have just got word that our missiles have hit and demolished Baghdad, Iraq; Esfahan, Iran; Pyongyang, North Korea and La Habana, Cuba. The nuclear onslaught was believed to be successful. However with the nuclear destruction of our cites and occupation by axis forces in America, we are not sure how long out own country has. For all of you who do or do not believe in god, please pray to whomever you must that we will make it thro……” The signal went dead.
“Why, what could be so important for this many people to die!” Margie called out to the dead TV screen. The eerie silence and death abound in front and back of her suffocate her as she is brought to her knees. A slow whistle from above her made her turn to the sky. In the distance, she saw a large metal object dropping from the sky. She stared at it some more, the fire blasting out of the end of it became clear. With a loud crash it hit. A giant explosion sprouted up about a mile away. A giant concussion hit Margie knocking her off her feet. A wave of heat singed her skin sending shots of pain to her brain. It was all over quickly, the blast, the heat, the sound, the force and now there was nothing left. The buildings were totally demolished and there was no sign of life in the city anymore.