NOW

I'm on the balcony listening to some very expressionistic music, I like to watch myself die every now and then. The look on my face is peaceful and that comforts me. I do a quick back and forth between that moment and running through the moist lawn in front of my old house when I was just a child. It still makes me grin when I see my stubby, little legs run as fast as they can with that blissful smile on my face right before I trip and fall into the soft bed of wet grass blades. If only every moment were as defining as these two.

I sigh heavily and stand up out of my chair, grabbing the cold, black metal railing for support. I lean over it and glance around at the scenery in small hopes that there might be something interesting to temporarily steal my attention. There are a few birds and a squirrel hopping along the power poles. What it would be like to be either of them, to see with such small eyes and only live to fill a few, basic desires. Sure, the gift of sentience is a precious one, but every now and then I can't help but be bothered by it. How much easier would it be if all I had to do was eat, sleep, reproduce, and live to see another day? I ponder the question and the ironic parallels to my life currently.

After growing tired of the circular logic, I grab my coffee and walk back inside. It's either too late at night or too early in the morning depending on how you like to perceive the day. With my work schedule the way it is, I've become well acquainted with this eerie, silent twilight -- too late for the party crowd to still be conscious and too early for the nine-to-fivers to start their hustle and bustle. I robotically move the coffee cup up to my lips and take another sip; I should've realized that it had gone cold by now, but I assume part of me didn't care.

Down in the apartment garage, I hear the breaking echo of my car horn as I unlock it. The familiar musk of aging interior upholstery sends me to my days in high school; instantly, I'm in the back seat with the first girl whose shirt I ever got up. My hands feel her soft breasts and her eyes venture deep into my thoughts and desires. The sound of the engine starting snaps me back to the front seat and I exhale a soft breath of longing that I didn't know I was holding. The drive to work is empty and mundane, no one on the roads at this hour. I swing by the one coffee shop I know is open and grab a Shot in the Dark from a teenager who looks as far away as the memory I felt in the garage.

I decide to project through my day and see what uninteresting events will unfold, I'm not in the mood for surprises today. We'll get another big order in and Lois will go on about how her son won his soccer game yesterday; Nathan will insist that we get reports compiled for our individual projects and that we should stop projecting our days so we have a little excitement and mystery to look forward to. I laugh to myself about the irony of his statement, not projecting so we have something to look forward to. He will recommend we all try the product, he swears by it. I, on the other hand, think it's unnatural; why would you want to give up your sense of time? Plus, it always gives me a wicked headache. Nathan always asks us, "Would you buy a product from someone who didn't use it themselves?" I know a pregnancy test works, but I don't ask the store clerk to piss on it to prove it to me. Ass.

I spin in my swivel chair and think about the time I projected to my wedding day, thinking this of course throws me right into that tux; I can smell all the wet, fresh-cut roses and lilies -- they're her favorite -- around me while my groomsmen are pretending to know how to make me look good.

"Tighten your belt up a bit, dude." Taylor points out.

"Yeah, and straighten your tie, it's all jacked up." Suggests John.

"Shut up, you said that 5 minutes ago when I adjusted it last." I take a step back, straighten my hair, and look in the full body mirror with them behind me, "Do I look good?"

"Yeah."

"Totally."

"Perfect."

"Nice ass."

"Shut up, Taylor." I smirk. "Good enough to marry?"

"Mehhhh."

"Welll.."

"Ah, go to hell, all of you." I straighten my tie when John looks away and take one last big breath. "Alright, let's do this." The wedding music floods my ears as the ushers open up the door to the outdoor reception hall; it's beautiful, classical music echoing off of the tall, majestic pines that line the perimeter. There are blood red, gold, and ivory ribbons draped from Venetian columns on the outside of the rows of chairs; all the faces of the people are aimed back at me. My memory only recalls some of them, others I haven't met yet, but apparently will play large enough of a role in my life that I will invite them to my own wedding. As I walk to the front where the Bishop is standing, I see my mother sitting there, gorgeous as always; it's as though she has some mystical field around her that wards off the clutching hands of Father Time. My dad has passed away by this time, but I still feel him there.

I stand and wait, as anxious as the whole of the audience combined, and then, there she is, like a candle floating through a window and illuminating the room. Her steps seem so light, they wouldn't even crush the soft pedals the flower girl is sprinkling in front of her. With each step she takes, my breath gets shorter and shorter and shorter. There is music pounding in my brain, symphonies and oceans crashing up against either side of my head. She never takes her eyes off me, as though I am the only other person there, as though we could be two children in a forest pretending to get married under a tree that we've drawn a bishop on and it would be the same, as though I am the only thing in the whole universe she cares for and everything else could turn to dust, but this moment, that we share, this tiny, rapturous moment is ours and no one can take it from us.

Everything the bishop says is a blur as I stare at her, and then, "Do you James Anderson, take..."

And that's where I stop. I don't want to know her name; I know if I do, then I'll jerk every time I hear someone say it in a coffee shop, every time an order goes up in a fast food restaurant, every time a patient is called in a waiting room. I just can't handle that. It's bad enough that I already know what her face looks like; if I ever see it, I'm going to run as fast as I can away from it. I can't do that. I just can't.

"James. ...JAMES!" Nathan shouts.

"What? God, you don't have to yell. I was..."

"You were... what? Projecting again?" He scoffs. "We can't keep going over this, James, I'm making you take the pill. We have big shipment coming in today and you know I need those reports." He pauses as I shift uncomfortably in my seat. "That goes for you too, Lois."

"Damn." Lois whispers.

"Alright, fine, I'll take the stupid pills." I concede, it's no use arguing with him about this.

"They're not stupid. They're efficient, they help you get things done," he's doing his sales-pitch thing to me again, I hate it so bad, "you don't spend all your time living in the past or the future, you spend it right HERE and right NOW!" He stamps on the floor and looks at me with a very serious face. I return his stare with a look that says, "Are we done here?" He hands me the pills, I take two and choke them down with my luke-warm coffee. "It'll give you something to look forward to." I swivel back around to my desk and start thinking of where to begin.

"Ahem?..." I swivel back around to find Nathan still standing there. "Tongue..." For a second I'm confused, then, when I realize what he wants me to do, I feel as ridiculous as a child who doesn't want to take their vitamins. "Tongue!" I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out, making a depressing "Ahhh" sound while doing so. "Good. Back to work then." He exclaims as he walks off. "That means no more games Lois!"

Lois closes out her Solitaire game. "Damn"

At 6 AM we get our big shipment. The draft of the morning air comes down the hall from the warehouse and makes my feet cold. "If this product's selling as well as we say it is, you'd think we could afford a better heating system." I joke semi-sarcastically. Lois giggles a little bit then starts to talk about her son's soccer game. Go Tommy. Hooray. And so on. And so on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day drifts by and I yawn as I try to contemplate what I did in the day, but the drugs have made everything fuzzy. "Let's see I... Lois, did I get my reports done?"

"Yep, sure did. And you also told Nate where he can stick 'em when you gave 'em to him. Are you just having one of those days?" Lois asks kindly.

"Must be. It's just every time I take those things..."

"Mm, say no more, I know the feeling. That's why I just keep to myself and play my solitaire." She turns back around as I'm stroking my temples and trying to think about what I will eat for my lunch/dinner when I get home, but nothing comes, it just hurts my head more, like there's someone trying to push a screwdriver through the front of my skull. The clock reads 1:32 PM.

"I know it's not 2, but I'm getting outta here. I'll see you tomorrow." I say as I stand up and grab my coat.

"No you won't. Tomorrow's Fridee." She replies, it catches me that she always says 'Fridee' instead of 'Friday.' God, that's annoying.

"Well, in either case, see you next time we're both here. Enjoy yourself." I give a lazy wave as I shuffle down the hall. I nod to the old security guard as I exit the building; who the hell is he gonna protect if someone ever tries to rob us? HA! I laugh to myself at the mental imagery of Bruce standing there all wobbly with his gun pointed at the burglar, he'd probably collapse of a heart attack before the thief could get a shot off. He's probably looked ahead and seen that nothing's going to happen to him so he feels safe, but how good is that? To know that nothing is ever going to happen to you?

The afternoon air is crisp and cool, I tuck my neck and chin into my coat as I approach my car. The sun has heated the steering wheel and seat which feels nice. I turn on the radio and listen to what is now being called "Classics" which is ridiculous to me. "I remember when this song came OUT! Tsh! I was a senior in high school. That was only... Well, I guess it has been a while."

On my way home, I drive past the park where I will supposedly meet the woman I'm going to marry one day. I usually jump right to that first encounter, but the drugs are blocking it out. Somehow I'm able to at least envision the scene; it's summertime and the park's grass is glowing fluorescent green from the strong sunlight; everything is bright like when you first open your eyes in the morning. I remember deciding to make the most of this day and go running. A few more details drift up, I'm making a few laps around the park and nodding at the people running faster than me; I'm not the best runner and I'm content with that. I remember children playing on the brightly-colored jungle-gym, they're giggling and smiling and squirting each other with water guns; it puts a smile on my face and for what feels like the first time in a long time, I'm content with the world. In an instant, I'm jerked through the fuzziness and into the scene.

I decide to take a water break when I finish the lap, seeing all those streams of water made me extremely thirsty. I go to grab the knob that controls the water spout, but then I see her reaching for it too and stop.

"Oh no, you go ahead." We say in unison, then pause, then laugh.

"No really, you go ahead, I'll hold it for you." I say, trying to be chivalrous. She pulls her long, brown hair aside and positions her delicate cherry lips close to the fountain, I catch myself staring at them and not turning the knob so I quickly turn it and a hard stream squirts right up her nose and hits her eyes. She starts to squeal and put her hands out in front of her. I let go of the knob as though it were hot iron. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" I shout, feeling like I had just spilled ink on a priceless painting. She stands there for a second flicking the water off her hands and wiping it off her face. Then she looks at me, and I remember those eyes, though I haven't seem them yet, I remember them.

"Oh you will be." She says, grabbing the bucket that had been placed under a leaky pipe by the fountain and was full of mud and cigarette butts. I don't even have time to process her statement before she starts chasing me and I start running away.

"Don't do it, that's GROSS!" I scream.

"This is the only fair thing to do! Quit running away like a girl!!" She yells back. I criss-cross across the park, dodging small children, jumping over soccer balls, and ninja-spinning around family pets until I hit a wet spot and fall right into the wet grass blades. I look up in terror as she smiles and pours the whole thing all over my chest. "There, now we're even." She says with finality. I grab her foot from under her and bring her crashing down to the soft grass then slide up next her and look into her inquisitively. Before I can say anything, she kisses me gently, quickly. "No, now we're even." She says with a sly smile. And for an instant, it's like we're the only two people in the park, the only two people in the whole universe, and the only thing that matters is that we have this moment.

"Who are you?" I ask in awe.

"I'm me, but that probably doesn't mean much to you. If you're asking what my name is, it's..."

I click the garage door opener as I pull into my apartment complex, it's amazing that I'm able to project with that stuff still in my system, let alone drive all the way home while projecting, that's a skill that requires practice.

My head is throbbing as I climb the stairs to 6th floor. I just want to get to my apartment and take a nap. I haven't slept in days and my body is definitely reminding me of it. I throw my jacket onto one of the 4 chairs around my dinner table that rarely ever gets used then throw myself onto the couch. For some reason, though I can't explain it, I always sleep better when I'm on the couch. Of course, I typically spend most nights in my bed because that's normal, but if I ever need a good nap, the couch is the place to be.

I stare up at the dark ceiling, the blinds are closed, they're always closed. I wonder what I will dream about, that's the one thing I can never project, that I don't need stupid pills for. My eyelids feel swollen and heavy so I allow them to close. Now it's just me and you, thoughts. I let myself sink into the couch and dissipate into the dreamwaters where everything is calm. There is no light, but there is no need for light. There is no sound but I know what everything is trying to say. My dreambody steps out of the water and is dry. I'm met with a tree that is perfectly symmetrical on all four sides, four main branches coming out of the large trunk and splitting in the same places on each one. There are golden apples hanging strategically throughout the tree, there are thin, yellow snakes with vicious fangs swirling around the largest apples, snapping and hissing in unison. The ground is cracked and grey like cold ash and feels gentle on my feet.

I want an apple, I'm starving, but I know that if I grab a small one, even a few small ones, it will not be enough. I have to outwit the snake. I circle around the tree to see if I can find a weak spot, but they're all the same, all watching me with their wicked, black pearl eyes. I walk close to the tree and feel its trunk, it's cold and feels like hard plastic; if I pull away at the bark, it falls off on all four sides. I figure that if I knock down one of the big apples, all four will come down and the snakes will have to break their unison to try an attack me. I break off a low-hanging branch and swing at the apple. The snakes hiss at me as a stern warning. I swing again at the apple and connect, all four of them fly in the exact same line down to the ground, all four snakes look at me as though I had just broken an ancient artifact. When the apple touches the ground, I am suddenly split into four me's, one in each corner, all moving in unison. We are all aware of each other and feel the same panic as the clever snake approaches; it knew this would happen. My first thought is to run away, but to where? I'm on an island and if I go in the water it will just catch up with me quicker. The fear of the being by the snake builds as it slithers toward me and I slowly back away. Then something very strange happens, my mind loses all fear and I see no point in running away and being bitten when I can just a easily jump toward it and share my last moments devouring the delicious apple. I snap and make a lunge toward the apple, grasping it with both arms and plunging my teeth into its tender, golden skin. The amber juices drip down the sides of my mouth as I moan and ravenously chew the fluorescent yellow flesh. The snake is temporarily stunned at my behavior, then shakes off its hesitation and takes equal pleasure in sinking its fangs into my bare shoulder blade. Go ahead snake, enjoy yourself, you'll get a good meal out of me.

I feel as though someone is shoving cotton in my ears and the silence I heard before is now muffled. My lips go cold but I continue to bite. My finger tips go numb but continue to grasp. My vision goes dark but there is nothing left to see. I feel as though I am on a giant blanket and the center is sinking rapidly under my weight. I am a falling kite. I am a pebble on the water. Several moments pass and then there is a sudden tightening of the blanket that held me and my speed forces me to rip right through it. There is vertigo, there is confusion, then, there is light. I hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. The wind is knocked out of me and it takes me a second to catch my breath. I sit up and try to get my bearings, I am on a narrow mountain road at nighttime. My eyes squint at the light that is now very close and very intense. I am able to quickly glimpse at the source and am instantly paralyzed.

"NO!!!"

I see her. Her eyes find mine and utter terror consumes her face. Time slows to the deadliest crawl. I am once again a frozen witness to this scene. She turns to see our 2 year old daughter in the car seat behind her. My hearts sinks. She turns back to me. Her body remains still, but I see her soul stretch out to me. She extends her hand and I reach out mine, she's crying. My god, why? Why does she have to die this way? Our fingers don't quite touch before she is pulled back in and she swerves to the right, sending the car careening out of control. It's skids hard and spins halfway around before hitting the railing and flipping over the edge.

"NOOOO!!!!! GOD DAMMIT!!!!!" I scream. I shiver. I gasp. I choke. "NOOOOO!!!! PLEASE!!" I collapse. Why this? Why do I always have to see this? I never should have looked this far. Everyone told me to stay close, I might not like what I see. Damn them. Of course I wouldn't listen. Damn everything.

I awake and I'm still crying, my pillow is damp with tears. What a bizarre dream. I try to shake it off, but it's no use. Whenever I see her die, the rest of my day is useless. I decide to make myself some coffee and go sit out on the porch. I've gone and slept through the whole day and now it's evening again. How did that dream take so long?

I get to see the sunset over the distant mountains, the clouds and lake are burning crimson and tangerine. Their glow ignites something in me and I think about what I did in my dream. Why did I not run away? Is my true nature to go after what I desire even if I know it's going to end in tragedy?

"Hmmm." I ponder to myself as the hot steam of my coffee kisses my nose and floats up past my eyes. I turn on some calm, expressionistic music and sink further into my chair and thoughts. Maybe tomorrow I will go to the park for a run. Maybe.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I

    I gave birth to myself 15 years ago. I have raised myself since i was a baby. I keep telling myself that there are some things I need to explain to me; I keep telling myself that it's time i start becoming a man. I often think that I don't understand myself very well.

                                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    i'm sitting on the couch when I come in the room and sit next to me.

    "Anything good happen today?" I ask.

    "Does it ever?" i reply. I sit next to myself for a couple minutes in silence before I grab the remote and turn off the television. i hate when I do that.

    "I need to tell myself something." I finally say after an uncomfortable silence.

    "I keep saying that but I never actually say it." i get really frustrated because this keeps happening; i don't know what is so difficult to say that I keep starting to say it but never finish.

    "It's.. It's just..." I pause and look at myself to gauge my mood. "Difficult to explain, alright?"

    "i think i know what I'm trying to say, others at school have been talking about it." i say, trying to alleviate My obvious anxiety.

    "WHAT?!" I exclaim. "No one is supposed to talk about their connection to any other!"

    "Don't freak out, they didn't say much... just that i and Me are somehow the same." i don't know why this made Me so upset.

    "Well.. yeah. It's kind of like that. It's just, they weren't supposed to be the ones to tell me; I was."

    "i didn't know. i just got tired of Me almost talking about it and then stopping before really explaining it. It's really frustrating."

    "I'm sorry... I was just never told and had to find out about the connection by Myself. I promised Myself that I would never do that to me so that i wouldn't have to go through the pain of wondering why I wasn't told. But when I tried to tell me, I didn't know how because no one ever explained it to Me." I stare at myself for a couple seconds so that I understand how i'm feeling. "I am me. That might be hard to fully understand... I gave birth to me with my body and mind. Now I am in both places, both bodies, both minds. The older I am, the less I am in one and the more I am in the other. i will only be whole when I die and i will only be alone long enough to have a fair amount of experiences that would be beneficial to me before i give birth to Myself again."

    i looked dumbfounded.

    "I know, it's very hard to understand. I'm trying to make it easier for me now than it was for Me when I found out. I had so many more questions, especially why I wasn't around to tell Me. Did that mean that I was a First? There hasn't been a First in hundreds of years and I most definitely don't feel wise enough to be a First. Was I abandoned? Was I too afraid to take care of Myself so I just left Myself to die or struggle My whole life? It was extremely difficult and emotional for Me, but I pulled through and I'm stronger today because of it. I think that might be the reason I did it, actually."

    i sat there looking shocked and speechless. "Wh.. but how?.. That doesn't make any sense. How can i be the same as Me? We're entirely different. i don't feel connected to Me at all."

    "i don't feel connected to Me at all?" I asked, feeling devastated.

    "Well, not really. At least i don't think so." i tried to wrap the idea around my head for a minute. "But why? Why do We give birth to Ourselves? Why do We raise Ourselves? Why are We never complete until we're dead? It doesn't make any sense!"

    "That's just the way it is. That's the way it's always been. If We didn't take care for Ourselves, then there would be no way We could survive, no way for Us to learn what it means to love and be loved, to nourish and be nourished. There is no other way."

    "Why can't We just be alone?" i asked. "Why can't We just be constantly learning and experiencing and benefiting ourselves?"

    "What good would that do Us? If We were the only one who benefited from our knowledge, our mistakes, our experiences, our love, our loss, our pain, our EVERYTHING, then all of that would die with Us. This way We can pass all of those along to Ourselves when We die. This way We continually benefit from our experiences."
  
    "But..." i was getting increasingly frustrated. "What if i don't want to make another Me? What if i want to be the only me and just be by myself?"

    "i can't do that. If i did, then I would die too and i would never live again. It's unspeakable to even think about that." I knew that i wouldn't like hearing this but it had to be said.

    "Rrrch! This is ridiculous! So i don't have a choice? i just have to continue the cycle, i don't get to choose when or whether or not I'm made again?! What if i want to be complete for longer? What if i'm not ready?!" i screamed.

    "No one is ever ready. And everything i'm feeling is completely normal." I reassured. "One day i will realize the importance of this connection and cycle. One day it will all make sense and i will start to feel ready. It just takes time."

    "One day, one day, ONE DAY! Not TOday! Not ANYDAY! It's all just too much, it's way too much!" i got up and started running up the stairs.

    "I'm not asking myself to be ready today!" I yelled to myself as i ran up the stairs. "I wanted to explain all this to myself before someone else had the chance! I... ughhhh." I sighed. I knew this wouldn't be easy. It's something that everyone has to learn eventually, one way or the other. I guess there are some things i just don't want to understand yet.

                                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Wind

There's got to be someplace where the wind stops,
someplace where it finally takes off its jacket and rests.
Where it gathers and sorts all the leaves and plastic bags it's collected,
where it reflects on all the people whose faces it brushed.
I wonder where that could be,
the edge of the world?
An inscalable mountaintop?
A vast cave that no man has seen the end of?
What a lonely and mystical place that would be;
like the Garden of Eden after all its inhabitants had been evicted.
Wherever that is I hate to think I might never see it,
but when I stand in the wind and see the fall leaves float listlessly on their way
I close my eyes and think about it;
the trees and I bow to your majesty,
your lonesome curse to sweep this earth of all its leaves and bags,
to live forever a brush away from the people you must ironically envy.
It's no wonder you punish those you love when you are angry,
I can only fathom the torture you must feel
when you spin whirlwinds around a little child and make them smile
only to realize how fleeting the moment is,
that they will never acknowledge you or thank you for that joy you gave them.
You and I are the same;
forced by fate to move ever forward
despite how desperately we cling to the moments of joy we try so hard to obtain.
I will try to meet you there,
one day when I am allowed to stop.
We'll take off our jackets together
and smile at all the things we've gathered along the way.
We'll joke about the difficult times
when it seemed like the constant whipping around would never end.
We'll sigh contentedly at the marks we've left on the earth
and at the fact that we no longer have to make them.
You and I,
one day;
but until then
I'll continue to be carried
by time and my own reluctant instinct to move forward
and stop to feel the wind brush my face when I can
and thank you.

Count A B C

Come count with me,
we can count all the lovely things we see.
There will be bushes of light
and candles in seas;
all of these things
you can count with me.

The husks from the tusks
of irrelevant elephants,
the musks in the dusk
of irreverent cherubim.
The bristles that chisel
the ice caves of blue-
all these things,
we can count them too.

There are beasts in the East
with fur coats of worms,
that bathe in the shade
where the tides of time turn.
They grin in the black
while their thoughts dream of hell,
all of these things
we can count as well.

Endless fields of wet ash
with smoke fairies arising,
their choking allure
much more than surprising.
Cascades of promenades,
dancing souls all delighted,
into ovens of passion
their bodies ignited.

Schools of fools
graduating,
their hands gravitating
to the fatted false calf
their fathers are saving.
And after the years
of life they've had pumiced,
we'll count how many still
have yet to be punished.
The hungry and fallen
found puking their bile,
oh yes, we'll count them,
we'll count them with a smile.

You'll see every last thing,
everything that can possibly be counted,
all the Creatures of Clouds
whose voices are TOUTED!
All the drunken old sages
who haggle their wares
on the fronts of old porches
and the bottoms of stairs.

And when we've counted it all,
every last thing that EXISTS!
We'll tally it up
and at last you'll insist
to do it again
because it cannot be true,
all of these things,
these things I've counted with you.
They're far too bizarre,
too supernal and odd
to be made of this earth
or even a god!
You'll tell me I've tricked you,
I'm as bad as the worst
of the demons and sages
who strain to coerce.
I'm just another thing
to be counted and then,
well, then my friend,
the counting will end.

-Kirk

Catwalk Microcosm

Catwalk Microcosm

I awake on the catwalk
I'm wearing my best suit.
I'll keep heading forward,
today will be a good day.

I dust off my clothes
and straighten my tie,
look behind me, up and down,
there is no one around to compete with.

The sky is a beautiful orange as always,
there is the slightest hint of citrus and spice
drifting through the air;
maybe someone else shares my ambition.

I start to make my first steps of the day,
the grated, black metal makes its familiar cling and ringing,
it's nice to hear you too.

I look down at my feet and the endless distance
between the catwalk's grates and whatever lies beneath it.
It occurs to me that at any moment the braces that hold the catwalk up could break
or I could decide to jump off the sides and plunge eternally into that great, bright vastness.
The thought is both tantalizing and terrifying,
that my whole life and existence is constantly at the mercy
of an unknown force and my own personal will.
Both appear so sickeningly easy to break.

My pace quickens as I walk along my path,
no bends, no corners,
just straight and flat as far as my eyes have keenness to see.
Sure, there are stairs,
I see them mockingly adjacent to my path but I don't bother taking them,
what's the point in making the effort to be however many feet above your current path
if you're walking in the same direction?

I have a briefcase that I've never looked into,
there's something important in it that I'm supposed to give to whomever I meet at the end.
I've been practicing since I can remember how I will present it to that person.
But who are they, what do I have to present?
What will they think of it?
What do we do once I've presented it?

My curiosity quickly loses steam and rots into apathy,
What does it matter?
How long have I been walking this path?
Is there even anyone at the end of it?
Is there even anything in my briefcase?
Is this all just a sick joke?
Telling someone they have something precious with them,
someone special to meet,
but you can't know what it is,
can't ever look at it,
can't ever know who you are going to meet.

What if there's nothing there?
What if the reason why there appears to be no competition
is because everyone else opened their briefcases long ago and found nothing in it
and jumped off, finally realizing the futility of their life's efforts?

Oh, this is a sick joke indeed.
I spin around,
hoping there is someone there,
the same someone who once told me my purpose in life
so I can spit in their face and show them the nothing I carry with me,
tell them I've figured out their little joke and I don't have the stupidity to take it anymore.

But there's no one there.
It's just me,
still,
always.

How I wish someone would have been there,
it would be so much easier to tell anyone that they are my captor
then to tell myself.

I shuffle off in disgust,
lousy no one,
lousy catwalk,
lousy sky.

In my fury I almost pass by another staircase,
but this time I stop.
Why don't I go up?
What's up there?
It appears to be the same as down here.
But then again it may only be because my perspective has conformed to thinking
that everything must be like where I am and is tricking me.
I decide to give it a chance,
I make the awkward, sideways shuffle to the base of the stairs,
this is definitely not something I'm used to.
I breath deeply and begin the ascent,
looking left and right as I do.
Nothing appears different yet,
maybe it will change,
it has to change.

Upon reaching the top of the stairs I take a moment to glance around,
everything appears the same but with a brush of blue at the top of all the orange.
What's so amazing about all this?
A new color?
That's all I get?

The catwalk goes both ways at the top of the stairs,
back and forth,
the only two directions.
I think what it must be like to go backwards
and wonder if anyone has ever done it.
It doesn't make sense to me,
nothing back there
and nothing ahead,
but at least you don't know what the nothing ahead is yet, right?

I start walking forward again,
I test the integrity of the metal grates and hand railings to see if they're different up here.
Still pretty solid,
just wobbly enough to put the fear of falling in your mind.

I walk until my energy starts to fade as it does regularly with time,
I have never learned a proper definition for the properties of time,
but I feel its effects on me and my patience very convincingly
and for that reason I do not doubt its power or existence.

I start to slow my pace and look back to check my progress,
there are no landmarks to give any indication but I know I must have traveled far
given the amount of energy I have lost.

I give in to the demands of my body and stop my progress,
I sit down with my legs crossed and lay my briefcase on the grates ahead of me for a pillow.
How did I get here?
I know my existence wasn't always like this,
there are memories of joy in my life but they seem like another life to me now.
I remember bright colors and laughter,
warmth, love, and family;
I remember feeling close to someone and wanting nothing more than their company,
that feeling is gone from me now.
All I'm left with are these metal grates,
guide railings and stairways,
a numbing sky and the hope for something better.
This is my life now,
this is what I'm left with.

NO!
I CAN'T ACCEPT IT!
I WON'T ACCEPT IT!
I stand up straight and look around.
SOMEONE!
ANYONE!
LET ME SCREAM AT YOU!
LET ME TEAR AT YOU!
LET ME FIGHT WITH YOU!
LET ME FEEL YOU!
ANSWER ME, GODDAMMIT! ANSWER ME!



But there's no one.
There never is.

I lean over the railing and look once again to the golden orange abyss below.
What if this is what I'm meant to do?
What if it's a test.

I step over the railing and look up at the new, blue tinge that lines my sky.
I'll never reach you, I confess.
I let go of the railing and feel myself fall.

Instinct makes me panic and I reach desperately for anything.
My left hand comes up empty but my right catches the edge of the catwalk.
I feel a searing pain as the entire weight of my body is placed on my shoulder,
the joints in my fingers strain to hold on to the small edge that is holding me.
In the top of my visual field I can see my briefcase laying on the grates,
as futile as its contents might be I want it with me now more than ever.
I try hopelessly to grab the catwalk with my left hand so I can pull myself up
but am not making any progress.

The fear that I will not be able to go back to the catwalk becomes real to me,
it's a horrible feeling but I can't help but feel relieved,
maybe this is the way it's supposed to be.

I look up at my fingers
and release them one by one,
sometimes there's no turning back.
I take a deep breath as I let the last one go,
the catwalk accelerates away from me
and I can feel the cool wind rush by me as I fall.

The color of the sky changes to a dark blue
and I feel tired and cold,
there are spots of white all around,
maybe this is the way it's supposed to be.

I give in to the needs of my body
and drift drunkenly to sleep.
I don't know where I'm going
and maybe this is the way it's supposed to be.

Why I Prefer to Sleep In

Morning, my old nemesis; I’m awake just in time to realize that I should go back to sleep- wonderful.

The phone rings. How long have I been asleep? Ten minutes? Half an hour? It could be two days for all I care; everyday has been the same recently: sleep in ridiculously late, make a miniscule breakfast, ponder my life and future, and try to..

BRRRrrrinnngg! What? Oh yeah, the phone is ringing. I reach out to pick up the phone, but hesitate; is the person on the other line going to be more annoying than the noise that the phone is making? I hate decisions, I never seem to be happy with the ones I make, not that.. BRRRrrrrinnnggg! I answer the phone- stupid instincts.

"Hello?"

"HI! Is this a Mr. …Wynder?" This is going to be a long conversation.

"Actually my name is pronounced WY-dner." This happens so often it shouldn’t bother me any more, but it does.

"Okay, sorry Mr. Winegar. Sometimes the system messes up the information. But the real important thing today is the opportunity I have for you, with our...." Blahblablah.

The salesmen continues talking and I keep the phone against my ear, but I’m gone, far, far away in some Foreign Land,… Downtown Tokyo actually, walking the neon-lit streets and drowning in all the smiling faces that I hate to admit look all the same. In this awe and excitement, I half-accidentally bump into a short, school-aged Japanese girl. She drops a book and some pencils; I bend over to help her pick them up.

"Arrigato." She says and gives me a wide, expectant smile. I know I should say, "you’re welcome" in Japanese, but unfortunately I don’t know how. Instead I say the only other Japanese phrase I know.

"Watashino namai-awa Kirk desu." And extend a now-obviously-foreign hand. She continues her wide smile and accepts my hand.

"Watashino namai-awa Sun Yi desu." She says some other complex and enthusiastic line in Japanese that I take as meaning "you’re not from around here are you?" I give a sheepish grin, glance back and force between my toes and her eyes. I don’t mind the language barrier much, the most important communication is done through the international language of..

"Mr. Winegar?" Dammit.

"Did you hear what I said Mr. Winegar?" It’s amazing how oblivious this guy is to having just Killed Sun Yi and half of Downtown Tokyo; what a heartless, ignorant je..

"Are you still there Mr. Wineg.."

"YES!!! Yes, unfortunately for you I am still here! I say ‘unfortunately for you’ because I’m going to let you know what everyone else is Hinting to you when they hang up on you or make fun of you. You, sir, are a representation of everything that is wrong with modern culture. You sit on your Lazy butt all day and Sleaze people into Buying things that they don’t need, Continuing their subscription to things they don’t need, or Stealing their information so your Company can sell it to the Filthy Degenerates who send those poor people Scores of Spam and Junk mail in a desperate attempt to perpetuate the cycle. All so that You can continue to Suckle on the Teat of the Corporate Pig that America has Apparently Become!" Man that felt good.

He scoffs. "Well sir, I don’t understand what I did to.."

"Ya killed Sun Yi!" I pause a second to think of how dumb that must have sounded. "And it’s WYDNER you ..Bastard!" I hang up the phone and breathe a heavy sigh; sure the guy probably didn’t deserve the heaping plate of truth I just served him, but he knew what he was getting into when he got that job.

I roll over and try to make out the time. 12:35? 10:39? 2:..86? I have two clocks; this shouldn’t be that hard. I squint, shift either way, and widen my eyes in an attempt to focus better. Ergghh; it doesn’t matter anyway, every day is the same: it starts with a sunrise, ends with a sunset, and is filled with STUPID, HAPPY SUNSHINE- I hate it.

If only one day could start in Total Darkness or with .. Fire Raining down from the skies and burning all the innocent people’s houses and ..geez, I’m being unusually dark, sorry, nevermind.

I stop fantasizing about alternate universes and start arguing with the parts of my body responsible for getting me out of bed in the morning; somehow, though I always seem to win to the battles, I feel as though I’m losing the war. I walk upstairs and look blankly into the refrigerator in hopes that the exact perfect breakfast for me will materialize if I only stare a little longer . .. …nothing. I close the fridge and turn to the cupboards in similar hopes. .. again, nothing. Realizing my defeat, I accept the fact that I will simply have to make my own breakfast, stupid communist…. reality, always making me do things in order for them to be done.

"Okay, let’s see what we got." I re-open the fridge and this time only hope for a millisecond that my breakfast will be there; it’s not. There are, however, some eggs, two gallons of milk (one Vitamin D, the other 2œ several half-empty (yes, half-Empty) bags of bread, a block of cheese, some day-old Chinese take-out, and an industrial-size jar of Mayonnaise for some reason. "Well,… eggs and toast it is then." I announce with false enthusiasm. Oh, who am I trying to kid here? I’ve eaten eggs and toast for the past three days in a row! I hate eggs and toast. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

Three minutes later as I’m watching my eggs cook I wonder if it’s possible to actually die from boredom; I don’t assume there’d be much of a rush for a test audience, but some research definitely needs to be done on the subject.

"This is my brain on drugs." I say to myself in a sarcastic, yet serious tone. Hmm, last time I checked though, a brain on drugs was more like a series of neuro-receptors either refusing to send the signals received from outside stimuli or modifying the signals in such a way that it makes the body appear as though it were flying, dying, swimming, spinning, falling, shrinking, transforming into a llama, sinking into the carpet, having the Most Intricate conversation you’ve EVER had with a shoe, or many other symptoms depending on the drug, so just What The Hell do my stupid eggs have to do with that I ask myself in an angry Apostrophe. "Whoa, gotta flip the eggs." How did I Ever manage to work as a Café Cook? I grab my toast out of the toaster, it’s not fully toasted, but it doesn’t matter- I won’t enjoy it anyway.

When you eat the same thing repeatedly, you start to notice more things about it, not particularly good things either. I can taste the burned butter on the membrane of the egg yoke, I can taste the yeast that was used to leaven the bread, I can taste the remnant of whatever was last cooked in the pan where I cooked my eggs, and finally I can taste the inside of my own mouth as it writhes and convulses in order to choke this monotonous meal down my throat.

Where is my family? Isn’t it their job to entertain me when I’m in such a mood as I am? Is that not, in essence, "what families are for?" They’re probably all off "working" or whatever they always say they’re doing. I guess I will have to do my best to entertain myself, let’s see… hmm. A good walk around the condos always seems to cheer me up; that’s a lie, but I’m sure it’ll waste some time. I put on my extremely self-personalized hoody and step outside into the cold and uninviting morning/afternoon; for a moment I have second thoughts about this whole "walking" thing. Then I remember what lies for me back inside: an empty condo, some mindless television, and a guitar I’ll probably never learn to play well (this all classifying as a "third thought"). So upon my Fourth thought I decide to stick to the original plan.

As I wander about, I see that nobody else was dumb enough to go outside on a day such as this. There’s a couple cars speckling the parking lot, a few of them are even decent enough to steal, not that I would, I’m just saying. The paint on the condo walls is cracked and peeling like the skin on a sunburned tourist (shudder- bad mental image). I pause as I pass under some stairs and remember how I used to hide beneath them at night after doorbell ditching somebody with my friends as a kid. Those were simpler times; ehh, listen to me already sounding like a dumb old..

I’m about to finish insulting myself, when something- or rather someOne- on the miniature golf course catches my eye, it can’t be. I start to walk over, but she sees me and takes off running.

"NO WAIT!" I yell, but she doesn’t even seem to hear me. Before I start chasing after her, I have to make sure that I have some reason to. "Sun Yi!"

She looks back only briefly, but it’s enough; I start to run toward her, she jumps the fence onto the WolfCreek Golf Course. Is she crazy, they have cameras all over that place, she’s bound to.. Oh screw it. I jump the fence and head after her at full speed. I don’t know why she’s running, I just want to talk to her, find out who she really is and how she knows me. Man, she can run fast. She disappears into some trees up ahead, HA! So she thinks she can lose me in some trees, huh? Little does she know that I used to hunt for golf balls All around these trees when I was a little kid, back before the cameras.

I enter the trees and slow my pace as to not run into one of them. "Sun Yi? I just wanna talk; what’re you doing here? HOW did you get here? And most importantly, WHY are you running from me?" I wonder if this Sun Yi speaks English… eh, doesn’t matter. What’s important is she can hear my voice and I’m being as sincere as I can. I hear a twig snap behind me, I spin to try and catch her, but she’s not there. I turn back around and continue my hunt. "Sun Yi, I promise I’m not going to do.. whatever it is you’re so afraid I’m going to do to you. So if you could just come out, that would be great." Silence.

After ten minutes of searching amongst the silent trees, I’m about to give up and head home when it occurs to me that I don’t know exactly which way home is… or why it took me ten minutes to search what looked like a relatively small grove of trees, or why I can’t seem to see anything but dead, pale trees all around for quite some distance. I tense up, another twig snaps behind me. I really wish they’d quit doing that.

"sun yi?" I ask in hopes of a pleasant end to an otherwise quite unfavorable experience.

"Soon yee? Don’ know enabody by that name ‘round here." The response is very nasal and raspy, needless to say, I’m afraid to turn around. "You lost boi?" I don’t know what will be worse, confronting the person standing behind me or the terrible uneasiness I’m getting from not looking at him. "I said, ‘Are you lost, boi?’"

"N-No sir I just.." the words are stolen from me as I turn around, along with my breath and ability to hide my terrified expression. The man before me is short, scruffy, missing teeth, and wearing several gray woolen coats that match his mangled, thinning hair. One of his eyes is slightly protruding and staring straight ahead as opposed to the other which is, unfortunately, staring directly at me which, also unfortunately, happen to be staring at his unusually large and bulbous stomach. It’s as though he has Botulism or something.

"You starin’ at somethin’ boi?" He glances quickly at his stomach then back to me.

"I.. I, … no, I just .."

"Yeah, you jus, you jus nothin,’ what’re you doin’ out here in these wuds enyhow?"

"I jus.. I mean, I thought I saw somebody out here and.. I was looking for them, but kinda … got lost in the process."

"Well, congrajulations, ya found somebody." He spreads his arms wide to mockingly present himself. "Might not be who yer lookin’ for, but ya found somebody, that’s what’s importint rilly." At this point I am confused as to whether I should be afraid or just upset; none of this is really making sense. "Now you may think that nunna this is rilly makin’ sense, but .." he looks around, with one of his eyes, "here, sit down, lemme tell ya somethin.’" I sit because, in all honesty, I’m almost as interested to hear what this nut job has to say as I am afraid that he’s gonna kill me. "Here, hav some of muh sanwich." He rips off a portion of his sandwich, which doesn’t look all too disgusting, and extends it before me expectantly. I open my mouth to say "No thanks." But his expression tells me that he would just say, "I wasn’t makin’ an offer." I reluctantly accept the piece of sandwich and try my best to look like I’m enjoying it as it’s swallowed. He starts, "Now believe it er not, I wasn’ ulways as crazy as I am today. No, I was once just as sane as the next guy and I didn’t just wake up one day all crazied-out either; it was a reeeeel gradjul decline, ya see." He makes a downward sloping motion with his hands and creates what I can only assume is his version of a smile. "First I started seein’ thins: people, busses, dogs, bats, knives, ull sortsa thins were chasin’ me or… talkin’ ta me or Biting me evun. Then the world itself started ta do thins, like vibrate under muh feet or split Wide open er, er evun melt as uh walked over it- scary things happen when your crazy, can’t tell what’s real. Ha! Hell, evun you could be a figment of muh eemajination right now. HaHA, hehe heh, heh heh, ohhh ho ho heh hleh kehck krrrohgggk-eh, hem." He clears his throat and continues laughing quietly to himself and shaking his head as though he was completely dismissing me as a real person.

"Hey, hey I’m not fake… or crazy, touch me, I’m real, see?" I offer my arm in protest.

"Yeah, yeh, that’s wut they all say."

"Fine," I stand up, "then I’ll just leave." I turn away and start to walk.

"Just one more thing though." I stop walking, but don’t give the decency of turning around to face him, "You’ll never make it outta here alive Kirk." I spin around as fast as I can, but he’s already gone. I check behind some of the trees even though they’re all too thin to hide his large, awkward frame anyway. He had disappeared, into Fat air.

They say that when you’re lost, the best thing to do is stay where you are and you will have the best chance of being rescued. But no one will even notice that I’m not around for quite some time because I’m always aloof; it could be days before anybody even knows I’m lost. Oh man. .. then it hits me, my cell phone! I frantically search my pockets until I come to remember that I had left it on the charger this morning. "I don’t want to talk to anybody else this morning." I had thought to myself; how ironic, because of that stupid telemarketer that I chewed out I didn’t want to talk to anybody else; but now that I’m lost, I NEED to talk to someone else, anyone else- stupid karma.

Several thoughtless minutes pass and I decide that I’m better off trying to find a way out of here myself than waiting for somebody to find me, especially if it’s that creepy, old homeless guy again. I shiver, partly because of the cold, partly because of the mental image that appeared when I thought of him again. The trees around me seem to be getting closer and closer no matter what direction I’m heading, I definitely do Not remember these trees being this scary when I was a kid; nor do I remember that ..wooden thing over there. …Wait, what is that wooden thing over there? The closer I get, the more it changes; at first it kind of looked like a large stump with some leaves over it, then it looked like a crate on an angle also with some leaves over it, and when I finally got to it, I realized what it was… A Door… (with some leaves over it).

It looked like one of those old, wooden double doors that go down into a cellar or bomb shelter or something, but what would it be doing in the middle of all these trees? I wonder what’s inside? …I look around; well, it can’t be anything worse than what’s out here, that’s for sure. I brush off some of the leaves and find the handle; it’s round and rusted, cold to the touch.

"Here goes nothin.’" I say aloud as I tug open the door. An eerily warm gust of wind blows out from the darkened stairwell. I’m having seconds thoughts about this, but then I think about the Going For A Walk scenario this morning and decide that second thoughts are pointless to have. "Hello?" I ask, half-hoping for a response… there is none, of course. Who on earth, besides me, would be in a creepy, old underground thing on a day like this? No one, that’s who. I take a deep breath and start my way down the stairs lit only by the dim light coming through the now-opened door behind me. I can see the bottom of the stairs not far ahead, there appears to be an abrupt turn where the stairs end. Each step I take, I can feel my personal bubble expanding several inches so that by the time I reach level ground at the end of the stairs if so much as a grasshopper were to jump ten feet in front of me, I would probably wig out and scream like a Little Girl. I pause at the bottom of the stairs and await any clever insects that might come my way… nothing, nothing but a sudden cold breeze that rushes past me, up the stairs and out the door. I shiver again, this whole thing is just getting a little too sc.. BAMMM!!! I whirl around in full defense mode to save myself from whatever is about to attack me, but I can’t see anything, the door must’ve closed. I grope around blindly for something familiar and listen for impending doom… but nothing comes, nothing makes a noise.

My eyes slowly start to adjust to the darkness, there’s nothing up the stairs; I turn to see what’s around the corner, nothing but a long, skinny corridor. I stifle my breathing for a second to listen closer for any sign of something else down here; there’s a very quite rushing sound, like running water at the end of the corridor. What is this place? My curiosity gets the best of me and I start to head down the corridor, subconsciously running my fingers along both walls as I walk. The walls are made of rough stone, they’re cold and dead, just like the trees. When I’m only three feet from what looks like the end of the corridor, I can hear the sound quite distinctly, gushing, gurgling, it sounds like and underground river. I take the last few steps to the end wall, the ground I’m standing on feels concave and uneven; I put my ear against the wall- it’s wet. I dry off my ear then brush my fingertips from the side wall to the ceiling to the other wall and finally to the ground- it’s wood. I crouch down and listen, I can almost see something through the cracks in the wood; I can hear the noise louder than ever, it’s definitely a.. CRACKK!! There’s a split second where my feet and legs are falling, but my head and body stay where they are- almost vertigo. Then, I’m falling, every part falling, backwards. I feel the sound of the rapid water get closer, my foot goes in first- the water is ice cold. Then my legs and torso; I feel a sharp, forceful stab coming from all directions as it reaches my chest and neck. And as my head hits the water, I can’t tell if it’s simply the impact and the cold or if there’s a rock. Either way, everything goes black- even blacker than before, and that’s saying something.

"¿Muchacho?" Something really odd happens to me when I pass out; I’m not sure if I have out-of-body experiences or if my mind just creates a story for what happened to me during the time I was passed out because it hates thinking that it doesn’t know. "¿Muuuchaaaacho?" I hear this voice.

"Pienso que él está muerto, hombre." Says another voice.

"No. El no está muerto, mira el pecho que mueve. Estúpido." I feel a hand cup my jaw and jiggle my face. "¿Estas bueno señor?" I finally make an effort to open my eyes and sit up.

"I’m fine, thanks." I look at their extremely confused faces. "I mean, estoy bueno… gracias." I close my eyes and rub them because everything looks blurry, but even when I reopen them, I still can’t see very well. There are two Mexican men crouched down beside me, one looks to be about 15; the other is about 20 or so. I’ve been dragged out of the river and onto some uncomfortable rocks; I look across the river and see cars driving past and a mountain behind them. I’m on the Ogden River Parkway, by Dinosaur Park. … how the HELL did I get here. It’s at this point in time that my brain either creates or recollects the story: I fell from the corridor, passed out, got knocked about a lot in the underground river, came out that giant water escape hole by the dam, and floated somehow undamaged to my current location at which time these helpful Mexican fellows pulled me out and tried to resuscitate me. The story seems to check out, but when I try to stand up, I see that I was incorrect on one vital aspect- the whole "undamaged" thing. I take one look at my gashed and bleeding legs and arms then quickly lose my balance; the older Mexican man reaches over and catches me.

"WHOA! Ho ho, tenga cuidado, mi amigo. Aquí, se sienta por favor." I take the man’s advice and sit down, then lay down, then close my eyes- again it’s dark. Only this time I’m right above myself, watching the two men pull me up onto the grass; the older one takes off his over shirt and tears off strips of it to cover my wounds. OW, the salty sweat is probably going to sting like hell when I regain consciousness. They lift me up and put me in the back seat of their old white truck. I follow them as we drive up the scenic by-way to 20^th Street, I hope we’re not going to the hospital- hospitals cost Waaay too much for my current budget, which is currently nothing. The truck drives straight, across Harrison Boulevard, and down several streets to a small, derelict house with one leafless oak tree in the front yard. The two men take me inside and onto a mattress in the north-east corner of a little room with an empty closet and a poorly-repaired window. I hover above myself for quite a while to let myself sleep and continue to imagine myself floating above me.

I wake up and feel as though I hadn’t fallen asleep at all; I hate that feeling, it’s like being robbed. "OW!" I look down at the bandages and sure enough, they sting like hell. I look out the tiny window; it’s still dark, really dark; however, my night vision is allowing me to see unusually well. I look around for a clock because it feels like morning even though it’s.. I stop in mid thought. A morning starting in Total Darkness? Could it be? I limp out of the room where I had been sleeping and into the living room where, for some reason, the whole Mexican family is gathered and crying uncontrollably; the grandmother, the babies, the children, the parents, all of them.

"WHAT!?" … "er, ¡¿QUE?! ¿Que.. uh, es el.. problemo?" I scream at them- very confused- but they don’t even seem to notice me, they’re all just crying and staring at the television. I try to make out what’s going on; the reporter on the TV is frantically rambling on about something in Spanish and keeps getting interrupted by loud, brief moments of static. I give up trying to understand what he’s saying and just look in the lower left side of the screen for the time, 8:26 AM? 7:25 AM? 9:..95 AM? It didn’t matter, I could see the AM and that’s all I cared about. I look around the room and notice that though none of the lights are on, the room seems to be lit just fine. Alright, that’s it, I’m getting out of here. I scuttle outside to find several people in Pajamas and other morning attire lining the streets; some are speaking very intensely amongst themselves, others are pointing and staring at something in the Morning/Night Sky. I look up and see the spectacle- the Moon is almost twenty times its normal size and spinning slowly clockwise.

"I’m not crazy," I tell myself. "that creepy old hobo must have slipped me something in the sandwich, I should’ve known not to eat that damn sandwich." Oh well, a little late for Second Thoughts now though; all I can do is just act as though nothing weird is happening so that if someone talks to me I won’t seem crazy. This will go away. I start walking- any direction, it doesn’t matter. The road beside me starts to move and churn. "Uh uh uh; I don’t think so." Oops, that one just slipped out. Nothing weird is happening I tell myself, just remain calm. The imaginary awe-struck people that I’m passing by start to turn into shadows- I don’t know if this is a good or a bad thing. I keep walking. Hmm, maybe some whistling will brighten my spirits; I whistle a little tune and start to calm down a bit, much better. Just then, I notice a Giant Airplane approaching at a ridiculous speed and angle, HOLY CRAP! It’s gonna crash! Is this real? Should I warn everyone or just pretend it’s not happening?….. My Heart is racing like a Humming Bird, a really terrified Humming Bird. Ummmm. UUUUMMMM! "EVERYBODY! LOOK OUT!!"

Everything stops: the Plane, the Moon, the Shadows’ whispered Conversations, the cracking Road, Everything.

I look around, "I’m not crazy… I’m really not.." I look down and feel Time skipping forward slowly like a Broken Record. What the Hell is going on? I hear the Plane explode and look up to see Fire Raining down on all the Innocent People’s Houses; did I really ever say I wanted this?

The Sidewalk starts to degenerate, but I don’t mind; in fact, I sit down on it as I start to sink. What must I look like to sane and sober people right now? A deranged young man sitting in the middle of a sidewalk staring blankly at nothing worth trying to guess? That bothers me. I want to know what I look like right now. The cold, uninviting concrete starts to envelope my chest and shoulders, where will this event take me? To another Strange Environment? To Tokyo and Sun Yi? Or is this my brain’s way of coming up with a story to tell my body as I’m Physically Dying in the Sane and Sober World? That’s a depressing thought. …Wait, that’s more than depressing, I don’t want to Die! I start to struggle against the overbearing, relentless cement as it reaches my chin but it’s too strong, I can barely move. I take one Last Breath and Close my eyes before I feel the rest of my head goes under the surface. The Silence and Pressure build up as I sink further and further down into the abyss. Should I open my eyes? Will I even be able to see anything? My breath starts to expire and my thoughts start to simplify. What will people think when they find my body? How will I be remembered? Did I live a Good Life? Was I too hard on that Telemarketer? ..There was so much I still wanted to do. … I kind of have to pee too. What a terrible Last Thought.

My Eyes burst open and I gasp for Air; there’s a light, it’s tall and narrow, I feel really warm and hear music. What is this place? I look at my hands and arms, no gashes, no scars- what’s happening? I’m filled with a sudden, indescribable feeling; I sit straight up and look around- my room? My digital clock reads 12:42 PM. Ah… Ah HAHAHA, eh, HEH Heh! Ohhhh, "morning," I think to myself. "my Old nemesis."

Fatherland

Troop 132 sent out their 625th monthly report via an old backpack radio which rested inside a little hole in the dirt wall of the trench they called Home; it would be the 615th monthly report to go unresponded by Military Headquarters. Despite the gaping lack of appreciation for their unrelentingly heroic efforts from their superiors Troop 132's morale was always maintained. A few of the men had a beautiful little wife and a handful of kids waiting for them back home and the prospect of seeing them once again was more than enough to keep them going. For those who did not have a family of their own, the promise by FDR that they wouldn't have to worry about financial security or the woes of the Depression when they got back home kept their spirits high- mostly because they knew that if there's one thing the girls at shore loved it was a war hero with a full wallet.

With the report sent in expert detail as they always were, the men returned to their posts and awaited signs that the enemy was advancing. Private DeLome was in a tree perch 20 feet off the ground scanning the distance with a pair of badly-worn binoculars. As was typical, the sight was nothing more than the dreary landscape of the Hurtgen Forest. Private DeLome was the newest addition to the tightly-knit Troop 132, for this reason his induction had been slightly more severe than the group had exercised priorly. It involved regular beatings with one of the privates' old soccer cleats fashioned onto a long piece of scrap metal and deemed "daddy's foot" by the fraternizing privates. There were also brutal nightly assaults forcing him to perform sexual acts that his small town mind would never have thought took place in what he imagined was one of the few organizations this nation still took pride in.

As time passed the troop eventually lightened up on him and reassured his now-broken spirits that it was simply to test his will and strengthen their brotherhood; yet somehow Private Delome couldn't help but think that it was because they all had some form of mental damage. His thoughts drifted over these times and over his red headed sweetheart whom he hoped was still faithfully waiting for him as he blankly examined the open field in front of the tree line. For a moment he felt very distraught and alone, as if he would never escape this place and was damned to survey the Hurtgen Forest for the rest of his days. But as he felt himself paying less and less attention to the task at hand he quickly snapped back to attention remembering the harshly ingrained words of the boot camp Major General, "YOU are WORTHLESS! Every breath you take is a slap in the face to whatever god you think made you. It is my job to teach you idiots how to not get yourselves killed out there. If there's one thing you retards remember from this it will be to ALWAYS," he paused and looked them all in the eye, "always goddammit, always keep your guard up. The second you let it down, you'll get shot! And then what? You're dead; Dead and Worthless!"

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Second Lieutenant Marsh filtered through the notes he had taken while listening to the encrypted shortwave radio broadcast of regional enemy movement in the morning. He was the next highest ranking officer and the natural choice for the troop's new lead after their prior CO went mad and fled in the midst of their most heated battle. There was heavy gunfire and grenade explosions littering the field that night. The enemy had attacked them during Private DeLome's late night patrol; he had fallen asleep at his post. By the time the troops realized what had happened it was already too late. A strategically thrown grenade had left little to recognize one of the Hispanic privates. Few had time to get properly dressed before grabbing their rifles and firing point blank into the onslaught of imminent death. It was at this time that the men needed a leader the most and it was at this time that the men turned in terminal desperation and cried to their fleeing Commanding Officer to save them. The only response returned was a wild and hopeless scream "GOD SAVE THEM! GOD SAVE THEM!"

Without discernible reason the enemy began retreating the gruesome scene. Strewn about were bleeding, orphaned limbs and the half-nude and shrieking soldiers they once belonged to. As the night's cold slowly released its icy grip so fell the last tears and cries of the fallen soldiers. Lieutenant Marsh opened his eyes to what could have been purgatory as far as he could tell; it was hard for him to discern what was real and what was illusion since his consciousness was weak and varying in intensity. There were lightning flashes of the night's battle as he staggered across the ghostly field searching for any who remained.

By the time the first bird was singing its morning song everyone left was huddled together, defeated but not broken, resting their backs against the inside wall of the trench- "home". The Lieutenant searched desperately for something to say to his troops to lift their spirits. He stood and announced:

"I don't know what I can say," he looked at them all individually "I can't promise you that this war will be won; I can't promise you that you will all make it back to your families and homes. But I do promise this, I will never- NEVER leave your sides. So long as their is blood in my veins and gun in my hand I will fight for you and our country!" This little speech was often repeated in the minds of all of Troop 132, the Lieutenant's especially.

He ran this moment through his head as he reached the end of his enemy movement notes and whispered, "for you and our country." followed by what might have be perceived by some as a small sigh. Though it seemed in this context he was referring to someone other than his troops. He made a point of never letting much emotion escape in front of his men lest they doubt his rigidity; he knew the last thing they needed was another weak-kneed leader. If nothing else, the Lieutenant was an expert in pretending everything was under control.

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Private Ortiz ran frantically through the forest, looking for something that only he knew was there. He had hid it there when they first arrived; it was his most valued possession and he couldn't risk the others finding it and making some manner of joke or game of it. His mother had given it to him as a very small child back in the outskirts of Mexico city.

"Keep this with you always, mijo; it will keep you safe. So long as you have this with you, I will be with you and no harm can come to you."

Shortly after this, Private Ortiz's mother was killed during a riot on the streets of Mexico City and he was left alone since his father had left them before he was born. The object he was searching for now was the only shred of family he had left and it seemed at the present time that he could not recall where it was buried; the frustration was driving him mad. "Where could it be?" he asked himself, "I remember putting it somewhere around .... here." An owl sitting in a tree branch observed the worn out scene and fluttered off in boredom and disappointment once again. What made this act of searching all the more frustrating was that Private Ortiz always felt as if he had already made this vain search a hundred times before.

Defeated, he rested against the strong trunk of an evergreen and started to cry. Pausing briefly to look around for others that might notice him but finding only the wretched, unforgiving body of the Hurtgen Forest.

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Thirty yards away from the trench, deep in the field, lay Obergrenadier Gerhardt. He was on another one of his Hauptmann's secret missions to acquire the decrypted notes of the enemy's radio transmissions from their trench or as Obergrenadier Gerhardt preferred to call them "suicide missions." The reason these missions gained this title was because they often ended in the Obergrenadier running for cover after the enemy spotting him midfield. Why the Hauptmann never chose any of the Obergrenadiers or even the Grenadiers for these missions he did not know but he had suspicion that it might have been the aftereffect of an earlier battle in which he had made a fatal error with properly reassembling his rifle that morning which resulted in the loss of three of his comrades. He wondered why it would be justified if he were to be killed in the name of his fallen brethren. Would that somehow satisfy them in the afterlife? Are they watching my every move even now, waiting for me to be slaughtered in the pursuit of a pointless goal? There would be no poetic justice in that, just another dead body trapped forever in the soil of the field.

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"ENEMY SPOTTED!" Private DeLome shouted from his perch. Instantly the troops quit their current task and assumed their battle positions. Second Lieutenant Marsh dropped the papers and grabbed his rifle as he started to run through the trench to where the bulk of the fire was commencing.

~~~~~~~~~~~

His tears having dried, Private Ortiz was sitting numb against the tree when he heard the call. He sat up without hesitation and headed back to the field. There was something very mechanical that took place when the word "enemy" was shouted out there he noticed; every emotion that had been felt was rushed away, every important thought was nil by comparison, and the only objective in mind was to end the life of whomever this "enemy" was.

Unfortunately for Obergrenadier Gerhardt the "enemy" in this case was him. Bullets were whizzing by his helmet and ricocheting off of nearby rocks as he crawled to cover. He felt a sharp pain in the back of his right thigh and shrieked in pain.

"Eine Hilfe hier!" he shouted in desperation to the Obergrenadiers that he hoped were still following him. He listened through the deafening gunfire for a response. "Eine Hilfe hier JETZT!!" He noticed several bushes moving behind him and then came a familiar whistle that let him know he was not alone. They started returning fire on those in and behind the trench, giving one of them time to dive over by the injured Obergrenadier. He began frantically mopping up the blood and trying feebly to bandage the wound. The soldier in the bushes signaled to the Unteroffizier in the trees across the field; it was his assignment to destroy the enemy's radio and any other vital equipment or information while they were distracted by the battle. He made his stealth advance toward the tree line and trench then stopped when he heard someone running nearby. He crouched behind a nearby shrub and squinted his eyes, scanning for the cause of this noise.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Private Ortiz was running as fast as he could toward the gunfire, paying little attention to his surroundings. He knew the Lieutenant would be upset with him for taking so long so he had no time to waste. As the tree line came into sight he heard an unfamiliar voice and turned to face it.

"Excuse me." was all he heard before a muffled shot and the feeling of a sharp sting in his throat. He looked down to see his own blood start to flow down his uniform and drip onto the forest floor; he tried to breath but found it impossible. As he fell to his knees a tall, pale skinned man emerged from a some shrubs and walked over to him.

"It is all for nothing, mine friend." said the man staring at him eye to eye. Private Ortiz looked away being nauseous with the dissatisfaction of his untimely death until his eye caught something impossible; the same owl as before was staring from a nearby tree and resting in its mouth was the golden chain with Santa Maria on the end of it. He wanted to scream at the owl to bring it to him; just to touch it one last time, to remember what life was once like but his efforts brought little more than pain and convulsions followed shortly by constricting darkness. The Unteroffizier looked up at the bird and shared a moment of familiar puzzlement but soon remembered his duty and continued on.

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"PAGE, WATCH THE FLANK! STEVENS, GRENADE THE BASTARDS ALREADY!" dirt sprayed in the Lieutenant's face as he attempted getting a better look at where the enemy lay. He glanced over to Private Stevens just as he was biting the pin out of the grenade like a starving man taking the first bite of a fresh apple; the Private took quick aim and then hurled the grenade as hard as he could.

Private DeLome had a bird's-eye view of the whole battle from the scope of his Springfield rifle. He shifted his sites to the trench right in time to see one of the privates throw a grenade at two poorly-sheltered enemies in the field. There was a little explosion followed by a distant rumble but he knew it was enough. "Bullseye!"

"Precisely." said a voice directly behind him. Before he had time to turn and face the voice there was a strong hand over his mouth and slicing knife against his throat. It was a painfully exquisite feeling to have all the air in his lungs escape through the fresh and bleeding slit in his throat. He felt like he was drowning for he could not get any air in his lungs and he could feel the blood pouring down his windpipe. The attacker said something inaudible to him because of the choking before climbing back down the tree.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Behalten Sie Druck darauf!" Obergrenadier Gerhardt followed the other soldier's instructions and kept pressure on the wound; he vainly tried not to stare at it and wonder what effect it would have on him should he make it out of this battle alive. His pondering, however, was cut short by a grenade that bounced within two feet of his of his already injured leg. He couldn't help but be mildly amused by the irony as he rolled away and muttered, "Scheisse."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now drunk with the taste of death in his veins, the Unteroffizier stalked through the forest and readied his Luger pistol. He had the enemy's Lieutenant in his sight; he wanted this to be perfect. Creeping slowly like a spider toward its helplessly trapped prey he replayed the glorious scene that was about to unfold in his head. The Lieutenant was in a rage and firing illogical amounts of bullets at the unrelenting enemy; it was very unusual of him to behave in a manner such as this and it was because of this that the Unteroffizier was able to creep up right behind him and thrust the zealous Luger into his back. "Surrender!" he exclaimed in an uncontrollably victorious tone. The Lieutenant turned his head and was filled with a hatred beyond defeat and disappointment; it was a pure loathing of everything in existence and non-existence.

"FUCK!!" cried the Lieutenant, "NO!! I'M NOT GOING BACK!!"

"You know the rules." the Unteroffizier replied fighting back a grin.

"No." he shook his head "No, we're not going back." He looked desperately through his moistened eyes at his enemy, "Please, we do not want to go back."

The Unteroffizier lowered his gun. "I do not make these rules. Now you must go back."

Lieutenant Marsh breathed a heavy, broken attempt at calming down then cupped his hands together around his mouth and shouted, "RETURN! RETURN!!"

Out on the forest floor Private Ortiz heard the call and reluctantly pulled himself up and started towards the place he knew all to well. "It is all for nothing." He whispered to himself. Private DeLome sighed hopelessly when he heard the familiar words; he pushed himself up and started climbing down the tree. The rest of the soldiers gathered their things and scuffled off to their spots where they had last known mortal existence then sank into the evening soil.

As Private DeLome passed his Lieutenant he gave him a look that was forlorn but appreciative; it seemed to say "If nothing else, thank you for at least never leaving." He felt the cold grip of unconsciousness and repetition as he approached the post where he had once so tragically fallen asleep. He made one last look around then took his rightful place in the ground.

"That leaves just you, Lieutenant." said the Unteroffizier looking around for exactness of procedure. Lieutenant Marsh nodded his head and extended a hand to him which the Unteroffizier could not help but be surprised by. After a moment's hesitation he accepted and shook it firmly and with a brief moment of symbiotic sympathy. He watched numbly as the Lieutenant made the walk back to his place of rest then, just as he had done so long ago, gathered up his troops and moved on.

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Troop 132 arose the next day and started on their 626th monthly report; part of them hoped it would not become their 616th report to go unresponded by Military Headquarters but better judgment assured them that, of course, it would be.