Jamie and her friends ran down the hallway filled with students seconds before. I remember she screamed at me to follow her into an entrance of bright light out of the building. I didn’t follow. Ran the opposite direction to be away from her, coward myself into the darkness behind me and it was the last I saw of her.
My hand searches the grainy stone wall for carve marks in this dim basement. Brighten by moonlight rays slipping between the ventilation fan blade. The only light I dare look. My fingers count those matchstick marks and carve one more after the last with a sharp hunting knife. Years passed since I lost my only friend. Should have told her and I blame myself. Today I seek solace in this darkness with the heavy burden on my shoulder.
Hiding from THEM taking her from me.
The basement door opens itself. The bright light fills the dark basement inches from where I stand in its shadow. I squat down and crawl back between a large pile of wooden crates till darkness behind pushes back. My eyes fix itself at a rat chewing pieces of dreadful moldy bread under the beam of lights. It could smell my body sweating with fear. Time for THEM to feed. My eyelid closes itself. I look away with my head thug between the thigh. I hug myself. Breath slow to calm my heartbeat. Hand grip tight to the sharp hunting knife. In this small dark enclosure, I could hear the rat chatter end with a loud squeak of pain. Its last breath was squeezed from the lungs.
Darkness chooses to be my friend in need. Cloak me from THEM. Allow my shameless crying in the night and fall asleep in peace where this basement is my home.
Save from THEM.
Grief can’t be shared. Everyone carries it alone. His own burden in his own way. – Anne Morrow Lindbergh
“It would be nice to know how you did it to me, but I assume you can’t!!!”, frustrate over my dumb demon son’s occult practice, “Now, I have to pick up pieces of myself scatter all over this floor.” My left hand start to crawl itself towards my head laying at the far end in the reading room to find my remains. “You are going nowhere when I fix myself up!!!”, my eyes fume of red burning flame, stake him then and there. I float before him in a single body after the misfortune incident, reminding him “Even the devil himself hide from me.”, I grin at him, “You’re lucky to be my only offspring, else I would banish you here and now from this dark existence. The only dreadful life you ever known.” My middle finger with long and sharp nail slid his cheek for blood to taste, “Fear be my pleasure.” My back fingers run over his pale cold face to hold his chin between the thumb and index finger, “You know I love you.” Tears flow from his eye’s corner onto the ice cold stone floor where we stand close together. “Yes, father of darkness.”, he plead.
01. I See Them
Captain Sora-san is interrupt by his assistance voice, “Madam, witness confirm the description of her entering this forest.”, in her own worry tone to herself, “What was she thinking? She is too young to meet death on her own.”, and give the final order for her men and their dog to come out of the forest before dark. “Yes, madam.”, confirm his assistance. Captain Sora-san close her eyes, puzzle and imagine her last few steps in this world is on a bridge she cross over to the dark forest on a beautiful backdrop of golden sunset. Elders believe voices lurks in this forest’s darkness. Here is where insanity live in a universe beyond any sane man’s imagination. They speak to you of your past to feed your grieve in the present. Death is no stranger and pass no judgement to the ones who was and is here today, or tomorrow for their home. Most soul roam in peace but some fill with rage. They are elusive to the naked eyes, but the promise one can hear them stomp and weep their pain in the night to a full moon above them. She question herself, “Is she here to meet him?”, and quickly return to the park four-wheel military vehicle with his assistance inside waiting for her. Her assistance gave a long, weary sigh and ask, “Madam, would we come back for her?”. Captain Sora-san tone is unquestionable, “No one must know.”. They turn the vehicle around and head back to the camp. Leaving the dark forest behind them as the past. It is pain to leave her walk a destiny alone for us, but she believe the future belong for the bold to change. That child might be their last hope to save humanity as foretold by the great I-Ching oracle.
My mind fizzle with letters into words; forming sentences after sentences throughout the stormy night. Stomping aimlessly in my mind with words forming vivid imagery scene. The mind is a wonderful playhouse. God’s greatest gift for his most beloved creation here on earth. I do believe life is suppose to be written on pages. Thoughts staying alive. A voyeur experience to some who love reading the pain and pleasure of others in the shadow. Encouraging them with standing ovation, applauding aloud to encourage indecent exposure. We are convince there is reality in fiction. Why not? Are we not here to play a role in life to be somebody; the world is a stage. The show begin when the curtain rise. As far as the eye can see are empty seats waiting to be fill. A blank script in my hand awaiting to have a dialogue with me. Mask my role.
All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages. – William Shakespeare
I have a horror of not rising above mediocrity. – Robert Baldwin
Squatting on top at the edge of a double deck bed, staring down upon myself laying still on the rustic wood flooring. I can’t feel anything; like a lifeless dead corpse. There’s a funny deep hollow sound ringing in my ear. As if the wind is circling inside a long and narrow tunnel. I am numb with silence. In a state of total confusion. The small hand of a round white wall clock is pointing at four. I think it’s too early in the morning. In front of me stand a wooden cupboard with one mirror door. A faint shadow of someone is reflecting back at me; with a pair of silky black wings unfolding gracefully from the figure’s back. They flap itself to loosen their stiffness. The room’s door bust wide open without notice. A stout old lady in old english dress came rushing in, skipping across my still body lying on the floor.
She head towards the window to swiftly open a dusty thick curtain with both hands. My eyes squint to shield itself from the strong glaring lights shining into a room fill with thick smog of dust. She turn around to face me. In a sudden float like motion; her disgusting and scary amateurish painted clown like face appear just inches from mine. I fell backward and float on thin air. Everything around me disappear. Both her claw like hands pin me down to the darkness surrounding me, while her long and wet tongue lick its way to my right ear. Leaving behind a trail of thick, slimy and sticky substance on my cheek. She speak to me in a husky hissing tone, “It’s not your time yet. My dearest. The day is not dead.”; follow with a melodious laugh.
Dammit; not again. It’s MONDAY …