Brief Ten

Angus


His aim was excellent. The yellow liquid projected from the balcony shot straight out at first and seemed to hover suspended in mid air for a few milliseconds before spilling on the crowd below like warm rain. Angus Deville pulled his pants up and took a step back from the railing. He leaned back against the window and giggled as he listened to the angry screams and cursing drifting up from the street. I watched from the safety of the shadow the awning cast over our balcony which was one story above and to the left of the Devilles.

He must have felt my eyes on him as he looked up at me grinning. His voice was hushed but the threat loud and clear. “You didn’t fucking see anything, yeah?!” I shook my head. He waived his fist at me and disappeared inside the apartment. I wasn’t about to rat on Angus. Not if I wanted to remain in one piece. Plus, I had no desire whatsoever to discuss anything with Angus’s parents. The Devilles were the outcasts of our neighborhood. We hardly saw Mr. Deville as he was always away on “business” trips as Father used to say finger-quoting in the air. And as for the Missis, she was always too busy entertaining different sorts of shady gentlemen up in the apartment, loud music and her shrieking laughter drifting through the corridors. Every time she saw me she always said the same thing. “Hey Leo, boy you’re growing up so fast…Have you seen Angus?” And I used to say, “Hi Mrs. Deville. No, I haven’t, sorry Mrs. Deville” .

Truth was I knew where Angus was most of the time. I knew who he hung out with and what they were up to. But Angus was my friend and I was clearly instructed by him to not reveal any information to his folks. He used to go off sometimes with his “buddies” as he used to call them and I never saw him for days. And then he’d come back with a new bicycle or tape player or a pair of roller skates. I never asked any questions for Angus didn’t like being questioned and it made him mad and when Angus got mad, Angus used his fists. And he was good at that.

I always hoped Angus would get tired and bored of his buddies and their little games, but as the years passed and he got older, the games got bigger and more dangerous and Angus got in deeper and deeper. I went off to school and lost touch with Angus for years. Then one day word came. My father told me over the phone.

Angus was shot nine times in the chest and head in front of his wife as he sat in his driveway in his Porsche Cayenne. He was pronounced dead on the scene. People always said Angus would end up this way and no one was really too surprised.

Maybe we all make our own destiny, maybe we all make our own choices, or maybe, just maybe, we all need someone sometimes to hear our cry for help even when we ourselves do not. Maybe if I told Mr. Deville about Angus urinating from the balcony that day, maybe I could have changed the course of his life somehow. Maybe.

Rest in peace Angus.

Brief Nine and A Half

(This is not based on a true story, rather, it's an elaboration on a true story, an attempt at the imagination running free...)

The disease resembled Ebola, but much worse. No one knew where the virus came from or how it spread and no one was willing to disclose that information anyway. The cough was the first real sign and symptom of the infection. Dry and irritating at first and quickly progressing to a mucosy, suffocating, blood-spitting wrenching. The rash followed, the skin boils which swelled and burst and spilled the virus out in a continued infection and re-infection process. Life drained slowly from the tortured body and in the end, there was only skin and bones lying in the hospital bed.

They had managed to isolate every single one of them. Everyone with a cough. Kept them in a special wing of the hospital. No one but a few top doctors and a couple of nurses were allowed in there. The families fought for the right to say one final goodbye, their requests denied. Rumors spread that not all the people in there were infected with the virus but the authorities were not taking any chances. They wanted to make sure the virus was eradicated. All bodies were to be burned and the ashes dissolved in acid and the acid neutralized with some kind of alkaline base and the liquid vacuum packed in air tight containers and taken to be buried at the bottom of the ocean somewhere far out from the shore and the city.

The last of the bodies waited in the hospital’s morgue that night. Matt’s brother and father were among them. Matt’s mother, a devoted Catholic, was unable to live with the disgrace of not being able to give her son and husband a proper funeral. Their souls were damned, she’d say. They were headed straight for hell, she‘d say. She deteriorated day by day from seriously disturbed to crazy to insane. Matt couldn't’t just stand by and watch. He had to do something. He knew the only thing to do was to get the bodies out of the morgue somehow. Burry them someplace secret with only him, his Mom and a bunch of his best mates present. That was the only way or he was going to loose his Mom right along with his father and brother.

The were all going. No one had the guts to admit they were scared shitless. I liked my reputation as a semi-tough guy but when it came to teasing the dead, I opted out…..

“Where the hell are you going?” Matt shouted at me. I kept walking. “Come back, you bastard!” he shouted again, “We’ve got to go back in there and get them, you hear??” I pretended I didn’t. “I fucking need you man!” Matt’s voice was shaky, like the voice of a man trying very hard not to let the tears out. I stopped walking but kept my back to him. “Come back Leo.” That sounded a lot more like a plea than an order. “Please.” Right. I turned around and began walking back. As I came closer to Matt, I could see the tears glistening on his cheeks in the moonlight. I placed my hand on his shoulder. “We can’t go back, Matt.” I said, “They’re guarding them. We’re lucky we got off so easy. If they catch us anywhere close to that place, they‘ll put us in there too, you understand?!” Matt looked at me without saying a word. He had his I’m-getting-my-way look. “I know” he said, “We know. But we’ll find a way around the guards. We can do this.” He looked back at the rest of the gang. They huddled together. They were scared shitless but they were willing to go in and try again. They were willing to do that for their friend. “This is wrong Matt.” I began, “The bodies are infected. If we burry them somewhere, the virus might leak back into the city. Are you willing to take that chance?” Matt stood there not saying a word. The tears streaked down his plum face. “Look man,” I went on, “I know how you feel, but you know we can’t do this. You’ve got to let them go, Matt. For all our sake.”

Matt buried his face in my neck and wept. I let him. Then I put my arm around him and lead him slowly back towards the city, the gang following behind.

Brief Nine

Dead Of Night

The were all going. No one had the guts to admit they were scared shitless. I liked my reputation as a semi-tough guy but when it came to teasing the dead, I opted out. They laughed at first, thinking I was just trying to be funny. But when I didn’t follow they realized I was serious. Dead serious. Matt started at me first. “C’mon Leo, joke’s over. Let’s go.” I wasn’t going anywhere. I have tremendous respect for death and its captives and I wasn’t about to disturb them in their eternal rest. And I was scared shitless. Matt began to get a little irritated. “You coming man or what?” No, I wasn’t. Matt looked at the rest of the pack with that look on his face which I knew well. The look that says I’m getting my way. They came closer and circled me around. Matt stepped inside the circle with me. “Let’s go Leo.” The dead scared me more than Matt and his gang and I stood my ground. I wasn’t going anywhere. “You’re fucking coming, OK?!” Matt yelled and grabbed me by the right arm. I tried to break loose from his grip but he was a bigger guy than me. And stronger. And definitely more determined to get where he wanted to go.

The group began moving slowly towards the fence, staying together as a pack. Matt started dragging me along with him. All the while I fought fiercely to get away from him and that slowed him down considerably but he was still holding on tight and we were making progress although far behind the rest. By the time we hit the gate, there was no sign of them. The night was black despite a three quarter moon and all we saw were shadowy shapes. Fear gripped me tighter than anything Matt could manage. My heart beat erratically. There was a large hard lump in my throat. I knew once we make it through the gate there was no turning back. I writhed my body violently and tried with all I had in me to break free of Matt but he held on. In the darkness, his eyes shone with a strange lust as he grinned at me. He was a mad man high on adrenalin. “Calm down Leo boy” he croaked, “We’re almost there.” I didn’t like the sound of that.

Matt dragged me through the gate and along the paved path towards the large building ahead. A couple of shadows slithered past us and hurried towards the building. We could hear subdued giggling and incoherent gibberish as we caught up with the group. This was wrong. This was evil. Madness. Disrespect . Half way up the path, Matt cut through the lawn and headed towards the north end of the building. I dragged behind. Heart pounding, breath coming in short gasps, mind racing a mile a minute. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t go through with this. I had to break free. I looked around desperately. And that’s when I saw my salvation. We were approaching a tiny young tree. If I could only grab on. I’ve always had strong arms and hands and I knew that if I grabbed onto this tree they would need to cut my arm off to get me loose. I concentrated and timed my move. We were going to pass the tree on its left. Not ideal but doable. Couple more steps.

When I was even with the tree, I reached out with my left arm over my right and tried to grab on. I missed. It was over. My one and only chance and I missed. The horror of my situation came over me like a wave. No. In the last second, I twisted around extending my left arm and grabbed onto the tree. Matt jerked backwards and fell on his butt letting go of me. “What the hell are you doing?” he hissed as he got up. He grabbed my arm again and started pulling me with all his strength. The young tree-ling bent under his pull and its branches touched the grass but I did not let go. “Let go you asshole!” Matt’s face was a grimace of anger, hate and disbelief.

Suddenly, a horrible shriek came from the direction of the building. Another followed. A figure came out of the darkness and sprinted past us. Then another and another. The whole group was running for the gate. Vince was the last to run past us. He looked at us over his shoulder. “Get the fuck out of here guys!” he yelled “Hell broke loose in there!” Matt let go of me and looked towards the building. A shadow moved across the north wall and disappeared in the darkness in front. “Fuck this.” Matt swore and ran.

I stood there still gripping the tree as tight as I could trying to catch my breath. A cold, bony hand gripped my shoulder from behind. “Go home Leo.” A man’s voice said hoarsely. He let go of me. I walked towards the gate never once turning around. The gang was gathered outside engaged in a heated discussion with Matt. They halted and looked at me as I came out through the gate. “Go home.” I said and started walking back towards the city.

Brief Eight

Randy


I was a child when Randy came to us. My father met him one winter when they were both stationed up in the mountains. There had been some trouble with some guys and someone’s daughter who was visiting up there and Randy trying to protect her and someone got hurt and they were after Randy and he had to disappear. So he came to live with us. Which was good because at that time my father got stationed away every winter and my mother was alone with my brother and I. And it was cold and she was scared.

We loved Randy from the start. Mother was not amused at first but with time, she got to like Randy too. He used to carry my brother on his back and I used to feel sad that I was too big and too heavy for such games. But Randy never left me out and we played together till I was exhausted and carried away to my bed half asleep. My brother and I wanted so much that Randy stay in our room with us, but grown-up rules were grown-up rules and Randy stayed in the living room. Some cold winter nights, though, when my father was away, Randy stayed with Mother. Which was good, because Mother was always afraid to be alone and she felt safe with Randy.

Then one dark day, the police came knocking on our door looking for Randy. Somehow they had gotten wind that he was there. There was some trouble, the police, Randy, my father, big mess, no one got hurt but Randy had to go away for good. My brother and I cried the whole night that night. Mother too. In the following weeks, the house was just not the same without Randy. Empty. Sad. Until Randy Junior arrived.

My father brought him one day. Randy’s son he said he was. We never knew Randy had a son. My brother and I jumped for joy. The house was alive again. Mother was not amused at first but in time, she got to like Randy Jr. We had to promise not to mention Randy to Randy Jr. Grown-up rules. Randy Jr. only knew his Mom, Eva, and he knew nothing about Randy all those years. To this day it’s not clear to me why Eva gave Randy Jr. up and why we had to change his name to Randy Jr. when he called himself Wesley, but one thing is clear: we stayed innocent because we didn’t know what went on and we didn't question and we did what we were told and we followed grown-ups rules.

Brief Seven

Water

I don’t know what my real name means. Probably nothing. But it should have meant water. Better yet, they should have called me Water. There are people called River, so it wouldn’t have been that extraordinary. And it would have suited me perfectly.

I am water. I am in constant motion. I am unstable and can jump from one state of existence into another in matter of minutes. I adapt. I take the shape of whatever vessel I’m in and yet as soon as that vessel breaks apart, I spill out unable to hold myself together. I erode everything I run over. I flood and drown. I wet and ruin. Most of all, I cannot stay confined. As soon as I find the tiniest crack, I leak out.

So why am I surprised looking back on my life and realizing the mind-blowing vastness of wastelands I’ve left behind. Everything I touched I turned to dust. Everyone I loved I drowned. And then I ran. I ran to find a new place to flood and ruin, a new soul to embrace in my cool, fluid oblivion. Swim at your own risk.

Maybe it’s because I am so much like water that my life has revolved around it all this time. I was born near water, had a near drowning experience when I was three, learned to swim right after and water has been with me ever since. It’s in my lungs, it’s in my blood, it’s over 70% of me. It is me. I have always lived near it and every time I run to a new place, it’s a place near water. If I was a betting man, I’d put all my money on me dying in it, dying from it, because of it. That would serve me right. It would be the perfect ending of a not-so-perfect, watery life.

I left Jamie by the water and never saw her again. Jamie with the blond hair and blue eyes. Jamie with the cute little nose which curved up ever so slightly. Jamie with the glasses. Jamie with the plump full lips which I never got to kiss. Jamie with the weak heart I never knew about. Water doesn’t need to know what’s holding it together, just that it does. Water doesn’t need to know that it’s too much for the vessel it’s in and that it’s faulty and that it is about to crack open and spill water all over the place. Water was boiling and gurgling all the while Jamie was skipping heartbeats. Water boiled over.

The day was perfect. The sun scorched our bodies but there was the water we could jump into and cool off. Then we lay on the sand under the palm trees and we talked and we talked. And we laughed. And we teased. And she told me about her big plans for the future. And she forgot to tell me about the gentle, little heart of hers which wasn’t pulling its own weight. Was Jamie thirsty that night? Did she want water in her room on her bedside table? But it’d get everything all wet and messy. Water chickened out, found a crack and leaked out. Water didn’t want to drown Jamie.

In the evening a cool breeze blew in from the water. Dark clouds approached. It was getting chilly. Little drops of water began falling from the sky. It was time to go. I got up and walked away and left Jamie by the water.

Eight


One. “I’ve begged.” On the streets. For petty cash.


Two. “I’ve stolen.” I stole a puppy once. No one ever found out.


Three. “I’ve lied.” In court. In front of a Judge.


Four. “I talk to God.”


Five. “I’m not Whole.” I have missing parts. Irreplaceable.


Six. “I know no Hate.” I hate no one and no thing. Never have. Never will.


Seven. “I’ve played Hero.” I’ve saved lives.

“Here comes another one!” I yelled at my brother. He stood a couple of steps ahead of me, knee deep in the brook. It was mid summer. Hot. My brother and I used to spend whole days in the small brook which ran past our grandparents’ house. He always stood a few steps in front of me, legs apart and slightly bent at the knees, hands together forming a cup half way in the water breaking its smooth surface and causing ripples. The ripples always made it harder on me to see. But I stood there too, legs apart and slightly bent at the knees, hands to my side palms out, fingertips just touching the surface of the water. Waiting. We never had to wait long. They always came. Tens of them. Dozens. A few dozens. I lost count. Poor little flies, bees, ants, and all sorts of unfortunate bugs fallen in the water, drowning, struggling to no avail. We saved them. We scooped them up from the water and threw them to the side of the brook to dry and go on their merry way. We were good. The ones my brother missed, were my souls to save. We were a good team. At the end of the day our feet and hands were so wrinkled, they resembled a sponge. But we felt good. We were heroes. At night, when we lay in bed, I’d wonder what happens to all the bugs that fall in the brook when we’re not there. But that lasted only a couple of seconds and then I drifted off to sleep.


Eight. “I’ve seen A Forest’s Soul.”

I lay in my sleeping bag on the damp hard ground. It was the middle of the night. The forest was cold, dark and quiet. I was being shaken awake. I opened my eyes. The man who was shaking me was crouching on the ground beside me. In the darkness, I could only barely make out his outline but I knew who he was. “What is it?” I mumbled half asleep.
“Get up” he whispered, “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
Unwillingly, I got up and out of my warm sleeping bag. Ouch. I realized I had no socks on and it hurt to walk barefoot on the forest floor. He leaned down and picked me up piggy-back. He walked slowly through the sleepy forest without making a sound. I was wide awake now, eyes piercing through the darkness, slowly getting accustomed to it and starting to make out outlines and shadowy shapes. The forest seemed magical in the dead of night. So quiet. Suddenly, he stopped.
“Look” he whispered and pointed somewhere ahead of us. I pulled myself up a bit on his back so I can peep over his left shoulder. A few steps ahead of where we stood, a tree glowed. The bottom of the tree was surrounded by a faint, fuzzy, white light which crawled up the trunk of the tree reflected by the mist in the air. A second tree glowed not too far away from that one and another and another here and there throughout the whole forest. It was the most beautiful and magical sight.
“What is it?” I whispered my question in his ear.
“It’s the Spirit of the Forest, son.” he said.
I know now it was phosphorus deposits which accumulate around the base of trees in a forest absorbing light during the day and emitting it out at night. But then, so many years ago, I sat wide-eyed on my father’s back in the middle of the night in the middle of the forest and watched the Spirit of the Forest dance around the trees right out of a fairytale.

Brief Six

The Drink

I stood naked in front of the closet. It was mid summer and the heat was unbearable even in the late hours of the night. My body was covered with a thin layer of sweat as I stood in front of the open closed not wanting to touch my clothes with my damp palms. I needed to find my uniform. I hadn’t needed it in a while so I knew it had to be buried at the bottom of the closet somewhere. I had to report to the Superior the next morning. I dreaded the times I had to don on my uniform and give my reports. Who had voted me leader of the team anyways? They ought to have known better. I wrote great reports and gave great speeches but that was all on paper. In real life, I was no good as a leader. But the majority had voted for me and here I was on the night before report day, sweaty and nervous and hot.

The open window let no air in. I lifted the bottle of absinthe up to my lips. It was given to me by a friend as a birthday present two years ago. I had thanked him and put the bottle in the box under my bed, next to all the other bottles I thought I would never touch. I don’t know why I had dragged the box from under my bed earlier that evening. I had dusted it off and opened it up. And there they had been, bottles of poison, forgotten, untouched. It should have stayed that way. But I had reached for the bottle containing the green liquid. It had looked so tantalizing, so irresistible, almost teasing me, whispering “pick me, pick me, drink me!” So I did. It was madly strong. I remember chocking on the first sip. It shot up my nose as I swallowed against my will. I set the bottle on the coffee table and went back to my report. I was stuck. I couldn’t gather my thoughts. I turned on the TV. There was nothing on. I turned it back off. I looked at the bottle on the table and it looked back at me, grinning. I picked it up and took another sip. No chocking, no coughing this time. I felt it slide down my throat and all the way down warming the inside of my chest. I took yet another sip. Suddenly it occurred to me what I should write in my report. I started typing. The words came out with ease one after the other stringing along the page like a beaded necklace. I wrote for over an hour. The report was finished. I reached for the absinthe again and drank.

The air in the room got dense and a wave of heat came over me. I took off my t-shirt. The phone rang and startled me. I picked it up but there was only the free dial tone. It was getting hotter. I took off my jeans. Time for a shower and hit the sack. I got up. My head buzzed in a funny way and I felt a little dizzy. I took off my boxers and headed for the shower. Shit. I needed to dig out my uniform from the closet. I better do it now before I pass out for the night. I started for the bedroom and halted half way. One more sip. I went to get the bottle of absinthe. I walked in the bedroom and opened the window. Nothing. Not even the slightest breeze. I walked to the closet and opened it. The sigh came directly from behind me. It was a long, sad sigh. A cool breeze blew in from the window and over my damp body. My hair stood up. Suddenly, it was freezing in the room. I turned around slowly. Behind me, on my bed, sat a woman dressed in white. She looked at me with big sad eyes. “What do you think, Leo? Am I gonna make it?”

I don’t know how I was able to exercise control over my legs, but I bolted out of the room and all the way out of my apartment. I stood in the hallway naked, shaking and breathing heavily, the doors from my bedroom to the front hallway left wide open behind me as I ran. No one came after me. I waited a long time. No one came after me. After what seemed like an eternity, I gathered the courage to go back inside the apartment. I walked to the bedroom and pocked my head through the door. She wasn’t there. The bottle of absinthe lay on the floor in front of the closet spilling its green guts all over my carpet. I picked it up and threw it in the kitchen sink. I closed all the doors and windows. I took a cold shower, put on my track suit and grabbed a blanket from the bedroom. I went down to the first floor and rang the bell of the middle apartment. After a few minutes my friend pocked his sleepy head out the door. I was late for the meeting the next morning and I gave the shittiest speech ever but my report saved my neck. The Superior called it “brilliant”. I was not so sure.

Brief Five

Doctor Alistair

Doctor Alistair was an old man when I was a young apprentice. He was a good doctor and a good man. He was good to me. He didn’t pay much but he was good to me. Always had a smile on his face, even when the work got rough.

The work got to him. Doctor Alistair had worked hard all his life. A little too hard perhaps. He did it because he loved his work. And he did it because it gave him the opportunity to live by the golf course and drink vintage wine. Doctor Alistair loved his wine. I think he loved all other liquor as well but wine was, by far, his favorite. Some mornings, I thought, he had it at breakfast. It steadied his hands I think he thought. But it actually made them shake even worse. Sometimes a patient would throw me a nervous look as Doctor Alistair started at them with his unsteady hands, but the majority knew him and trusted him despite his shaking.

The shakes spread to his head right about the time my apprenticeship was nearing its end. He hated change Doctor Alistair did. He hated when it was time to welcome a new apprentice. He hated the unknown. The number of pills he had to swallow in the morning grew exponentially in the last few weeks. I would see them on his desk in his private office when I went down there to bring him the newspaper. It made me sad to think of leaving but I had no choice. I couldn’t be Doctor Alistair’s apprentice forever.

He had to give up his precious wine. But he was able to steal a glass or two now and again when we went to lunch some days. “Leo,” he’d say, “have a glass of wine with me, won’t you!” And I’d humor him and drink a glass with him. My head always spun afterwards during the afternoon work while Doctor Alistair always worked better during those afternoons. I’d even hear him humming away in his laboratory.

I left in the fall. I told Doctor Alistair that I’d come back and work with him one day. But I never did. I got enticed by the big city and the big enterprise and the big life. I met a man who came to work at our conglomerate one day many years later. He knew Doctor Alistair. He said Doctor Alistair had survived a massive heart attack. That was over three years ago. Poor, old, shaky Doctor Alistair.

Brief Four

Little Golden Piglet


I pushed the cart along slowly. I had overfilled it and it rolled heavily along the uneven ground. I knew I could probably do without a few of the things I had piled up into the cart but I didn’t want to discard them. What would people say? Look at that spoiled little brat, they’d say, getting rid of things, throwing things out of his cart like he doesn’t need them. I shouldn’t have cared what people would say, but I did. And I pushed the cart along with all the unnecessary junk. The man pushing his own cart beside me gave me a disapproving look as if he could read my thoughts. We had been pushing our carts alongside each other for a while now and I was beginning to think he was my friend. I shouldn’t have trusted him but I did. Though I pushed the cart along trying not to look at him or draw his attention.

The gorge came up completely unexpectedly. It sliced the road from left to right. The people who’s carts were lighter and pushing along quicker had no time to react and were quickly lost in the gorge disappearing from view. I pulled back in the last minute and managed to bring my cart to a halt just at the edge of the gorge. The front left wheel slid past the edge and my cart tipped to the left sharply spilling half its contents out on the road. I managed to steady the thing and straighten it back up. I looked around me for the man. He stood a few steps behind me, a safe distance from the edge of the gorge. He must have seen it coming and brought his cart to a careful stop in time. He stared back at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. Was it fear? Or sadness? Or even….Was it disappointment? Was he disappointed I didn’t tumble in the gorge? I looked back and over to my other side. Some of the people who didn’t fall down the gorge were turning their carts around and heading back. Others just stood there with blank expressions on their faces. But why wasn’t anyone trying to go over the bridge?

It was a precarious old thing hanging dangerously over the gorge a few steps to my right. I turned my cart in that direction. I took a look at the man. He glared at me. I should have been scared but I wasn’t. I gave my cart a gentle push. It was lighter now that it was only half full and it rolled along quite well. I reached the bridge. I put the two front wheels of my cart onto the old, rotten wood. Was my cart too heavy still? Could I make it? I gave another push slowly, carefully. The bridge swayed and creaked under the weight. The cart was on the bridge now but my feet still stood on solid ground. I turned to look at the man one last time. He seemed to be gesturing at me. Pointing wildly towards the other side of the gorge. I turned to look at what he was pointing to but the other side was too far for me to be able to see anything. I gave the cart another gentle push and stepped on the bridge.

I squeezed the little golden piglet in my palm so hard it dug its little sharp feet in my skin. Where did I have it from? Did I find it? Or was it in my cart the whole time? I wouldn’t have known for my cart was overfilled with useless junk. It should have been hard for me to push it along with one hand but it wasn’t. Beside me, the woman pushed along with me. I had the feeling that I knew her but I didn’t know how. She smiled at me. I opened my palm and looked at the little golden piglet. It seemed to be grinning at me. I looked back over my shoulder. I could see a great deep gorge slicing through the road behind us. People were falling in from the other side. A man stood by the edge of the other side of the gorge. He was pointing at me. I couldn’t understand what all the fuss back there was all about but it was none of my concern. We weren’t headed that way anyway.

Brief Three

Gina

She took a bite off her sandwich. “We an wo ith” she mumbled with her mouth full.
“Sure we can do it.” I agreed. She sat on a small wooden bench under an old chestnut tree eating her lunch. I stood before her, my own untouched sandwich in hand. She swallowed and looked up at me.
“You will talk to your uncle, right?” she asked “You said he can help us.”
“Of course.” I said.

It was doable. I had no doubts or fear. We were perfect for it. Well, Gina could have used a nose job and that hair … we definitely needed to do something about that hair of hers. For a Caucasian girl, she had an unusual African American kind of hair. Black, coarse and thick and curled up so tight, it sat on top of her head like a wig. I always wondered where she’d gotten that hair from. An influx of African American blood in her family would be unheard of, impossible in fact. But there it was and we had to do something about establishing some sort of control over it before we went ahead with our life changing plans. I couldn’t remember who had come up with the original idea but I know I was the one who took it and ran with it. I was “the brains” of the operation. And there was my uncle, of course. It would have been next to impossible without him. But he was my uncle and he would help us. Gina had no one in the business nor was she a go-getter herself. No, Gina was a follower. And she listened to me in awe as we sat under that chestnut tree many a lunch breaks and I talked about our bright future ahead of us and how we were gonna get out of there. The world was ours.

The bell rang. Man, lunch time sure flew by in those facilities. Gina stood up. I could see she had dropped a blob of ketchup on her uniform.
“They might make a stink about that” I said pointing to the red smear on her chest. She looked down.
“Shit” she swore and took out a napkin from her pocket. She spat on it and began rubbing at the ketchup stain. She only made it bigger and more noticeable. I looked around. The crowd had dissipated. Everyone knew better than to stay out past the bell. The last couple of vagabonds dashed for the doors.
“Come on” I urged “Or we’ll be late and you know what happens then. That stain’s nothing compared to being late. We can’t afford to get in the black books now. Not so close to our…”
“You two!” the Big Guy shouted at us. He always came out exactly two minutes after the bell to make sure we were all inside. Gina jumped. She tucked the napkin back in her pocket and looked at me. Her expression was a mix of disgust, anger and fear. I grabbed her by the elbow and we rushed past the Big Guy through the heavy doors and into the damp, gloomy interior of the Facility.
“We’ll talk more at lunch tomorrow, OK?” I whispered in Gina’s ear before we entered the room.
But we never did have that talk. The next day, my uncle came through for me and got me out. He couldn’t do anything about Gina.

I think about her often. I wonder what became of her. I wonder if she hates me for leaving her, for promising her a better life, for promising her the world and then running out on her. I reach for the bottle of Johnny Walker. Dearest Gina, please forgive me.

Brief Two

Salem

Standing in the freezing night, I thought about thrashing the schoolyard. Only a few days ago I would have thought about erecting you a monument in the schoolyard but now I thought about thrashing it! The headlights of my car behind me imprinted my shadow on the school’s wall, long and eerie. I clenched my fists. How could you do this to me?

I closed my eyes and thought back to the day we met. I thought you were one of us. And imagine my surprise when I opened that door and saw you standing there on the wrong side. I froze mid-stride in the door frame until the door hit me from behind and I stumbled in the room. All eyes on me. Including yours. I couldn’t tear myself away form them, those big, black, intense eyes.

I was late. After, I’d be always late. Partly because I couldn’t bring myself to see you every time talking, laughing and joking with the rest knowing you could never be mine. I knew it was wrong. I knew that you knew it was wrong. So why did you look at me that way? Why did you come close? Why did you trip over my clumsy feet? You tortured me. The whole school tortured me. They mocked me. And they giggled and pointed in my direction when I walked by. Because they knew. And you knew. And you let them.

I opened my eyes and let the cold night breeze blow the tears dry. I couldn’t hate you. I wanted to but I just couldn’t. It wasn’t your fault. Maybe you needed my help but I wasn’t there for you. How could I have known? Mr. P said I was making a difference. He knew, didn’t he? You had told him. You must have. He was your friend. He was my friend too. But he’s safe and sound tonight sleeping beside his wife in his warm, cozy bed in his big, fancy house and where are you now? Where am I?

I turned and got back inside my car. I revved the engine. Twice. Three times. I squeezed the wheel till my knuckles turned white. How could you do this to me? I loved you. I think you knew that. I floored the gas pedal.

Brief One

The Town


The tears in my eyes make it hard to see, but I keep walking. I know the way quite well by now. My feet follow the narrow path along the river. I have walked this path many times before. I follow the sound of the water. This path will take me home whether I want it to or not. It is the same every time. My feet step steadily one in front of the other despite my raging desire to turn back and run.

I love this place. It is beautiful, it is tranquil, and safe. It is home right now. But the place I have just left behind beckons me and I struggle to calm myself and keep going. Every step I take takes me further and further away from it and even though I know I will return again soon, I dread the moments that will have to pass until then.

The tears run down the side of my face. I hasten my pace hoping to outrun the pain, but it remains at the centre of my chest, and it will not go away until I am back there.

When I am there, everything is right. There is a calmness in the air and a calmness in my heart. I feel at peace. I feel content. I feel happy. But most of all, I feel like I belong. It is miles away from home, but it is home.

I have traveled a long way not knowing where my journey will end, but alas, I have arrived at it. I remember taking my first steps along the crowded street. It felt strange and unfamiliar then, and yet welcoming, inviting, accepting. I remember strolling aimlessly down through the square and along the bridge over the river. I remember wandering down the quiet streets on the other side, turning right, turning left, with no particular destination. I remember getting swallowed up by that town, sinking deeper and deeper into the very heart of it.

The rain drops hesitate on the way down creating a thin mist in the air. The breeze carries it along like a lace curtain. A few more steps and I am in front of the door. It closes behind me and the world remains outside locked out on the other side of it. I am in my own little world now, cozy and comfortable, and full of mind cluttering distractions. The town is gone now save for a faint memory lingering somewhere in the depths of my mind. I busy myself with the mundane routines of the day hoping it will bring the night sooner.

Night is the only thing separating me from the town. I must wait the night out for in the morning I will return there again. I close my eyes and drift off. Sleep is surely a waste of time but it comes quickly. It takes over my body and my mind and it takes me away from the town. To fight it would be pointless and I give in every time, my last conscious thought always the same. "The town awaits me in the morning."

The day is gray today and it makes the town appear tranquil. The thick clouds hide the sun and hang over the tops of the buildings like a heavy blanket. The narrow streets seem narrower, the tiny shops, tinier, the slow river under the bridge flows even slower swelled up from the recent rains. I step over the cobble stones and make my way down the river bank and down to the old town. This is my favorite spot. I can see the old houses from here, resting along the hill on the other side of the river and the tall pointy roof of the temple stabbing through the grey sky. I watch the blue-green water as it squeezes under the ancient stone bridge columns connecting the old town to the new, and the steady flow of cars and people passing over it. Eyes wide open, I take in the beauty of this place and try to permanently imprint it in my mind so that I may never forget it. I try to freeze this precious moment in my memory for ever. I do not know how many moments like this one I have left remaining here in this town. Perhaps many, perhaps only a few, but I savor each one like it is my last.

The sound of the bells echoes in the grey sky reminding of the inevitable. Time. Constant and unstoppable, time will pass over this town, changing it, aging it. Will it still be here thousands of years from now? I do not know and somehow this is not important right now. Right now, all that matters is this moment by the river bank, a minuscule grain of sand in a vast, endless desert, but a tremendous part of a single life.

I rise. It is time to go now and even though I know I will be back, I cannot help the sadness that comes over me as I walk back through the grey streets that take me away from here.

The town looks lovely in the rain. The rooftops glisten. The raindrops create beautiful patterns on the windows of the shops before falling to the ground and flowing away between the cobblestones like hundreds of mini rivers. I walk on as the rain washes over me washing away my sorrow, my sadness, washing away my very soul into this town forever. I walk on but my heart remains at the river bank.

My feet step steadily one in front of the other along the familiar path. The tears in my eyes make it hard to see but I keep walking. Each step takes me further and further away from the town, but I know, I will be back there tomorrow.

The sun rises over the damp rooftops. The town glistens in the morning sunlight, clean, fresh, and new. I open my eyes. A broad smile spreads across my face as the realization comes: I am home!