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.