The Final Dream

Everything was on fire and the mountains were
shrouded by clouds of ash. People could not stand
the heat but had nowhere to go. People sweated
through their clothes and even the waters at the
beaches provided no relief. The sky was ashen
gray and the sun struggled to pierce the veil.
Daylight began to mimic night and people and
animals began to sleep fitfully. Time seemed as
though it was beginning to unspool but where
was it unspooling from? Minutes and hours
began to feel indistinct from one another. So
it seemed that everything was feeling apart.
Nothing could hold. The heat began to drive
people mad but everyone understood why.
Violence and crime began to infect every
where all at once as if it were a virus. Blood
shed on the streets and in homes. No place
was immune from this furious season. Yet
the tides at the beaches continues to come in
and out. The moon would occasionally peer
through from the sky and grow horrified at
what she could see. The sun grew indifferent
at what it had to witness. Some said it was
the end of times, that Jesus was about to
return but He never did. God gave no
booming proclamation from heaven to His
children. In fact, some people said He had
forgotten us, that was why everything was
happening, to punish us for our sins. It did
not stop the sinning. The people howled for
relief, for salvation, but none would ever
come. Weeks and months went by in this
fashion until at last years began to pass.
Our population thinned but the madness
and violence only continued. The gray days
taunted us with the possibility of pure
sunlight but it never came. What few
children were born into this time, many
were sickly and died. Few lived but those
that did were hardened in a way their
parents could never be. I began to wonder
if things would ever change, if we would
ever return to the life we all led before.
I realized I was a fool for thinking we
could ever return to such a state. And if we
ever did it would be many lifetimes removed
from my own. I survived, we survived
as best we could, as long as we could.
And when the day came I could no longer
bear the weight of being I found the standing
body of a dead tree, it's branches stripped
of leaves, sat down on the ground, leaned
my back into its trunk and closed my eyes.
I began to dream until I dreamt no more.

Wonder

How many long days of work ended with him opening the door
to his car and sitting down? Not all, but a lot of them. It wasn't
that his work was of the back-breaking physical variety, it was
the kind of work that wore out the mind and could make a man
soft and apathetic. Sometimes he would just sit there and close
his eyes before turning the ignition. Once he was on the road it
would be the usual evening slog through traffic filled with others
like himself just happy to be heading home and away from the
touch of work. Every so often he would look into the window
of a car next to him and watch for a moment. Occasionally he
would see someone singing. Other times they would be staring
straight ahead with a steely-eyed focus to get home. They all
had that look of tiredness that work had a way of stamping on
their faces. Even if someone was happy to be driving home
among all the traffic it was rare to see that look on someone's
face. He liked putting on music in the car for his drive. Some
days he wanted something pretty and slow, other times some-
thing fast and daring, but just something to listen to. It was a
little thing that helped make the drive more bearable. There
were many times he wondered what would happen if he just
kept driving. Not going home or to the bar, just driving as far
as he could until the car ran out of gas. How far could he get
and how much farther could he go with another tank? How
he longed to let the road open wide before him and drive until
everything could make sense again. Could the road go on
forever? Would he ever need to return? He wondered but
there was only so much wondering a man could do.

Running Late

He was running late and he hadn't had a chance to
call or text her to say so. She was going to be pissed
he thought. She had been telling him all week how he
needed to make sure he'd be on time today. He thought
he had it all planned out for any contingency but it turns
out to not have been the case. He was racing through the
traffic as best he could without being a complete and utter
asshole. He hated disappointing her. She was probably
fully dressed and waiting on the couch for him to arrive.
Honks and hands greeted him on this drive more often
than he cared to feel. This mad rush, would it matter at
all by the end of the night? Would it be forgiven and
forgotten by tomorrow morning? He hoped it would.
That was a future not yet living. He drove in silence
and finally arrived at his exit. It wouldn't be long now.
The mad dash of desperation, the final stretch was
now at hand. Just one more push.

6 A.M.

The night shift has ended as they walk inside
and find their stools at the bar. Cory sits down
first and puts his wallet on the counter. Veronica
walks over and puts down a coaster and a beer.
Tim and Edgar sit at the end of bar and are talking
while Veronica gets their drinks. It's a normal
morning. They all work at the airport and the bar
is only a few minutes away. She turned the TV's
on to the morning news programs. Tragedy over
in some part of the world, shooting in some state,
the President saying this and that, the usual hum
of day to day history that becomes the background
noise in places like this. In here the news only
serves as fodder for conversation and debate,
everyone here is insulated from the damage of
reality, one drink at a time. When Veronica
turns around Cory's eyes linger on her ass and
legs. He hasn't had much luck with women since
his divorce. Veronica knows he looks when she
turns her back to him, she's heard his story.
She can feel the lingering touch of loneliness in
his voice. Veronica would never date any of
her regulars. There was one she had considered
briefly some time ago but he had stopped coming
in. Cory likes to get buzzed in the morning because
it'll help him get to bed so he can sleep during the
day and be ready for the next overnight. "Good
morning, John" says Veronica to the older man
in the tan members only jacket. John lives a few
houses down and has been retired for years. He
lives alone and likes the company of the folks
at the bar. Ask any of the morning patrons and
everyone speaks only good of John. He was a
veteran of some war he prefers not to talk about.
Not because of what he saw, he saw things
that he would prefer he hadn't, but because he
was taught to be a man and just get on with his
life. It was a tough habit to break at his age.
John set down a twenty on the counter and smiled
at Veronica as he said "Good morning." He always
meant it, too. Veronica placed a glass full of ice
in front of him and began to pour a light beer
into it for him. He nodded and said "Thank You"
Cory looked over at John and said "Good morning,
Sir." John looked at him and nodded. For a time
no one spoke. That was fine with everyone.
The drinks gradually drained away into their bodies
as the specter of day loomed just outside the walls.
Veronica wondered how quickly the day would go
by. Would it drag on endlessly or would it pass by
as quick as the cars rushing into work? She had her
people to tend to and she would know soon enough.

Passing Through

My phone began to ring, it was Will. We had been
pretty good friends through high school but had only
been in sporadic contact since he got married. He was
going to be in town on business for a few days and wanted
to know if we could meet for a drink the following night.
I suggested a bar in downtown called The Black Crow,
it never got so busy in there that you couldn't hear yourself
over other peoples conversations.

We agreed to meet at 8p.m. I arrived a few minutes early
just to make sure we'd get a good booth. The lamp above
the booth was dimmed to ensure there would be just enough
light to see each others faces and hardly anything else. I set
my jacket in the booth and walked over to the bar. "What'll
you be having?" said the bartender. I told him a gin & tonic
and to use something top-shelf. He set the fresh drink on
the counter and I set a ten dollar bill and walked away.

I was stirring my drink when I looked at my watch and
noticed that it was eight. Will walked in and began to scan
the room from the doorway. I raised my arm and he walked
right over. "Christ, it's been years!" he said. "Go get yourself
a drink and then we can catch up." I said. He came back
with a pint and a shot of whiskey, "To catching up," he said
as the stout shot glass and tumbler clinked.

We sat there emptying glasses and filling each other in on
the usual things men of our age have achieved. I told him
I was still single but had been dating around, and that if I
was lucky I was going to be getting a promotion at work
in the next couple of months. I asked him how things had
been with him and Nancy, "Funny you should bring her
up. Have you heard?" "No," I said, "about what?" He
lifted the pint glass and poured the last of its amber down
his throat.

It was strange hearing him say they were getting divorced,
I knew both of them when they first started dating in
high school. We would always hang out as a group with
our other friends. The two of them had always been the
center of that small group. After high school they moved
to the midwest and bought a home. They had their first child
shortly after.

"I let her have the house, it wasn't worth arguing about. I've
moved into an apartment on the other side of town, its actually
close to work for me. I can get there in half the time now."
By then, both of our glasses were empty. We could have
opened a glassware store with the collected empties. "Let me
get us another round," I said. He nodded his head at me as I
slid out of the booth.

I walked back with two pints and two shots of whiskey,
a little bit of the beer that had been peeking near the lip of the
glass spilled over and wet the table. He reached for the whiskey
and held it as steadily as he could. "To better days," I said.
"To better days," he said. "To better days."

This Friendship

He's such a bore now that he doesn't drink. It was fine
at first but now all he wants to do is stay home and read.
We used to go out all the time and get drunk at the bar
by his house. Michelle would buy us a round if she was
bar-tending. He used to have the biggest crush on her,
everyone still does. I'm not sure why he decided to stop,
we always had a good time together. We were inseparable.
I heard he got a promotion at work. He used to complain
about how much he hated going in each morning, but I guess
he got over that. It's not the same when I go in now. Michelle
asks me how he's doing and all I can say is 'good'. It's just not
the same anymore. I just don't get why he stopped. He could
always handle his buzz even when I couldn't. Maybe I should
call him and see about dropping by his house.

The Crossing

Chavez stood at the intersection and watched the mid-afternoon traffic 

as it whizzed past him. People leaving work for home, parents picking 

up children from school, squad cars cruising for speed demons with 

heavy feet; all of them and more were lost in their own thoughts as 

they sat encased in hurtling means of movement. None were aware of

the others movements as long as they did not cross paths. He set his 

heavy bag at his feet. His left hand was sore from carrying it. There

were still a few more blocks to go before he would be home. He grew

up not too far from this corner. When he was a child his mother would

walk him to school, he always felt safe with her around. She had been

gone for quite some time now. He hoped his car would be ready at the

shop by tomorrow like they had told him. The lights turned green and 

the solid red hand was replaced by the gray lights in the shape of a man

in a walking motion. He grabbed the bag with his right hand and moved

as briskly as he could. He disliked the fact that the lights at intersections

never felt like they gave you enough time to cross unless you were 

sprinting from one side of the street to the other. He could feel eyes of 

impatience glaring at him from behind windshields and being cursed

at under breath. He felt the rush of energy as a car turned behind him

as his feet touched the sidewalk. His pocket began to vibrate and he 

ignored it, he had a good idea of who it might be. When it stopped,

he reached into his pocket to read the text message. It was exactly

who he expected. She must be drunk, lonely, or both to be trying 

to reach him at this hour. Her boyfriend had broken up with her 

recently and there weren't very many people she liked to talk to. 

Chavez had liked her but that had worn off. They went out shortly

after her break up and got drunk at the The Black Crow down 

the street from her apartment. When they got back to her place they

pounded a bottle of wine and began to make out in her living room.

They were lucky because her roommate was out of town at the time. 

He liked feeling needed, he didn't get to feel that too often. There was

something different about it, something that made him uncomfortable.

He put the phone in his pocket and started walking back to his 

apartment where no one waited. 

When Things Go Missing

I woke up one morning and I couldn't find my face.

There was nothing on my bed or tangled in the sheets.

I got down on hands and knees and did not see anything

on the ground. Finally, I went over to my car in case

I left it there on accident, though, if I had, I hope I would

have remembered that. After searching for an hour I decided

to wear one of my masks for the time being. It wasn't a perfect

fit but it was better than no face at all. The problem with my

masks is how hard it is to speak and attempt to be understood

through lips that cannot move. It is frustrating but what more

can I expect from an easy fix? I called my doctor and told him

my situation. He said to come by at one o'clock for a fitting.

As I sat in the waiting room I noticed a few other people

that were wearing masks as well, at least I wasn't the only

one. My turn came up and I stepped into the back rooms.

Doctor Austere came by after a couple of minutes and

promptly took off my mask. He looked at my raw head

and said that he would use the same measurements from

before for my replacement face. He said if I could wait

another twenty minutes or so they would have it ready

and they could attach it right away. I agreed. It's an odd

sensation to be with out your face and wait around for its

replacement. At least I hadn't been out drinking when

I lost it. When he came back he had one of his assistants

with him. She must have been new because I could not

recall having seen her before. She was quite lovely and

I could tell she had received a new face recently. She

stepped out and returned with my new face resting on

a blank head. It looked warm and alive. Doctor Austere

said it would be just like last time. I sat there quietly as

they began their work of connecting nerves to quivering

new flesh, those pathways which give expression to such

an organ. There is pain like a burning light but it is bearable.

After some time they both stepped back with a satisfied look.

"Can you smile for us?" the Doctor said. I felt the skin raise

up into two opposite corners as my new lips curved.

"Looks perfect," he said. He had me do a few more facial

expressions just to be sure. He said to call him if I had any

problems with this new face. I told him I would. As I walked

outside to the car the skin on my new face felt the wind, it's

fine hairs were at cold attention. I remembered that I had left

a bag of groceries in the trunk of my car yesterday. I popped

the trunk and saw my groceries there, fortunately they weren't

of the easily perishable variety. I also happened to see a familiar

some one looking back. Oh well. At least I have a spare.

As She Wakes

As She Wakes

A poem/prose piece written and recited into my digital recorder today.