Indefinite Length, Part 7
17. May 2018
Charlee sits with an old legal pad and a pen emblazoned with the logo from Your Friendly Neighborhood Bar & Grille(TM), making a list of names, ordering them and re-ordering them. Bugs and frogs and passing cars outside the apartment, foley artists of the night, provide a soundtrack that Charlee does not hear. The task at hand is all-consuming.
Ex-lovers, ex-friends, family, co-workers; all the usual suspects. Everyone's been burned by them, that's not special. This transfer has to be special. Charlee crosses out the list and tries again. Politicians, celebrities, pie-in-the-sky names. No good, can't get close to those folks.
Another cigarette. Charlee looks at the sigil tattoo, and then copies it onto the legal pad, over and over. Soon the paper is covered with more doodles than names. When there is no more room, Charlee flips to a new sheet.
The clean surface of the blank yellow paper shines up into your face and you blink and drop the pen.
Now, you hear the traffic. You hear the frogs calling to each other. You hear the moths dive-bombing the flood light mounted just outside your window, in their frustrated and mistaken attempt to find food, or a mate, or a way out of what they perceive as a dangerous darkness. The sounds pound at your head, you put your hands up to your ears, how can fucking moths be so loud? A hundred drums in your thoughts, the marching rhythm line that syncs the steps of a hundred soldiers, each of the names you'd written before are driven out, in lockstep, off to fight another day. This is not their battle; this is much, much bigger than them.
That DUI, you think. (The sounds pause, a beat of silence.) The stupid bitch who rear-ended my dad. That was thirty years ago. Where is she now?
What about that kiddie-toucher from our old neighborhood? Is he still alive? (Silence, moth wings, silence again.)
Or that hood rat bastard who lynched our 5-month-old puppy the day after Christmas?
You write down three names on the blank sheet. Then sleep comes. You do not dream.
|Indefinite Length, Part 7 -- Photo By Kim Breeding-Mercer|
IN WHICH: Charlee sits with an old legal pad and a pen emblazoned with the logo from Your Friendly Neighborhood Bar & Grille(TM), making a list of names, ordering them and re-ordering them.
© KIM BREEDING-MERCER / OgFOMK ArTS -- 2018 All Rights Reserved. - "Indefinite Length, Part 7"
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