Truth

Determination has always been just a word for me. Just a big empty word like millions of other words people use to make you feel small.
Determination. They said I had none, that I'd be nothing more than a speck on this earth. Of course, my initial reaction is to laugh or shrug them off, being that most of the people reciting these words never knew what I was determined to do.

A month ago, my flight landed in Western Europe. With nothing but my backpack, my degree inside, a change of clothes, my notebook and my nunchucks, I began to walk. Having graduated from the university of Grandeur and realizing that a degree hardly made it easier to find a job, I realized that I needed a new truth. A truth that didnt depend on this sheep's skin. A truth that wouldn't dissolve if I added pressure or submerged it under the seas of inspection. And so, I began to walk.

Cliche enough, I backpacked through Europe, losing time only in Amsterdam. And I walked until the people began to look different. Their skin was no longer pale and chalky. Their hair wasn't short and blond but now long and jet black to cover their tanish skin. Even their eyes changed. It, seemingly, happened so quickly. Like walking from the slum of our nation's Capitol to the political district. In a blink, the hoods changed. I saw less cafes with people drinking red wine and more people tilling land.

I kept walking. Walking. Walking, knowing that I would not stop until I found a new truth.
My truth.

Leaving a vast amount of land behind me, I saw in the distance what looked like it could have been a city. But it wasn't. Or maybe it was, before.
The closer I walked to the collection of houses, the more I realized that they weren't houses at all, the harder it became to breathe the increasingly thick air and the more the  same air smelled strange.
Trotting down the hill entering the town, I saw a single tan man in an orange dress tied in a knot over one shoulder and the other exposed to the elements.

First I thought he must be cold. But I remembered it was summer and it had to have been around noon. His back was facing me so I doubt he knew I was coming. The closer I got to him, the more I realized what he was doing. He hasn't moved since he first came into my line of sight. Staring forward, then down, then up then back down, he never moved. Closer, still, I could see his shoulders rise and drop heavily. And so I evaluated the scene.

The buildings, those that still stood, were charred. Black with soot and ash and missing walls and ceilings so you could see the nothing's inside. The buildings that were no longer standing were still smoking. The closer I got to the man, the fewer words I had for him.

"This looks horrible. I'm sorry. Was anyone hurt?" I managed as I closed the distance.
To my surprise, he wasn't startled by my presence. Nor did he dry his eyes as he turned around to face me.
"Are you okay?" I asked but he just stared at me for a short while and took a shorter bow. I bowed back, knowing this is a greeting and sign of respect in some places. He smiled lightly and bowed again. Then he started to walk away. I thought to continue my afternoon stroll when he turned around. The look he gave me told me he held the truth I was looking for. Even in his destruction, he was to give me light.

So I followed him.

I followed him along a along and winding pathway, "where are we going?"
No reply
"Actually, where am I?"
No reply
Then, I asked myself, "does it even matter?"
And I think I heard him snicker.
Before too long, we came across a set of stairs. So many stairs, in fact, that they plotted out the horizon. Without hesitation, he began to climb.
"Hey! Can I take the elevator?" I realized how insensitive this was, not because this place clearly didnt have an elevator but because, if they did, it probably burned with the rest of the place. And so, I followed.

Two hours later, we reached the top. Well, I reached the top, my friend having long since left me behind. I drank from my canteen as reward and followed him, still, to a small building that was still left intact.

He sat on a small mat and held his hand out indicating I should take the one across from him. I did.
Why? I don't know. But I did.

"Are you okay?" II asked again.
He responded with a slight nod and his deep gazing stare. It was so intense that I didn't know if he saw me at all. Maybe he saw my essence. Maybe he saw straight through my quasi intellect bullshit. Maybe he understood me better than I understood myself. Maybe he was me.

"Can I ask you a question?"
He stared.
"Um, well, what is this all of this for?" I waved my hand around to indicate that I meant these temples. "I mean, is normal life not suitable for you?" And I thought for a second, maybe this is normal. And if it was, would it be suitable for me. And what's so suitable about what I consider normal anyway? I wondered if anyone ever threatened to bomb this place like they do America.
Well, at least one person wanted to. And succeeded.

"I just feel so deceived. Everything I was taught growing up was wrong, or a lie or has changed. And I don't know how to make heads or tails of any of it. Am I headed towards success or running from it. What even is success? A boring job that helps me buy a basic house to house a wife who won't let me touch her when I want but has dinner ready when I get home and spends my money on two kids who don't speak to me? And then, what even is happiness? Working a job I love for no pay so I can't eat breakfast or lunch so I'm starving even before noon and can't focus on the work I love all for a check that won't pay my rent so I'm always harassed by my landlord adding to the stress of my pending hunger causing me to focus even less, inevitably leading to my termination? And what the fuck did I even buy this $24,000 degree for anyway if I can only get a job at enterprise?"

He stared at me. Did he even hear me? Was he deaf? No, no, I know I heard him laugh earlier. But did he laugh at what I said or at his own thoughts. Maybe he can tread lips. Maybe he can hear and not speak.
"Hey, can you talk?"
He shook his head.
"But you can hear me, right?"
He nodded.
"And you understand?"
He nodded.
"So you know English?"
He smiled and nodded.
I sighed, "what a relief. So why won't you talk."
Again, he simply stared at me.

"I know you monks have some key to peace and the truth and wisdom and shit. I need that knowledge. I don't have anything. The foundation I grew up on has been completely destroyed. I don't know anything. Magna cum laude and I don't know shit. I'll die broke because I don't know here from there or where to go. I'm upset. Angry even. Angry at my own ignorance. Angry at the confusion. The lies. Everything. I'm angry at everything.  I just want peace. I just want to know. I just want the truth."

Still he stared. I couldn't make eye contact any longer. My eyes watered at the hopeless failure I had become.

I heard him stand and when I looked he was facing outside, watching the destruction settle. Melting inside myself, whimpering, I knew he had no answers for me and had made my mind to leave.

When he spoke, his voice sure and unwavering, "you are a fool. There is no truth. All things of the world are of lies. A lie based off a generation of lies only seems like a lie because what you see as truth is, too, a lie. There is no truth. You are the truth. You exist and that is the only truth you know. And because you exist, your truth exists. You create it. You create the truth that you want by weaving the lies at your disposals into what you want. You are your truth. You believed I was mute, that was your truth until I destroyed it. Your truth is that I was a mute. You took the lie that I implied and created this truth. The truth is, I took a vow of silence but, sometimes, I talk. You would believe that this place was attacked by heartless terrorists. I burned this establishment to the ground. That is my truth. Find your truth, yours and yours alone, and you will find the light to guide you."

With this, he stepped back into the sunlight and walked back towards the steps. He took a deep breath and without turning around, jumped from the top step...

And flew into a place where he could escape his truth.

Let it wither.

Everything happened so swiftly.
I could hardly keep up but, I didn't want to slow down.

Almost suddenly, one of the longest friendships I had ever known,
Became increasingly romantic.

So much so, that when I entered her, I felt so much more than the raw walls of her insides.
I felt her aura. It's yellow. I felt her spirit.
And I loved it.

If I had ever, ever loved anyone, it was her.
And I still do. Without shame.

And before I knew it, I had a girlfriend.
And I loved it.

The expression, "God had another plan" rings entirely too true here.
He told her that she wasn't for me. That my calling was greater than her. And that her calling was now Him.
Oh! The beautiful irony.

I didn't argue. I understood and left her be
I didn't cry, though my heart broke a little.
Finally, here, I thought I'd caught the heart of the last woman I'd desire.
Clearly, I was wrong.

This is not a pity party, simply an update. Granted, this was a few months back.
And, like the wise sage Gucci once said, "miss one bus..."

Our friendship, I still value.
My heart, she will always reside in.
But my love must wither into nothingness

Like the carcasses of dead men, left in the hands of fire

Or like the hope of a consistently rejected romantic

Or the heart of a man who understands that purity is illogical

un-repressed

years, its been, since i stopped using my basic cancerian trait: le emotion
logic has been the path i have chosen for all the logical reasons.

reasons that i have begun to question

maybe i have grown weak. maybe, in the end, solitude simply isnt enough.
maybe recent, now almost-regrettable, events sparked a fire that the NYFD couldnt extinguish.
i dont know.
i have recently enjoyed the calming effect of waking up next to another.
and i have recently come to the conclusion that it is something i'd like to get used to.

this isnt new information.
i've always known this, so why are we revisiting the topic now?

i dont know

i was close to a relationship
but, God took the young lady from me.
now, i would never tell someone to give up their religion for my sake
but you havent known real shame until religion steals your chick.

"you're nice and all but you're not holy enough."

still, not a first but it cut a little deeper this time.
a lot deeper, honestly.

love is such an elusive element
like a rare pokemon
just when you stop looking, it appears
and just when you're about to catch it, it runs off
or dies.

im really a failure at things emotional
and it'll probably be that way for the next dozen valentine's days.

maybe cupid can hit one of my books with his arrow.

left, right, up, down

sometimes, i dont think God loves me.

like im his favorite ant to flick around.

i believe, i pray, im thankful, i spread happiness and peace

and yet,
around every corner, im met with rejection, deceit, failure and overall disappointment.

have i really set off this much bad karma?
seriously?





sometimes,
i miss the days when i lived in a cave

the storyteller's poem

come, come.
soft! sit.
and ponder if you will, of all the world.

the seas, the skies
the land, the lives
the ladies, the guys
the souls, the eyes.

what do they see?
how might they feel?
or
what can you show them?
how can you make them feel?

these were the questions Homer asked himself.
centuries later, Shakespeare repeated.
Poe, Hughes, Morrison and Lee.
and now, enter, me.

I have copied no answers, though my eyes have wandered.

curiosity, in fact, has fed my cat.
long have i wondered what other eyes see
and my pen whispers their lives into my ear
lives of sorrow, pain, indifference and fear.

hear ye and take heed
these stories have nothing to do with me
and have not been told to me
but
does that make them fictional?

...

fix your description of me
until you know the story of the one doing the story-telling.

i dont know where this is going.
i cannot predict the future.

all i can say is that i have a fantastic feeling.
i feel brand new.
humbled. broken and destroyed.
i arise from my own wreckage to be a better me.

looking around, i see all that i have accrued over the past few years: nothing.
therefore, i have nothing to lose.

i can only go up.

wait, i lied.

i did gain something.

a peace of mind.



finally.

and it starts

Before I go on to tell you the details of my little journey, it is probably wise to tell you of my other endeavors. There have been many. All with one main goal: to prepare the citizens for the revolution.
ironically enough, i dont do much talking during these little quest. Wisdom and guidance do not always need words.

they do not know that i am coming. they do not know, yet, of my mission.
they believe that i am dead.
and it has been ten long years since they've noticed me.
but from here on out, my existence can no longer be a secret. if i am to continue my journey then they will find out about me.

but, how do you find nobody?

no title.

you see me and say i'm suspect,

and thats what ive grown to expect.

momma told me that thats the way its always been.

im bad cause im black.

ive got it bad cause im black.

and, honestly, i was quite okay with that.

before.

but now, you're publicly executing me.

taking my life for no reason outside your own paranoia.

tormenting my mother. giving my father the finger.

depressing my sister. and terrifying my brothers.

and somehow, im the suspicious one.

im suspicious when you've stolen the very land you call home.

when you stole the labor it took to make this land into a home.

im the suspect but never once has anyone who ever looked like me killed off an entire race.

nor, enslaved every race under the mighty sun.

i've been bashed and ashamed for every wrong i've done.

but you hide your mistakes and rewrite the textbooks.

no. im not suspicious. you just need a place to vent your inner turmoil.

i am not the killer or the thief or the rapist or the liar or the embellisher.

but i will become those things.

fire vs fire. and i am satan.

i fight with centuries of anguish and mourning in my arsenal.

you fight out of fear.

and the cowards never live.

my people need not stand beside me, for they are afraid too.

consider yourself lucky. lucky that we once sided with Martin and not Malcolm.

but this is a war i can win without them.

wake up

i am standing alone, outside as the sun begins it's ascent.

the sky is still damp and dark. the air is murky. it is the most unpleasant time to be awake.
nothing good comes forth during this hour. ghosts haunt, people begin to wake up for work, the "heat of the moment" dies down and one sobers up.

but i've stood outside for such a long time. waiting. just waiting.
the hours lost no longer mean anything to me. failures and D minuses are trashed and burned.

Batman knew that both darkness and light can only last but for so long. that is why he had two identities. but even he had troubles keeping the two separate.
one must experience both and watch the light grow into dim depression.

and now, the sun must finally rise.
as its rays pierce the sky, warning the night to make way, still i stand.
waiting. watching.

black turns to purple. purple to orange. and, soon, orange to blue.

i've stood still, complacent, confused, depressed, furious and needy in this darkness for so long.
it is time to let such feelings pass like the night.

the sun is rising.

i hear my inner self asking, "what time is it?"

i let the question sit for a moment, knowing time is running short.
with closed eyes, i sigh one last time. the road ahead is no longer the easy one i've grown accustomed to walking. but now it is illuminated with the light unknown, yet, to mankind for my will and determination and desperation have been lit.

again, inner-self ask, "what time is it?" this time, they sound more distant. less close.
the journey has already begun when i reply without the usual cocky smile, or enlightened wisdom, with nothing more than simple focus,
"its time to go."

life narrative.

its been some time since the introspective question, "who am i?" crossed my mind.
but we're past that now. i know who i am.

the real question is, "how does who i am trump the challenges i go through?"
more simply put: how do i get ahead?

honestly, i regret all 22 years of my life. every last one. without exempt or exception.
and they, whoever "they" are, say that you haven't lived a full life until you have a few regrets.

but i have a full life of regrets (maybe thats why i always feel so old..)
i've made all the wrong decisions. i've loved all the wrong people. said the wrong things. so on and so forth.

the only thing worth while that i've managed to do was learn. 22 years worth of hardcore trial and error learning. thus, wisdom. or something of such nature.

i look at the mirror and i see the past.
i see past me in his roughest state. hair uncut, wispy whiskers, tired eyes.
and in the same frame, i see the me trying to get past the past me.

its a silent struggle.

i look here at these words now and see that i can no longer make the same mistakes.
i cant keep telling the same stories. i'm not tyler perry.
i am tarrance foster. thats who i am.
what does that mean? well, what does that matter?
i am who i am. and i must use what little i know to outsmart myself.

things won't happen in my favor if i don't hold the gun to the dealer's head.

so here i am. sitting in silence on my day off. wondering.

standing isn't the problem. its moving thats hard.

if anybody reads this.
hell, if anybody understands,

watch out.

signed,
a new man.
(but whats that matter?)

return.

been sulking lately. hence, the lack of posts.

but im back. my balls have re-dropped and im a man again.
22 now. oh joy.

yeah. theres your life update. if you cared.

the pictures.

my memory has gone bad.
but i remember you. not all of you but your essence.
sometimes, i see pictures of you in my head.
moments we've lived out together:

one is of you next to me on a long bus ride to nowhere. your big eyes looking at me the way they did. glowing, it feels like. in my sweathood. you were beautiful.

i remember seeing you in a bathroom, standing against the sink, staring at me, inviting me.
i remember taking that invitation.

i see you in front of me, confessing something. still with those eyes.
Jesus, i could never forget those eyes.

my memory has gone bad, but i could never...

i see you standing over my bed. me behind you. sunlight beaming inside. your chocolate skin melting into mine. i remember feeling like someone painted us there. Maybe God, Maybe satan, maybe Us.

Us.

i remember those eyes.

but i don't remember why.

ramble on

the two heavy metal balls in my hand orbit each other with, what seems like, little help from my fingers and palm. they were said to be able to help keep me calm. i was lied to. per usual.

a storm rolls in. black clouds, lightening and heavy winds. but nothing potent enough in yin to blot out the sun. they say that this storm will end the world. i'd be a fool to believe it.

"there is nothing left."
"there was nothing to begin with."
"is that what you believe?"
"isn't that what you've told me?"
"i remember saying something opposite of that."
"hence, my beliefs."
"what do you believe?" [laughs] "nothing?"
"i wish i was that naive. i believe in everything."
"thats impossible."
"i believe you."
"how can you believe me calling your beliefs impossible?"
"the same way you can believe your beliefs knowing they're impossible."
[slience]

the storm continues to lug itself closer from the horizon. it brings death with it. it takes life with it. one exchanged for the other but no refund for neither. there is no choice but when is there ever a choice? you take your hand off the table and you either fold or keep your poker face solid, knowing you hold the shittest hand at the table.

either you win or you lose. or you shoot the dealer but thats probably a tell-tell sign of losing.
either you get married or you break up.

"are we breaking up?"
"do you have verizon?"
"huh?"
"bad joke. what was the question?"
the stress balls continue to swirl
"i don't think you're a real person."
"i'm not. i'm all the best parts of all your favorite literary characters and all the worst flaws of all your most hated cartoon villains wrapped into one sloppy burrito. with no thing to drink."

no thing. no, not nothing but, yes, no thing.
one might ask: "what is the difference?"
one might reply: "no thing."

for something to be something there has to be anything of that something's nature. but if there is nothing of that nature then that something never was, making it no thing.

"there are three men behind each of the pillars behind you."
"don't insult me. they were dead before i let you fix your mouth to speak. you underestimate me to such an embarrassing degree. this is where i go on a cliche, villainous rant about this being my world and me being god, the invincible. but that'd be a lie. i am not god. i created him."

silence. and a question.
the storm is over head.

"who- what are you?"

lightening cries. and the sun pierces through all darkness, erasing it as though it had simply forgotten to turn on its "on" switch.
a loud, heavy clank rang as thunder ripped though an epiphany.

"i am, no thing."

my favorite fantasy.

rain is hitting my skin. i feel the droplets leaving small streams from my head down my face, neck, exposed chest and abs until the feeling vanishes around my waist.
the sky was clear just a moment ago but dark and ominous clouds quickly blot out the sun.

there is an ungodly fury to be found in my eyes.
teeth clenched.
fist clenched.

the ground begins to shake and small pebbles and mounds of dirt levitate.

the strong urge to scream fills my lungs but i keep my mouth tightly shut.
my short nails pierce my palms and blood streams down my knuckles.

a swirling cloud of dirt encases me.
lightening strikes in my general direction.
nothing is stable.
being within a hundred yards of my person is a taunt to death.

a battle cry rips through the heavens suddenly.
all the dirt finds its place back on the ground from which it once came.
and i am revealed.
i am floating half a foot off the ground and my hair is golden.

and then you wake up one morning to find that you're totally alone.
ones before loved have moved on and forgotten their whispered promises, remembering you only in hindsight, never forethought.

never forethought.

ones desired do not desire one with the same vigor or valor, as if these text messages could cross state boarders and reach into her pants to make her see something in you, anyway.

no little ones begging your attention, highlighting the simple curiosities of the world.

no sparkling galaxy of wonder and thought to stare into as the sun bares its horrid news of the arrival of another day.

no breath to intake
no "good morning" to be heard.
no purring kittens demanding attention
no bark of a loyal mutt to suggest its morning walk.

not even an alarm to inspire acts of greatness
nothing
absolutely nothing except for the cold, shrill touch of silence.

oh, but i have my thoughts.

life to come

its cold.

its always so cold here.

the wind nips at my bare chest and legs. 

my feet are covered with layers of what used to be closed. hands too.

my waist wears a tarp that blows in the ever blowing wind. 

my body doesn't shiver anymore.

the wind is cold but i am warm.

this mountaintop can see over everything. 

for miles and miles all that can be seen is white nothingness. 

this is solace. 

this blistering cold and unbearably white place. this is peace.

this place of ultimate understanding.

this place of total compassion.

this place of nothingness.

this place of everything.

i retreat to my cave. a fire is burning softly. it warms me gently before i go off to hunt.

there is no more meat here and one must hunt. 

earn my keep.

my instincts take over.

stepping out onto my ledge, i look for any sign of movement.

i make my way down my perch, seeing my prey.

jagged stone dagger in my mouth, spear tied to my back, rope on my waist.

by the time my feet are greeted by the snow, my prey is closer than i anticipated.

he doesn't notice me yet. he will. i am too dark to blend in, unlike him.

but i stalk him. my light figure hardly makes a sound in the snow. 

i can't let him get too far ahead of me or i'll lose him. 

so i get closer. closer. and closer still.

the spear is in my hand. the wood is rough and splintering though it has been used many times before. 

my senses have heightened. 

the cold is blistering my feet as i steady them. my arms are heavy from fatigue. 

i lift the spear above my head and use my remaining strength to launch the weapon.

a red blot pierces the white nothingness. i've hit my target.

i run to meet my spear and use the dagger to finish my task.

dragging a two ton polar bear up the side of a mountain.

in my camp, while my dinner is cooked, i look on the cave walls. 

countless markings. days. months. years. i added another one to the wall and sat back in awe.

july fourth, 2026. its been thirteen years.  

  

the downfall. pt. 1

i am no catholic. and i am no saint.

my feet were cold on the hardwood floor but not cold enough to make me move them.

so i simply sat at the foot of my bed, hands locked and resting in my lap. had i not had on underwear, this moment might have become awkward for myself. 

but my mind would even let my body wonder of anything other than the reason why i was sitting on my bed and not actually in it.

a blue night sky shone on my face. 

outside, the sky was clear. no clouds, a few stars, a moon...somewhere.

the wind howled. my knuckles cracked.

i rubbed my hands together, hoping to create enough body heat to warm my feet.

or maybe i was just nervous. antsy. restless.

"sweetheart," said the ever familiar voice of my wife, "come back to bed. what are you doing down there?"

without turning to look at her, i replied, "thinking. just thinking."

"would you like to tell the woman who took your last name, cleans your underwear and has awaken to your face for the past six years what is on your mind?"

"would i like to, no. but should i? yes."

there was a stiff silence. after a statement like that, how could one not know?

the silence lingered in the air like the gagging perfume of a dead body.

thick. heavy. unforgettable.

"please, explain, my husband."

there was no tactful way to go about this. no way to say this without the message being missed, watered down or any less hurtful, "i've been with another."

as a man with his doctorate in psychology, i can tell you how people will react to certain things. how emotions usually lead to the same response in different people. i have known this woman long enough to know how she would react to certain information. i had planned everything up until this moment, because, up until this moment, i knew how she would respond. 

but, from this moment and beyond, i could no longer speculate.

"oh, but i know, love."

with this information, it was i who was shocked.

"you do? but...but how?"

"look at you. you came home late, you refused dinner, you didn't have a glass of wine nor read your book, no jazz by the fire, nothing in your character that you've so perfectly constructed. i've been making sexual passes at you all night and you've all but rejected me. you could hardly look me in the eye tonight. i knew it the moment you walked in the door." 

"so now what?" i asked out of pure curiosity. 

"now, you come to bed. it is late, we both have things to do in the morning. there is no point in moping about what you've already done and its far to late to appeal to my emotional side. just come up here and go to sleep with me."

"you don't hate me?"

"oh please Percy. of course i hate you. i cook, clean, show you endless amounts of affection, play date with your mother as if i like the bitch and you sneak out and fuck someone else? you're damn right i hate you but what good will it do me now? i've invested too much time into this. too much effort. it'd be foolish for me to get up and break a few mirrors on your behalf. is that what you were expecting? some, irrational, illogical response that would end in one of use storming out and, potentially, a divorce? no. you won't find that here. but, then again, according to your penis, you clearly don't find much here. with that said, you're much too delusional to even still be awake."

"then, you're not leaving?"

"no, Percy. i am not."

crickets could be heard chirping their little symphony outside. 

owls "whoooo"ed as if begging me to spurt my mistress' name. but apparently, that information was now irrelevant.

my previous acts, this conversation, they had left me begging the question, "am i happy here?"

and, quite possibly, the only relevant question left, "does it even matter?"

six years of marriage to a woman with a law degree who doesn't work, what would i gain by leaving her? freedom or a new national debt. is the grass greener? or should i just water the grass i have? or will my new yard suffer the same fate as this one? 

weak from a lack of rebuttal all i could muster was, "my mother is no bitch. and she guineuinly liked you." 

and i left the room. 

change: the final chapter

i've been dealing with this issue a lot lately.

you know, being gone then coming home to find everything different.

but i'm, as they say, "over" that.

this is the internal aspect of that situation.

outward change forces inward same.

i can feel my innards shifting. 

my brain churning. 

my soul settling. 

i know i'll be in this place (this emotional sanctum) for some time.

and i'm at ease with it.

at ease, as if that's even a real phrase.

i look back. 

and i see many faces.

friends, lovers, exes, wing-men

and i look forward...but i don't see any of them there.

(there are very few exceptions)

people are like money:

they go as fast as they come 

and when you're buried, they won't be in the casket with you.

i could, quite possibly, be just in one of my melancholy funks

or introspective evaluations. 

but at 1:27 on the twenty first day of the first month of my twenty-first year of life,

i finally feel as though everything before this point has grown to be

irrelevant. 

(a day later)

cleaning my room today, i found a picture. 

when i received such picture, it held such meaning. 

it was a dictionary of emotion between the two objects in the picture. 

it has since faded into a hardly recognizable blur, one would have to know what the picture was previously of to know what it now is. 

it did not weather the storm. 

i plan on giving the picture and frame back to the person who gave it to me, along with another item i owe them, for symbolic reason. 

maybe its proof for them. maybe its closure for me.

untitled

they took off my handcuffs and took off my blindfold.

i stood before a dozen men, all with their semi-automatics pointed at me.
i've escaped many a predicament but this was one i hadn't the will, cunning and proper planning to escape this one.

the end had finally come.
but one would not run, nor scream, nor cry, nor whimper.
but i would stand tall. die with my dignity. my pride. my honor.

i stood alone. unbound.

"any last words, commander?"
"i once wrote a speech for this occasion but you aren't the men i expected to be gunning me down."
"humor us."
"you don't deserve it."
a stiff brief silence.

"any words for your family."
"tell my wife, 'mission accomplished.' but if you find her, tell her, 'mission failed.'"

"Take aim!" bastard general.
i pointed roughly and mushed my forehead, telling the traitors where to aim.

"you will remember me."
"FIRE!"



fin.

the perfect ambush.

we knew they were coming.

we didn't know how
we didn't know from where
we didn't know when
we didn't know why.

but we knew they were coming.
standing in a small, circular clearing in, what seemed to be the middle of the forest. we all stood in a loose circle with our weapons ready to fire.

there was nothing but silence.
a silence so silent, we knew something was wrong.
no squirrels. no rustling leaves.
even the wind held its breath.

suddenly, shots were fired and the ground threw dirt where the bullets had landed.
a man fell and more shots came.
it wasn't until our eighth solider fell that we realized that the shots were coming from underground.

"how'd the fuck they do that?"
"who cares?! shoot back!"

we shot. and only hit the ground.

more bullets hit the ground
but these we heard whizzing downward past our heads.
so we shot the skies.
and only hit clouds.

rustles came from the left
so we shot to the left
but got shot at from the right.

rustles came from the right
so we shot right
and got shot at from the left.

our confusion cost us many lives.
until only four of us stood.
we all shot in opposite directions
up, down, left, right.

a few of our enemies wailed in pain.
some fell
but we remained outnumbered .
another fell.

the enemy began to close in.
a bullet hit my shoulder
but i kept shooting. reloading. shooting.
reloadin- another hit my stomach.
i crouched, to reduce the pain and to keep my firing arm steady.

another ally fell.
the last tried firing in every direction in a Rambo type of manner.

"i picked good men."
she fell to a knee. then, fell over again, holding herself up with one arm.

"thank you," i said to her amidst my own gunfire.
"shut up and keep living."
i kept firing.

"La Resistance lives on, sir. Our message was heard. We live."
with her last words came another bullet. i'm not sure where it hit me but it forced me to the ground. i watched my last warrior close her eyes. she held no tears.

again, silence.
then, leaves crunching under a thousand footsteps.
they approached me.
one stooped to look me in the eye.

"how?"
he chuckled, "it won't do you any good in the afterlife."
"then why?"
"an interesting question. because we wanted to."
"just because?"
"just because."
"there is no 'just because' evil. there is no person pure of evil. you must have motives that align with evil.."
he laughed, "i am evil."

i was engulfed by nothingness.