tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5189134706997277652024-03-08T00:51:54.212-08:00David Marks WritesUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-518913470699727765.post-76801353296816359982013-08-19T10:50:00.000-07:002013-08-19T10:50:29.057-07:00Dark Man - Part 1<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> I’ve
been having the same dream for the past three weeks now. I’m in a
bright white room and I feel awfully terrible, dark, and dirty. It
felt like this cold wet blanket wrapped around me, keeping me from
moving. My hands felt wet and dead cold. As I looked down I saw that
they were covered in red, dripping on the white floor. There was a
body lying in a pool of red, a painter I knew from college.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> I
would then be thrust suddenly into a dark, deep forest at night. I’d
be running, my heart felt as though it would be bursting out of my
chest. I would always trip at the exact same moment at the exact same
time. Then, looking up I would see a dark cloaked figure in front of
me. I knew I needed to run from him, but I couldn’t. I would then
be surrounded with many like him, with nowhere to run. They close in,
and then I wake up.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> I
would always wake up in a cold sweat with blood on my sheets. It was
from a scar I had on my chest that I don’t remember ever having
before I started to have these dreams. Each time the scar would
slowly get bigger, and deeper. It would never completely heal. The
memories of this dream are stained upon my mind no matter how hard I
try to forget them.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Then,
one day the meaning of the dreams became all too real. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">As
usual, I would go to the bathroom to clean up and fix up the new
wounds. The T.V. was left on and the news was on. It rambled on in
the background and I didn’t pay much attention to it. Then I heard
it, the painter's name, Don Jenson. I immediately went to the
television to see, it felt so urgent. There he was on a murder scene,
dead. I felt chills go down my entire body, it didn’t feel right.
Did I do this? What the Hell is going on? What should I do?</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> I
was desperately confused, staring at the TV. I got a hold of myself
when I noticed the time. I was late, so I got ready the rest of the
way and tried to focus as much as I could as I walked out the door.
My head was pounding, I couldn’t concentrate on anything I was
doing. I walked into the art museum where I worked. I passed by one
of Don’s painting and I felt a force stop me. I was compelled to
look at the piece. </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> It
was a single eye in front of a background of confusion and chaos. It
felt like the eye was looking, piercing deep into my soul. I felt a
pain in my scar and it began to bleed through my white shirt. I ran
quickly into the bathroom to see if I could dress it quickly. I
needed to figure it all out, especially if I was somehow a part of
it.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> “Are
you alright Jay?”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> I
looked around and saw Rudy a co-worker. </span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> “I’m
just fine. I just scratched myself up a bit before I got here,” I
said.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> “What
happened? You’re bleeding like crazy.”</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> “No,
I'm... I'm fine,” I replied.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> He
walked away and I put my shirt back on. I couldn't understand
anything that was happening to me. It just didn't make any sense. I
left the bathroom and the police were already there, looking for me.
My first impulse was to run, but why? I wouldn’t stand a chance,
even if I tried.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-518913470699727765.post-52489295894739931512013-08-08T15:36:00.001-07:002013-08-08T15:36:36.446-07:00A Onda na Mar - Part 1
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Lucilene
Alves por favor,” Bill said to the security guard behind the
window. </span>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> It
was hot and muggy, the humidity high. Sweat was dripping down his
face, his shirt soaking wet from his sweat. Bill could hear the waves
of the ocean only a few blocks away. He began to think about how much
he really hated it there in Salvador. He hated the weather, the heat,
the people. </span>
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> He
was going to have lunch with Lucilene, the mother of one of his
students. She was often too nice to him, he had no interest in her.</span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> He
taught English medical terminology at a nearby English school. He was
a long way from home; Waco, Texas where he was born. He left his wife
for a Brazilian girl ten years ago. It didn't last more than a year,
but he was stuck in Brazil. He couldn't face going back home. There
was nothing left for him back in Texas.</span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> “Pode
entrar,” (You can go in.) the security guard said buzzing the gate
to open. </span>
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> Bill
walked in and proceeded to walk into the building and into the
elevator. His stomach began to wretch as the elevator got closer to
his destination. The thought of the aging Lucilene and the awkward
situation that was soon to follow made it all hard to bear. The bell
rung too soon and he was there. </span>
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> He
exited and paused, contemplating whether to run or stay. He rung the
door bell. Lucilene answered the door,”Oh Bill, boa tarde.” she
leaned in to kiss him on his cheeks. He leaned in following the
motion; he only liked this custom with the younger women. She knew a
little bit of English. “Make yourself at home,” She said as she
walked into the kitchen.</span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> Bill
gazed out the window for a moment looking out towards the vast
buildings. It was a stark contrast to the view from his apartment.
From his apartment he could see the favelas sprawled out on the hills
in an ironic display of colors. Here, from Lucilene's window, he only
saw the upper-class in their fancy apartments. He thought of Vera,
Lucilene's daughter. “Is Vera here?” Bill said loudly.</span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> “No,
she is... at classes,” Replied Lucilene, “Would you care water?”</span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> “What?”
Bill asked.</span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> She
walked in from the kitchen. “Would you care water?”</span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> They
sat there in silence for what seemed like several minutes. Bill was
trying to grasp at what Lucilene was saying. “I think you mean to
say, would you like some water?” Bill said rudely.</span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> “Ah
yes,” said Lucilene as she cleared her throat, “Would you like
water?”</span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> His
mouth was dry, he answered yes. </span>
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> He
was quite disappointed that Vera wasn't there. She was beautiful and
young, highly spirited. She was his favorite student. He knew that
lunch was going to be long and awkward unless she got there. </span>
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> “Lunch
is ready,” said Lucilene a few minutes later, “I hope you like
feijoada.” He hated it, the common food of the people of Bahia. He
never could understand the contents of it, often being cloaked in the
dark black fluid.</span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> They
discussed at length about Vera and her studies. Lucilene was slowly
inching forward as Bill was inching back. Every so often she would
“accidentally” put her hand on his arm. It was a short lunch and
Bill made sure of that. “Well, I need to get back to the school,”
said Bill abruptly. He walked himself to the door.</span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> “Wait!”
said Lucilene, “Beijos,” she leaned in for the kiss. He walked
out ignoring her.</span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> Bill
walked away from the apartment building obviously irritated. It had
been several months that Lucilene had been trying to woo Bill. She
obviously couldn't take the hint that Bill wasn't interested. He
tried to avoid any conversation with her at all, but Vera, yes
beautiful Vera. He thought of her then, her perfect young body, her
shinning white teeth. </span>
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> His
fantasies were interrupted by screaming. He looked up and several
people were running, some bumping into him as they ran by. He looked
up and saw it. A wave several feet high was rushing toward the coast.
Fear almost kept his legs from running, yet he managed to turn around
and run. “Up hill, gotta get up hill,” was repeated in his head. </span>
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> He
ran and realized he was running straight into the favelas high in the
hills along with several others. As he was running up some of the
stairs he turned his head not realizing the piece of wood extended
from a building in construction. He hit it with a loud thump and then
blackness.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0