Chapter 1
And ‘seeing’ God again.
With no fear at all, nestling deeper, black plastic around his face. Rain dropping at night.
He twisted his side, with the black of the metal shielding whatever light. A slight quiver, from the corner of his, he did not mind.
“Some sort of country this is.” he had written it on a napkin, acting like a contracted form.
His biggest mistake had been something he had not realized- the truth being his dolls.
To me, his power at most.
Not ever looking at his bible, and getting lost- his stories were running away and getting married.
Similar, too similar to mine.
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A day away from hope, the situation he had been in. His transcript and all, he knew he had told a lie, but it did not matter to him.
A doll house, playing to be popular, heard and forgotten- my biggest fear is his life.
Every time I had written, I wrote the opposite as well- my fears are bigger than it too.
Or at least that is what is telling me to write.
That man sleeping, he had no idea of any of that, with no pressure at all.
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He had lived another truth of another person.
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And with no truth of his narration.
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Left at night, with no way, and he knew the instability had mattered to someone else.
I had been mistaken, it was stability.
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He had been the true gift, as of me,
Not ever as fragile.
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Leaving us another gift, leaving another sort of home, devoid of any warmth.
We had both left home.
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Both in deep fear, with us,
The biggest difference was the feeling in our stomach.
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And another difference, it may have been selfish of me.
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Her coming home, and leaving the farm. All he had been able to do, short fragments, both unaware and aware of the fate oncoming.
His life’s work, another line, of her achieving love,
Drawn out and impressively large.
Full of twists and turns.
With another man, a bunch of them, and they all have stories as well.
Their sort of country, never mattered in the beginning, nor the end.
And with their mail,
Straight to the west of Hollywood.
To the house of the director, and the producer.
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And another part of Hollywood.
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A hum, and a record store across the block.
Waiting, their eyes left and right, chin slightly upturned.
Waiting for the stars and the night.
For the magic of a whole other reason.
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The night had come, as always.
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Their stomachs felt it again, and he looked left and right only once, walking across the street,
Feeling his heart flutter, now running across the street.
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In his mind, tinfoil and all, the assortment of feelings and format- capitals and letters.
He was close to reaching the point I had, and-
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A word salad, and he leaned on the concrete with another friend.
Finishing up, feeling his float, and his future secured-
And he pulled out another bottle-
Whatever he had dreamed of and promised,
He, and nobody on earth, unless they were all together-
This sort of happiness,
Was a harmony and a mechanism somewhere else-
And, his powers were still there,
Running away, taking a pill,
And running somewhere else.
*
The end.
