full moon fever

I have this dog.  He is a good dog.  Real loyal type.  His name is Argus, like Ulysses' faithful companion.  He is a tough dog too.  He ain't real big, but he has a lot of fight in him.  You know what they say about the size of the fight in the dog, well I have seen my dog not back down.  He is as tough as they come.

So it was kinda weird, last night when we were out on our walk.  It was a cold night, crisp from the fall air.  We were out walking for his night walk, and suddenly he hears something.  I heard it too, but not as well as his ears picked it up.  And suddenly he stops.  He kinda barked, but it wasn't like his normal bark.  His barks are usually full of body.  But this one sounded like he had the air kicked out of him.  Suddenly, he turns around and starts walking back to the house.  He is pulling at my arm.  Really pulling.  He is pulling at me, and every few feet, he would turn back.  He would look back, then pull me further and a little faster.

I have never seen this dog scared before, but I am telling you, something got in him.  I kinda laughed at first, and said, "what's wrong boy, seen a ghost?"  But he just kept tugging.  Stopping every few feet and trying to decide if he was going to play sentinel or go.  As we were getting close to home, we walked out from under the tree cover.  It was a perfect night, clear purple with a blazing white full moon shining down.  As he is pulling me, he stops one last time and looks back.  I look back two and I swear I saw something in the shadows.  We both saw it.

I might have kept staring, but Argus gave me a tug.  I didn't need more than that and we were moving with some alacrity.  He pulled me up to the door, and I pulled out my keys quick and didn't look back.  I closed the door quick, and locked it tight.

I don't know what got into that dog that night.  It sure was a fear something kinda fierce.  Maybe it was some lyncathropic fiend.  Maybe it was Cerberus himself.  Maybe it was just a poodle casting a giant shadow.  I think I am glad I don't know, and I will remember to walk a little more gingerly come full moon next month.

The train

Breaking the silence of the New York subway.

Oh my God, jackpot.  Jackpot!

The quiet crowd peeks up.

I won!

As he stared wide-eyed at the ticket.

You won the lottery?

All eyes of the car are on the lucky fellow.

All of it.

You need someone to do your taxes?

Possibly.

The air of the car is electric with pause and murmurs. 

Yo, Vinny , maybe we should take this guy's ticket.

Oh hush, honey.  Mazal tov to you, dear!

Solipsism- nothing exists but the world we imagine.

Charon Station

All of it seemed like a blur. He reached in his pocket for the fare. There was nothing there. Strange. He reached into the soft lining of his suit and found an envelope. He opened the envelope and put the gold coin in the silver coin slot. A ticket to ride dropped into the glass-covered slit below.

Behind the dark-tempered glass, the attendant sat. He could feel the eyes of the station attendant on him and could sense a toothy, white grin from behind the tempered pane. He put his ticket through the collect, the black gates opened and he descended further down the long grey escalator to the train.

There was no one else on the platform below. He sat alone on the empty faux-marble bench in silence until the train came peering down the dark tunnel like a pair of eyes on a tired traveler. The train pulled up slowly and the doors opened.

He took his seat on the faux-leather bench, making sure he was facing forward. He disliked sitting backwards even if only for short trips. He always enjoyed the silence of the metro; that uncanny silence of a group strangers sitting together in a total absence of noise, save the hum of the train.

A homeless man and his ragged stuff was sitting in the special section reserved for the elderly and pregnant- his sleeping gait lumbering with the subtle train bumps. Lights sped by in the dark tunnel in a uniform whiteness.

He peered over at the sleeping homeless man. He was drooling absently. Wait, was that blood?

Come to think of it, he said to himself as he scanned the rest of the train, no one on this train looks very good. The guy in the seat across from me has a massive head wound. It looks like someone to a cheese grater to his cabeza. Probably wasn't wearing a helmet on his moto. Jeez, that old lady in the seat in front looks to be 120 years old.

His eyes widened as he scanned the rest of the train and tried to remember where exactly he was going.

Good, we are pulling into a stop. Maybe this will help me get my bearings. Charon Station? Where am I?

Just then an ominous voice chimed in on the intercom. This is the end of the line, this train will be going out of service.

Don Quijote de Los Angeles

//Attention cars in the area, we've got a call regarding a fellow on 5th street downtown in what appears to be metal armor, carrying a long metal stick, can someone check on it?//
-Yeah, this is Car 1492, I'm nearby. I'll go check on it.


-Excuse me sir, what exactly are you doing?

Oh good day to you fine lad, I'm on a quest to bring honor and glory to the resplendent Dulcinea.

-And why are you wearing a trashcan?

There is no trash around me? Are you referring to my armor, dear boy? This is the finest armor in all the land, cast in the very embers of the fiery forges of Toledo. This suit is practically impenetrable; never in the history of knight errantry has such any knight doffed such a fine exoskeleton.

-Armor, right. And I assume that is a lance?

Sharp as a razor's point, sturdier and more true than even the lance of Amadis of Gaul.

-I'm not sure that a lance is covered in your second amendment rights.

What are you saying, my dear lad? A knight nothings of rights or amendments to carry a lance, only his noble right to battle the forces of darkness. And what is this "second business" you speak of? I'm sure you must know that I am a Knight of the First Order of the Sad Face. What is it that they teach you in La Manchan schools these days?

//All units, we have a situation downtown, I need all cars in the area to respond//

-Ok, Sir Knight of the Sad Face, duty calls me off to face my own windmill. I'm going to let you hold onto your weapon and let you continue your adventure. Just promise me you won't run down any shopping carts with your lance.

Are you a knight, my dear boy? If so, you sure are a funny looking knight dressed all in blue. And what kind of steed that you came here on? No match, I'm sure, for fleet-footed Rocinante, who is ever Apollo's favorite.

-Ha, yeah I'm Officer Sanchez of the Knights in Blue.

Sanchez? In La Mancha, names offer branches to the trees of progeny's lineage. Sanchez would mean "Son of Sancho," is it so?

-At your service, my liege, but I must be off to battle my own windmill.

You sure you don't want stay and be my squire?

-Not this time, my lord, but ever at your service.

The Apple

She walks slowly through the garden, as her gentle feet dance over the cool, dew-dropped grass. Her powdery-white skin, unbeknownst to her, radiates as she steps closer to the tree. It towers above her, sturdy and solemn, while its low-lying fruit shines brightly in the mid-day sun. Perfectly round and golden, the apples beckon her forward.

The snake slithers next to her, and follows her as it glides over the grass. She gets closer to the tree and slows down her pace. She comes to a complete stop, as she stands in front of the tree. The tree shines forth in full splendor, as it emits a soft light.

She reaches forth, slowly and unsure. She pauses. She looks down at the snake, as it is slithering towards her. It slowly wraps itself around her ankle, up her calf. It quickly glides past her thigh and around her hips. It shoots up her back and perches on her neck. Slowly its mouth gets ever closer to her ear. The snake softly hisses in her ear, “s-s-s-surely one bite cannot hurt.”

Her arm rises with trepidation. Her elbow curves, as her slender arm reaches toward the branch with the lowest-hanging fruit. The apple, almost within her grasp, begins to radiate in a reddish-golden hue. The snake has coiled itself around her outstretched arm, as her hand closes around the glowing orb.

As her fingertips touch the apple, a blinding white light engulfs her palm. It runs down her arm as she pulls the fruit from its branch. The warmth of the glowing orb covers her whole body, as she brings the fruit closer to her mouth. The snake, which is coiled on her steadily closer arm looks into her eyes. “Jus-s-s-t one bite,” it hisses.

She takes a bite and closes her eyes.

The instant her teeth close on the orb, she is overcome with an onslaught of images. It is an overflow of black. Images of war, famine and pestilence. Armies marching in unison. Villages burning. Hatred rising. The shadows of Inquisition. The horror of Genocide. The stain of Holocaust. Twin towers collapsing. Mushroom clouds expanding. Images of faces to be known. Hitler saluting. Stalin in his full regalia. Pol Pot’s killing fields. The Cossacks sweeping across Europe’s plains. The Intahamye sharpening their machetes to march on Kigale. The janjaweed ravaging across Darfur. Faces etched with prejudice. Eyes showing fear. Hearts filled with rage.

Eve trembles amid the weight of the imagery. She is overwhelmed, but is unable to move. She shakes, writhing in pain.

The archangel Gabriel looks down from above and sees her. He sighs, as a single teardrop rolls down his marble face. He plucks two feathers from his outstretched white wings, and drops them. A gentle wind slowly floats the feathers down to the garden.

The first feather lands on the snake, which goes limp and falls to the grass below.

The second feather lands on her head.

Now an overflow of white flashes before her eyes. Images of charity, mercy and goodness. Faces of righteousness. Images of faces to be known. Dr. Martin Luther King roaring in perfect cadence. Mother Theresa handing soup to the masses. Gandhi sitting cross-legged in a solitary cell. Faces etched with kindness. Eyes showing integrity. Hearts filled with compassion. Absolute justice and mercy.

White becomes red, as she is bombarded with images of life. Blood pulsating through veins. Birth pangs. Life pushing down from the womb. Age overtaking life. Death overtaking age. The overflow of red becomes the golden light of knowledge.

Eve falls.

She awakens to her own nakedness, as she is sprawled on the grass. Eve opens her eyes. She squints, as her eyes are sensitive to the light around her. She can barely keep her eyes open. Sounds are pounding all around her, and she is overpowered by the new reality around her.

Eve gets up, her hand clenches tight around the apple. She takes a step, then another. Her pace quickens. She is searching.

Eve finds him. She looks directly into his eyes. “Adam, my love, “ she softly whispers in his ear, “jus-s-s-t one bite. S-s-s-surely one bite cannot hurt….”

La Naranja del Palacio de Gobierno

What are you in for?
-Stealing an orange from the Governor`s Palace.

They toss people in jail for that?
-Only the hungry ones.

Any plans to get out?
-Yeah, I`m working on it.

What do you have in mind?
-Do you always ask so many questions?

Only of people who give answers.
-Fair enough. I heard something about a priest who has been agitating. Trying to free the slaves and overturn the order that enslaves us all. A pox on the crown and their viceroys! A pox on the governernor- that mandarin mandarin, and his beautiful orange fields while we starve in the streets.

What is the name of this priest?
-His name is Father Hidalgo. He speaks the voice of God, but not like they do. He does not use the Church to keep us down, but rather to bring us up. He does not close his eyes and recite mass while the masses lay hungry and dying. He calls for, even screams for, our independence and our freedom.

Was it at least a good orange?
-The greatest. It would have made the Valencians grow grapefruits for shame. It was sweet as life, and succulent as a virgin on her quinceañera. The juice ran down my arm like the blood in my veins; like the blood of revolution.

What is your name?
-They call me Don Pablo Quijote de Los Angeles. Soon they will call me free.