No Comments

“Looking Into the Darkness”

“Looking Into the Darkness at All of the Sounds” by Fred Johnson

I remember seeing the snow covered sidewalk, my breath forming a cloud, and the lil silver-gray diner that frosty morning. That was all I saw.

Was that really all I saw that morning or is it all that I remember seeing?

Was there more to see that I missed, or did I just not file it as important in my brain?

Looking back at this morning I can see more now than I did when I participated, yet I see nothing at all. I now can picture that the sidewalk was not snow covered; instead it had been cleared at one time, but now melted into a watery slush only to freeze again creating a rough icy layer that made its own distinct crunching sound. My footsteps were not the only I can hear, different shoes, weight, and body types were all working as different instruments in this orchestra of ice this morning.

The sounds paint such a beautiful picture clear as day, but all I see is the still darkness. There was more to hear other than my own thoughts. I think back and can feel the cold dry air slicing though my skin like millions of small paper cuts. I remember the lack of feeling in my toes along with my thoughts only concentrating on how I felt annoyed with the fact that I had to pause my busy day to meet.

The smells also seem stronger now creating images for me in this darkness. The street smelled normal, comfortable, the dirt and grime stinking up the air in this city was my norm, and it consumed me. The smell from the steam of fresh coffee only now tickles my nose as the sweet smell of pancakes with hot maple syrup turned the tickle into desire. I only wish I would have let that inviting smell influence my thoughts as they do now, maybe then I could have smelled the fear at the table and the stench of my own selfishness.

I remember sitting down anticipating my own early escape, as I now stare into the darkness my senses create a more detailed replica of the meeting that frosty morning.

I should have smelled the fear emanating from every pore on his baldhead instead the smell of money that monopolized my thoughts. I should have noticed the shimmering sweat on his brow crying out for my attention like sad tears. Then: I only heard my watch ticking away into my busy business day nodding to every word he said, reflecting now I notice that I should have heard his plea and opened my heart. I could feel my own heart beating in my chest faster and faster, worried that I may loose another dollar with every wasting second. In the darkness looking back, I can only now feel him reaching out for a helping hand, feel his pain grabbing me to share his burden.

My senses now are heightened as I think about this morning, yet I still can not hear his words, for then I was focused elsewhere, not on him or his needs but instead on my own. He spoke of about his wife, debt, and not caring about life. The words stand out now, but then they were all I heard, filtered out by my thoughts of money and richer friends.

Now my heart hurts, no more business meetings, no more money to block my emotions, too bad its now too late.

I remember flashing him a smile while giving him an even flashier excuse for my early departure. My thoughts were then consumed with planning out my day and figuring out what I needed as I passed by the window where I was just seated.

Now thinking back I can feel a cold shiver as the steel barrel was raised. A click can be heard before the bang. The glass makes a slight noise as it cracks hidden in a moment by the shattering sound it makes. Concentrating in the darkness I can hear the air being ripped apart while feeling the temperature drop slightly. The sound originally ignored by my selfish inner voices is so much more distinct.

The ripping of flesh, the cracking of bone, the oozing of gray matter, the smell of blood, the smell of death, the shattering of glass, the sound of bone again followed by flesh, and then flesh again� followed by complete darkness�

It�s funny on how your senses seem to work better after you die. The sights, sounds, smells, tastes, feelings� both kinds of feelings are enhanced when you have no reason to concentrate on yourself.

Was it worth my life� to get hit by the same bullet that traveled through the head of my friend?
Or am I going about this all-wrong, maybe my senses were more considerate than I allowed myself to be. If I could have just been less concerned with myself and a little more compassionate to my friend�s needs instead of my own, he would not have raised the gun to his own head.

No Comments

“Being Deemed Crazy “

“Being Deemed Crazy is a Blessing” by Fred Johnson

Sometimes being deemed crazy is a blessing. Its not being locked up in my new windowless home that bothers me, it�s the fact that no one else knows�or will ever know.

When I was younger I used dream about fighting evil and cleansing the scum from behind the ears of the earth. It was all fun and games; I would have never thought that the true evil would be an accumulation, or a ring, of dirt remaining after the initial cleansing.

The laws were created hoping that they would be enforced and the scum would finally be removed. It seemed as if the laws were viewed through different glasses, some filled with various types of booze. The interpretation of the law by different men slowly brought anarchy�and Anarchy never rinsed the scum from the tub, instead it spread.

Where do I fit into this? What role does my so-called insanity play? I was the only one who was brave enough to bath in the filth once the floodgates opened. Once submerged things started to look differently.

I used to have a family. I used to have a job. I used to be happy�even in the real world that exists outside of my mind and padded room.

Back then evil was present, not too noticeable� like dust, everywhere but easily overlooked. I worked a good job for good money; I was selling poisons to the youth while encouraging the enticing propaganda that furthered the cause. I did always wash my hands after handling the money, who knew where those bill have been, imagine the germs they carry� money is filthy.

I worked hard selling sins for the same people who betrayed me. I originally thought that the poison I peddled improved people and their lives; instead it left them buried six feet deep in dirt. This whole time I thought that just the money was covered in filth, until the day I removed the red hood and looked in the mirror. My face covered in bacteria and germs, so thick was this grime I no longer recognized myself� no more family, no longer a small time crook� and all I could do was laugh at my own smile.

Don�t worry this all relates to my current mental stability� your not the crazy one are you?

Back to the rules, the rules that supposedly cleansed the world, here lies the problem. The laws brought order and peace, but after cleaning anything the rag or whatever was used to clean needs to be disposed of properly. Instead the trash bag of filth was misplaced and forgotten about.

Around this bag a cesspool formed as its plastic started to decay. This cesspool many call society was going about things all wrong. Mugging, murder, rape, and other forms of violence were not meant to be prosperous, no financial gain just fun. Too many of these criminals, the so-called scum of the earth, committed crimes to survive; they saw it as a necessity. Never once did they ever stop and smell the bloodied rosaries. Never once did they feel the pleasure of juggling a pair of kidneys. The entertainment value of fresh organs is underrated; it sure beats the party tricks of your average clown. Why just kidnap, where is the creativity, where is the fun. Instead just send ol� mom and dad some fresh all-natural �Bob�s Intestines Home Style Sausage�, I sure hope they read the ingredients.

Now don�t try to tell me that I’m sick, you�re the one still listening to me.

The whole city was being overrun by filth, not just in the streets but also in the government. The city was a paradise it didn�t need cleaned, but there are always the �nay sayers� who thought that it needed an enema� that�s when �he� showed up, our own personal �Mr. Clean�.

Who would guess someone dressed as a flying rodent would try to mop this city clean. I mean I was born from this filth, it took my family and with his help it eventually etched a permanent smile on my face. They say I�m insane. They say I have issues. They lock me up but let him run around freely.

It wont be long until I am released from my padded home. The city better watch out because I will be back and dirty as ever, and I�m not wiping my feet at the door. No one will stop me, like the old saying goes: �Laugh and the world laughs with you.� It will be a GAS, everyone will laugh themselves to death. Even he will find the humor in it all when he dies like everyone else with a smile on his face.
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!
joker

3 Comments