Tuesday, May 6, 2014
4:00PM (Blogophilia 11.7)
Images flashed in and out of his vision, Mother and then the policemen. He wasn’t completely sure if he was awake or in one of his nightmares. Scenes in sepia tones, like an old photograph. Mother in her high collared blouse, dour and lifeless as a dead rose. Jackson is across the room pounding on the table Murray pulls his hair and they are both laughing. Pigs enjoy humiliation. The ground began to rotate like a mechanical stage and a new point of view began. Murray is approaching an area with crime scene tape around it. Jackson hails him over to a pile sitting on the sidewalk. There is an old car just before the area. Jeremy waits as he gets closer and closer….
An acute pain broke through the dream, a stray sunbeam reflecting off the table knife and directly in the left eye. Moaning, he raises his hand to block the intrusion. His head is leaden. Jacking the chin up with his right hand, he is vaguely aware of the acrid smell. Crap, peed himself again. The sound of Mother’s voice echoed in his head, but he ignored it. At least he was in the chair and not in the bed. No laundry other than changing his clothes. Got to be more careful, they might catch on.
He slowly rose and opened the small window that looked over the tree lined parking lot. The smell of stale oil and re-fried beans from the trendy taqueria next door filled the room, filling his belly with hunger. He might walk over to get one of their house specials. Stumbling along the counter, he turned on the faucet and splashed water in his face. His hand made a move toward his drugs then pulled back, turning on the radio instead.
The brown plastic bottles seem to sway in his vision. A high pitched chant “You know you need us. Why haven’t you taken us?” began to play in his head.
“Because I don’t want and addiction to feed and I don’t have any mouths to pay. So Devil, I don’t need to bargain with you today. I’m O.K.”. Another voice said. The bottles and his mind were battling for control. No one was going to save his soul, no matter what Jewel sang. Jeremy was sure of it.
Call and response repeated itself several times before Jeremy could focus on anything else. Slowly, he stripped off his wet trousers. The cool air felt refreshing and he stood for a moment, the breeze from his kitchen window gently drying the chaffed parts. He absently moved the flesh from side to side. There was no pleasure in it, really. It hasn’t worked for years. There was just a need to feel the soft coolness and to feel it spread.
Peeling off his shirt, he stepped into the telephone booth sized closet that served as his bathroom. He switched on the light. There was a pop and the immediate touch of darkness as the bulb blew. Jumping back and gripping his chest, he almost peed again. The high pitched voice began to taunt him “A keeper, you ain’t a keeper.”
“Leave me alone!” Jeremy screamed. He melted to the floor, hyperventilating. His head pounded in time with his heart. He wanted just to explode there.
A soft voice quietly rose above the others.
“It’s alright. They don’t mean it.”
His breathing began to slow. Sarah’s naked body briefly flashed before his eyes. He sensed her small breasts and the smell of the lavender soap. The soft touch of a hand began to caress his neck.
“I will always be here.”
Tears formed at the corner of his eyes as he saw her. The gift that had been taken away so suddenly.
“They killed you and I’m going to make it right.” He said quietly. The image vanished and he was able to breathe again. Utterly exhausted, he fell on to his bed and back into the original dream.