Recent Entries Garion born; thinking of doing video logs - 2012-09-01 I'm married, I'm a prospective father, wow I never update - 2012-05-22 Got the job at the NIA; mother complicates wedding plans - 2011-10-13 Scrawl - 2011-08-05 It's never been better - 2011-06-02
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Not again 2001-10-04 - 7:24 p.m. 
I'm running around an alley corner, breath heaving hard in my acidic lungs. I hear the sirens again, the footsteps, running, never stopping, on my trail bearing down on top of me. I keep sprinting around corners, hoping this is all a dream. What did I do? How do they know my every next move? They're trapping me, cornering me into the wall. A puddle of sewer water warms against my ass and thighs, rain pouring down as the droplets magnify the red and blue lights coming down the street. I was walking along, paying no attention. A jean jacket, white shirt, dark blue jeans. The night was soft and cool, one of those hours where noone else is out, newspapers passing on the wind as silent testaments to the past. A sharp white light exploded over me, into my eyes. I was blind, could only hear the bullhorn screaming for my blood over the silence. I couldn't think, I wasn't myself. This was night, my time...what happened? I started running without knowing where I was. 5-0 was coming. I kept running, hearing them all around me. Then the wind is knocked out of me, they're surrounding me, I'm dead, inevitable, like Bigger Thomas. Then the scene shifts before my vision. I'm in a swamp, some large black cloaked statues leading me forward. I'm naked, scrambling on four legs through grey, soupy mud. It flows off me like water. There's an old iron collar fastened tight around my neck. The skin is an abraded red-purple, cranberry rivulets of blood trickling down me. The figure heaves back, the chain taut and rigid now. I'm falling, sounds hollow and distant. I feel the hoarse coughing against my throat like glass sandpaper, but it's a whisper. I can feel my lungs trying to draw air in through the swollen trachea. I can't. I can't breath. I'm a fish on land, slow death on the minds of my owners. I keep moving, I have to keep moving, I can't look down and see myself, what I accept. Why won't the visions stop? What happened to the raven? There's pain everywhere. It feels like time is winning here, chanting over and over like a rhyming 6 year old. Another tick, another minute, another disappointment. I feel sick and I just ate. I need to lie down. Blood pools in the water like silk, the droplets like warm liquid blankets tucking me into this alleyway corner. I need to rest a bit. |
