My feet ached, but it was well worth it. I was close to finding the lost city of the Incans. I had walked through endless jungle paths, forgotten by the human nation. But i had come to a semi-clearing. There were immense boulders, at least half the size of a skyscraper back home in New York. I pulled vines and ivy off a strange looking stone, to find a wonder: an opening. I ventured down, flashlight searching the earthy walls. Suddenly, i felt a hand clamp over my mouth. They dragged me to the ground and pushed a filthy rag...
"Knives."
The scientist looked up. The musician was bright-eyed, excited, although there were bags under his eyes. She replaced her spectacles (why did she always take them off for the close-up work? It didn't make sense) and gave him her full attence. "Knives?"
"Knives." He sat down on the stool, gangly, limbs too long. He was not suited for the labratory - not a huge surprise, really. "Knives are the answer. We...we cut."
It was almost cute, watching him try to describe what he presumed the scientific method was. "Do you mean dissection?"
He nodded, enthusiastic, excited. "Yes! Yes, we...
The audience stared open mouthed at me. Well, that is if you can call a audience a bunch of nosey parkers looking at why the area was cornered off by police. I didn’t care. I wanted the word to see. Especially my mother who was standing by the police, tears in her eyes. Oh, she notices me now. All my life, it was my older sister who was the golden child who could do no wrong whilst, no matter what I did satisfied the bitch. I wasn’t perfect to her.
I loved watching her cry. I didn’t cry. I just...
Mia and John sat by the stones, and no one noticed them.
"You shouldn't be here." John explained.
"My dad's hated here, so what? I need to know the truth."
John ducked under a tree, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. "Your dad is traced back to you. His enemies are yours now."
"You mean people want to kill me?"
"Just people you're dad took from." John said quietly, a blur against the dark stones.
Mia looked at him, incredulous. "It could be any of these people."
She looked around, and saw people through windows, walking through the streets,
He watched in the side mirror as the car got closer and wondered who was in it, what were they doing?
Maybe they were a family on vacation or, like him and his partner, two businessmen on a trip.
No, he thought to himself. They were spies sent to take him and his companion hostage for their new software. His company recently designed a powerful anti-virus program and were likely to take down Norton, McAfee, and the other giants int the industry. So, of course they would want to bring his company down. But, what the men in the car...
He searched through the records, long dusky fingers flipping rapidly through file after file in the Archives. He kept going, past James, past Jenkins, past....there it was!
Private Justice Jernigan, 61st Georgia Infantry, Co. A. His hands fairly trembled as he pulled out the pension record, gazed at it, read it voraciously. There it was. Private Justice Jernigan, listed as "man servant" for William Jernigan. It was also noted that he was a confirmed soldier, having fought at Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville before being crippled by a wound in his right knee. That confirmed the stories handed down by his parents...
There once was a woman from Kenya
Who grew a voracious gardenia
A plant that ate men
With a touch of cayenne
That the woman decided to send ya
When I was 12, I went to sea with my father. I remember sitting in the boat watching the land go further and further away and calculating how long it would take to swim back. Of course, you can see where this is leading, the boat sinks, father saves son in an act of heroism, perishes. It ends with the son sitting and looking out at the waves and thinking of him. But I'd be lying, we went out, fished, turned around and came home. Fuck you story.
When I see these flowers, and this man standing here (that's me, by the way), and I see all the men with guns walking behind me, I'm supposed to say that the flowers remind me of a lady. I'm supposed to taste the dust in my mouth, remember my comrades who gave their lives, understand the difference between pride and loyalty, duty and identity.
Mostly, I remember not knowing where I stood with any of these things; thinking that this was the process to figuring it out.
We're all figuring it out, aren't we? To know where you stand is...
She'd been in the park till noon, watching the gate to the Forbidden City, seeing the tourists as they milled about in mist-rimed sunshine. Finally, she caught sight of him as he approached the gate. Every day without fail, staggering slightly under the weight of his bag. She was overdressed for the streets in a red dress meant for parties not park benches. Flung out suddenly from the warmth of the car, out of favour and, quite suddenly without comfort. At the bottom of the hill she lost him briefly, then saw him, walking alongside two Western tourists, his sack...