The Old Blog in the Desert

After reading the story, “57 Reasons for the Slate Quarry Suicides,” by Sam J. Miller, I ruminated  on how lovely the shorter sentence and chapter was…

Chapter 1.
It was 2:23.
A Wednesday morning.
They said I was there, but cannot remember.
My other-self went away as if he’d never been there in the first place.

Chapter 2.
Living outside of town.
Fell from the couch.
Fell from the stairs.
No injuries, but life is dangerous.

Chapter 3.
We’ve been kicked out.
Taking a ship to America.
Wind, rain, emergency evacuation drills.
The fire engine has been left behind to rust.

Chapter 4.
Another member has joined the party.
He cries constantly.
I don’t mind it though.
It is nice to have the company.

Chapter 5.
Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink.

Chapter 6.
So many new faces.
So much hostility.
Frightening and I want to go home.

Chapter 7.
She made me slide into first base to see what hand would be my dominant.
One-hundred words and one hundred percent.
A red ribbon made of yarn tied like a bow.
This could be a beginning — if only I knew to what.

Chapter 8.
There was blood, looks and stares, but I held my tongue.
I cannot speak, though I know I have a voice.
Another will have to drag it out out of me.
Yet another member has joined the party.
A real screamer.

Chapter 9.
Oceans and Indians and Little House on the Prairie.
Nothing adds up now.

Chapter 10.
I’ve lost my marbles and have paid the price in punishments
With a final member coming into the tribe, the council, where we collectively have no true voice.
My pen and paper are my only comforts.
The harsh clickity-clacks of a gifted type-writer are like music to the soul.

Chapter 11.
A true loneliness has set in as I see the world and our inhabitants for what they are and may become.
Like newspaper, I am shred into strands of isolation.
I cannot discover where or how I fit into this hodgepodge.
Take a picture, it lasts longer – but is also so expensive.

Chapter 12.
She was victimized and not one authority cared.
I am ostracized for trying to give her comfort and aid.
Now she’ disappeared.
And now I know how the Native’s felt, smoke the peace pipe and then to be tricked into a battle.

Chapter 13.
Rallied others in acts of vandalism and then cast out.
Damaged the little red books beyond repair and planted them in a garden and under a row of trees. Fertilizer.
The ladies in black are firmer and I find myself terrified all the time.
I am searching for my irony.

Chapter 14.
A triumphant return, it was not, for not a single person missed me.
I am regarded as the outsider.
They think it is a punishment.
Good for me as I did not wish a circus or parade.

Chapter 15.
A change in prison walls as I face down more internal fears.
One of many, apart from all.
Books and words are a refuge.
It is easy to hide in a library when remaining quiet.

Chapter 16.
I have struck off on my own.
Chasing down that less-than ten second mark.
She loves me, she loves me not.
Not.
Watched a classmate burned himself up on whiskey, speed and gasoline.

Chapter 17.
More of the same, only with a greater confidence.
A greater speed, at which I peaked.
Funny how I don’t really care what they think of me.
Not certain if my mouth overloads my brain or visa versa.
This universe needs new leaders and I’d like to be one.

Chapter 18.
My biggest troubles are self caused.
Perhaps self-loathing are an inbred trait.
There are no rewards in life for doing wrong and I’ve been wrong a lot even when doing right.
Perhaps this final youthful summer will bring that need change.
Rain is the first component of a lovely Spring.

Chapter 19.
A big push into an ever larger change, this one a life-time in the making.
I have never liked change.
And home never looked so small.
The Greyhound seat is cold and hard as I head for that great Gateway.
It is only six-years into the future.