Work In Progress

No Bottom
-The Beginning-


You open your eyes, heavy lids painfully pull. You look below and see yourself, lying still, motionless. At first glance, you appear absent, dead perhaps. Deep blue eyes stare back at you, they wont look away. You try your best not to sink into them, but you fail miserably. Slowly your eyes wonder , like a stray cat you find yourself lost. Black sags underneath, have you never seen the underside of those eyelids, you ask yourself. Indeed those eyes must have seen a thousand nights, and not a day to be unseen. The absence of color in your face and body frightens you. The sun had long deserted you, the rays no longer shine upon that face. Never will those eyes see the glare again. Pale blue lips, as cold as the nights you’ve seen. Rips and tears like canyons run through them, eroded by time. You almost look ancient. You try to utter a single word, but you are absent, at a lost for words. You try to breath, gasping for air, the painful cold penetrates you with each breath. Then you realize, there is no cold, it is just a word. A word to describe the absence of heat in your body. You might be dead, but death is just the absence of life.

You are here for one reason, and one reason only. Hate, the absence of love. But not the kind of love you have formed with your wife. The kind of love only God can demand. You have lost your ways, left behind a life of religious text. To you all it has ever been, is nonsense, the greatest fictional pieces of literature. One book, written by prophets millennia ago, can it be the truth you ask yourself. Of course not the devil speaks of your shoulder as you brush off the sediment of dandruff.

You grew up in a catholic family, a very religious one at that, your mother thought you all the important quotes, you visited church each Sunday and practiced to the full extend. But that’s when he walked into your life.  I’m not speaking of the grim reaper, but of death itself. It took away everything you knew, everything you loved.

The one thing you had left, was faith. And it too had a short life to live. God was never there, he never existed for you. Just a bed time story even at its most glorious moments.  Time had made you bitter, bitter at the moments lost, moments spent on him. You think to yourself, “are we all insane, in what culture is it okay for a grown man to have an imaginary friend?” that’s all he really is, and he’s not much of a friend either. He’s never there when you need him, no matter how many times you call, he will never pick up. No matter what gifts you bring bearing, he will never accept making you think they are not good enough so you keep giving and giving and giving till there is nothing left to give. All while he keeps taking.

But reality comes, and throws you a big slap.  He exist in the context of love, for his absence takes away love, and the absence of love means the presence of hate. With the presence of hate comes along death. The absence of life.



And that is where you are,  looking down on yourself. Floating like a cloud, perhaps like the fog overlaying the river your drowning in.

As you hit the bottom, the murky water flows inside you.  Filling each and every corner of your pale body. Your veins start to dilute with the overflowing river of agony. Peace by peace you drown  into sorrow.  You have lost all sense of right and wrong. A mad man, hard as rock once, now hitting the bottom as one. In the murky depth, you think you can see her . She is reaching out for you, longing for you. You want to move, you want to scream but you cant. Its too late now. This isn’t a scene from titanic, not a romantic melancholy ending. There is no happily ever after. In simple terms, this is the end for you. Welcome to reality, your diluted perception of it has become your iceberg.

This anchor is weighing you down, latched to your feed. You struggle, blurring in motion, passing in time, water fills the space around your eyes, its stinging, like lemons on your childhood wounds. Once more you try to scream, and there she is again. Right above you, her body a majestic shade of blue, blocking the glare of the sun through the waves above. All time stops,  you’re in your kitchen, barely recognizable, the stove is on, the element glowing red. She stands over it, that old wooden spoon in hand, rotating the sauté unions, the familiar smell fills your nose, you want to let a tear go.  Confusion comes over, unsure if you want to let it roll down your cheek because of her, or the sting of the unions. Her hair a dark black, waves course through it,  you take a step back, reach out, try to touch, try to smell.  Panic, it sets in. for the first time in ages you feel scared, like a little boy, vulnerable to the monsters below. The end is coming, the curtains are coming to a close, but this time you wont be receiving a standing ovation, perhaps a grieving funeral with rifles raised to the heavens above.

Your hands weightless, numb to the bone,  flutter in front of you, you cant pull them back. They are not yours anymore.

The familiar smell of onions overcomes you once again. The smile on her face, the joy in her eyes, the fluid motion of her lips uttering words. With each one seduction rips you apart, its difficult to hold on.  You look through the small kitchen window over the sink. A white picket fence borders the small spring garden of flowers. The smell of daisies struggling to compete with the sting of onions. A melody of laughter dulled by the red curtains‘,  so majestic, a verse written by the likes of Mozart or perhaps Beethoven. The melody stops, you can hear the familiar sound of the rusted old back door opening. And there he is, at about 9 years old. You look down at your shoes, mud overlaying them. You kick them off recklessly, one strikes the mesh of the door. Suddenly, the smile on her face disappears, she approaches, towering over you. you feel like a juvenile delinquent as you are sent to your room. “they grow up so quickly” she utters to herself. You smile as you approach her.




Out of focus, your eyes unable to attain perspective. Striking all in their path. You look above. The sun still pierces through the tides, like needles penetrating your body. You have lost all sense, are you suffering from hypothermia, or over heating? Are you on fire, or in a ice cube? Irrational questions begin to flood. You close your eyes.

You hit the gas pedal, hear the roar of the fastback mustang, cherry red 78 mint condition. When you first set your eyes upon it, it was just a rusted piece of crap, lying in a salvage yard, ready for scraping.  Now its your pride and joy. The envy of all the young people, and you know it too. How could you forget to fill up on gas? Now your stuck on interstate 88.  Three hours from Panama.

Your 18 now, your father, bitter and in despair at the loss of love. She let him go, both of you. A frail soul, lying on the death bed uttering her last words. You feel pathetic, not being able to hear or understand a single word. You still wonder, even now, at the bottom what she had said.  His despair, your pain. Every moment, taken out on you. Your innocent body, suffering the brunt of each hit. You cant take this anymore.

Senior year, the P.A. screeches, then VP’s  wretched voice comes on. “presentations are now open in the main gym” . You walk isolated, steady. The world is looking in, your on the outside now.  Step to the table, asking for a broacher, just want to get it over with. Before you leave, eyes lock, hit focus. You stare, amusement takes over, but more importantly you have found what you are looking for. An escape from this life. This war isn’t about what right or wrong, its about fueling the ass sitting upon that throne. But that’s not what important is it? You wont be around him, the memories wont surround you anymore.

21, you get on that bus. Begin your journey to the Air base. But you didn’t expect to see the things you saw. You never knew what war really meant. Sure you listened to songs about war, but what did you think Edwin Starr was saying when he said “war means tears to thousands of mothers eyes, when their sons go fight and lose their lives” but all you heard was “war! What is it good for, absolutely nothing” . This isn’t rush hour. You don’t swing from wines, your just a swine, ready to be butchered by your own kind.

Bullets overhead, trenches as deep as the pits of hell. The moon light outlines burning empires. Like LEGO bricks, building topple over, peace by peace this puzzle is falling apart. You look behind, your support is dead. Your alone now. There are no poppies here, you wont be remembered for an act of bravery to save your comrades. Perhaps that’s for the best, just another name in the MIA books. Hell, why not even add your name to it as well? Towering smog overhead, the burning cities fade out against the smog. You can see them approaching now, their eyes set on the prize. That prize is you. Are you ready now? Its them against you. You hold your breath, plant your face in the blood clotted mud, hoping they wont see you, piling bodies over yourself for shelter. Still, motionless you lie in a pool of death.


The fog lifts, morning dew crackling on top of souls. Whistling of the winds, a howl, deafening at times. Echoes of voices all around you. You get up, slowly, like a scared little boy peek out into the valley filled with shadows. Death, all around you. Not a single soldier stands. You hear the whistling overhead, are you alive or are you dead? A million candles burning round, is it your birthday?

You sit at home, the old black and white tv in the corner, flickering. See those leaders start to frown, negotiations must have broken down. Its April fools day..... to be continued