People of the Sun
By Travis OuttenAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2009 Travis Outten
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4389-8996-9Chapter One
"I waste away; I will not live forever. Leave me alone, for my days are but a breath." -Book of Job
An endless void. A flush of hot and cold. Through it, in it, came the emergence of anxiety mixed with the patter of thick soles. The warmth of emotions, the heat it generated seeping off the owner of those soles, was engulfed into the prevailing wind, an easterly that would die by morning, but now, was content on pushing through the scattered elm and oak that would always watch from an inert existence all the secrets of a transient race.
Through them, a figure rushed past. A young woman. Under all the thick hair, disheveled and made wild from the breeze, lied the core from which insecurity loomed. The emotions said this: "I will never let them take me; I could never let them take me like this. I control my own fate!"
Looking down at what she held in her pocket, she knew they knew. They somehow knew of all the subtle intentions ever masked by this one grim cop out. Like a gun blast heard around the world but only to their keenest of senses. Those shadows would forever haunt this realm of doubt for those who dwelt there.
As things came together, the trees unveiled a narrow city street through all the yellow and auburn, sidewalks with tall green lamp posts and empty cars parallel parked along side a small park. She passed the last person a while back, but it mattered little. She was on her own here- crazy. Brushed aside, because that's what you do with crazy people; they were all delusional, merely striving for attention to those who grew tired of the boy who cried wolf.
It didn't matter too much, though. The adrenaline was like fire to the heart, the biggest obstacle having already been hurdled over. She would merely walk until she couldn't walk anymore, until all the world faded before her as she got to enjoy her last cool night in the city, her last midnight stroll unattached and free of guilt as all the goodbyes had indirectly and unknowingly been passed on. Pity had no place in this land.
Then, with little hesitation, she stopped. She turned her head back the way she came, and just as suddenly, contemplation came and sat down on her shoulder. It came as she transferred the tears from her face to a casual red blouse, looking down at the pavement and following a thin, almost untraceable dotted trail of blood she had made back to another road. Her conscience literally drew a line in blood, blood that had been leaving fast, now, trickling down and out of her sleeve from both sides as a sharp stainless steel object fell from the hand that was used to pull it out from concealment. But if only those around her knew what she had thought she'd known, what she had thought she'd seen, craziness, then, would simply have been sober indecision.
There was a building in the distance, a discreet red cross accompanying it. They were basically on every block in this part of town, these medical facilities. And she thought about it, turning her body so that she faced the direction of nearby help, thinking to herself that nobody really wanted to give up. No amount of fear, misunderstanding, or depression would cause someone to come down this path. They just didn't want to be alone. They wanted empathy; they wanted not to be misunderstood.
So she thought, "Maybe I can find someone, someone who knows about them, too. These creeps- I can't be the only one they've come for."
Another wipe to her face told her she didn't have much time. Debility to not quit had let her own irrationality destroy her self confidence. Dizziness would soon naturally take hold. And so knowing this, knowing ultimately that ugliness of surrender was something she would never truly want for herself, a renewed will had given her strength to take that step towards the help she so urgently needed. And the next step. And the next.
She hiked up 20th street NW, across that small park, one feeble foot in front of the other. A distant intoxicated onlooker could have possibly thought by the lethargic movement utilized that a zombie was trying to get to the hospital. But she was still alone. The otherwise sleepless city turned a cold shoulder to a vulnerable tenant. Though, a glimmer of hope changed everything for her.
A white van pulled up to a large building that was merely within shouting distance as a paramedic got out. He opened up the back of his van while she tried to speak out to him, but her voice was hoarse and dry. It could not make the projection needed to call his attention and win her rest, the rest she felt so dependant on now as her eyes as well as body started to slow their frantic pace. She then nearly tripped as dismay struck her with a disheartening blow seeing the guy grab some IV drip bags, shut the door and disappear into the hospital.
Determined, however, she got back up. She steadied herself for a moment in the middle of a small grass field and waited then. With each blink, she could sense it coming on. The whiteness, the fatigue. Every time her eyes gradually shut and reopened, the view before her grew hazier and hazier. It was time. She knew. Yet, she couldn't help but think before she finally made that imminent plunge, "Finally, I always wanted to know- what comes next."
Interlude I
The world is grayed out. There's often no sound. Smell here is strange, and taste is somehow unique. But feeling, feeling does not change. It only grows stronger.
And somewhere waiting, it lies. Only seeing what it wants to see, the immaterial passes through. In an eternity of nothing, even the most trivial things are worth noting. Yet this is not trivial. It's exciting. Purpose, then, has become important once more.
Chapter Two
"Take me down to the paradise city where the grass is green and the girls are pretty. Oh, won't you please take me home." -G&R
I live in paradise.
And in this paradise, the streets celebrate. For it was the time of year to do so. This place, this world- it was all a visual utopia. Temptation was its driver, and intrigue, that gateway bordering to the realm of obsession, was the fuel. And "they." They, of course, were here too. Though the word or concept of "them" had no bearing on my life at that point. I had no idea who "they" were. I was just caught up like everyone else, entangled in the web of our own self serving ways. Absorbed into this conscious dream that surrounded me.
The crowds were where I first felt it, this other presence, sifting through the masses shoulder to shoulder like it was New Year's eve in Times Square as I was looking for my group, all of us, needles in this giant haystack caught on fire. I was following one of the few close friends I had, when somewhere in it, I lost sight of him. The raving noises of a mad swarm, they took over on a fiery Fall night, and a melting pot of aromas had long since invaded their way into my lungs, now, saturating them completely. Two young females brushed pass me then, and I turned my head around to see the backs of these two scantily clad twins that were dressed as angels. One had these uniquely tapered black wings to rival the other's white. And I had to shake my head to regain focus from the fact that I could have been looking at two high school kids. For age here was indiscriminatory. Perverts were...
