thedarksiren2 | dream # __

"I'm not into this," I said, my voice echoing enough to raise a cacophonous choir from the hallway. I didn't realize where I was at first, but then I saw the ball zooming toward my head from brightly-colored rafters above. It wasn't until I heard its torpedo-like speed that I moved, a slice of green grazing my face, and I though as I slow-motion landed on the floor, "I wonder if I have a green sideburn now? Maybe I should face the other direction..."

Buddy giggled and walked over to the other side of the racket-ball court/room to pour himself some alcoholic concoction while

sharpshinyclaws giggled madly, out of breath but smiling a beautiful white smile no less. Someone else was there, but I don't recall who it was. A man, but he was distant, not very involved. Not yet.

My knees were skinned on the waxy floor, a pain I knew should have been bad, but I didn't really feel it. Still, I knew they all liked the thrill of the game, so I pretended to hurt, and held my knees while wincing.

Laughter roared through the gymnasium, and

sharpshinyclaws said something about carrying on, no matter what. The man became Jim Love, and he dragged off a greasy cigarette, eying me, craziness ready to burst from those eyes. He heard

sharpshinyclaws, sucked his smoke in deeply and then, blowing it out as hard as he could toward me - a seemingly helpless me to his eyes - he said, "Yeah, come on and git off yer fat ass to play some more ball."

I looked at him oddly. He never had an accent before, let alone a southern one. I wrinkled my forehead, and might've started laughing except for Buddy all but snarfed his cocktail, waving at us all. "Come on! It's outside or b-sides!" and he was out the door.

sharpshinyclaws lit her cigarette from Jim', and sauntered out after Buddy. Jim stood watching me, his face dirty from the furnaces he works on, black around his eyes, his lips. I thought of him evolving from a spot of grease, becoming a small rodent, and then a monkey. Again, I fought laughing, and he walked out of the room, his eyes fixed on me as I rose from the floor, slowly.

Turn to the right out of the room. Right again, down a ~~spiral~~ staircase, but run left - walls will suck you in, and you become part of the molding. Down, through city halls and crowded doorways, out a glass door. They didn't hold it for you though, and there wasn't a rubber guard on the door. My nose misses being cut off by the glisten of a glass door swinging closed abruptly. Jump-back, children run to play outside, away from the door, down more stairs toward a water fountain, past a picnic table where I spot their mother, and jump into a mini-van or SUV...

I walk out slowly, tired and haggard-looking, bags beneath my eyes, swollen from tears and exhaustion. I hate rude people, adults and children alike. I walk slowly toward the mother, an attractive African-American woman, and notice the cute, button-nosed character that was at my niece's birthday party sitting next to her, peanut butter and strawberry jelly covering her face, an adorable grin peeking out from behind the sandwich.

"Can I help you?" the mother asks, her eyes large and concerned. Her left arm goes down behind the little girl beside her, a protective move because I look mad.

"Well, you see, I was walking out of that building" I point behind me.

She hears something, looks to her right toward the parking lot and says, "Excuse me for a moment," and indicates we need to be quiet.

I turn to look as well, look to my left, and there are the boys who almost cut off my nose. They are doing something by the van, and some other kids, including a boy with Downs Syndrome, are giggling, all of them seeming to enjoy themselves. The mother thought she saw a trace of hostility, and watched to make sure she didn't have to break anything up. They were having fun, playing out some musical or something from church, and she smiled widely, nodding and thanking Jesus.

"I just wanted to be sure, you know how it is" she said to me. I nodded, and she asked me what else I had to tell her.

I told her how her "good boys" almost ripped my nose off coming out of the Civic Center (that's apparently where we were), how they didn't hold a door for a lady. I then looked down at my ragged clothes, and wondered how I could even joke about being a lady that day.

Nevertheless, the boys paid their dues, scrubbing floors for hours, reciting versus from The Bible. I watched, drinking lemonade from the picnic table. Suddenly, green grass grew from nowhere, and we were on a plantation, sitting on a large, southern porch. The mother ran her dark, beautiful, long fingers through the button-nosed girl's golden hair.

"We found her at another farm," Mama told me. "Her parents suffered the plague, and almost triggered the Rapture itself with their cries. She was a strong one though, a pistol in an unarmed war. She knew how to survive. Do you?"

a fly buzzed by my lip, and I realized it was wiggling between a slice of lemon and the liquid in the drink. My lip itched from the bug, and I put the drink away from my face.