Called you in at four
They said it hadn't been long
The nighttime swallows in the fire's gaze
And cancer sighs the plague infected
To whom did you address
That scar-tinted open wound?
Wandering freely
Before the malnourished get their fill
There was a time, I
admit
But illness bears the labored dreams
Encompassed minds of lost desires;
The irrational becoming fixed
Irony of stupidity doesn't come so close
To you as it so strongly chooses
me
I've never felt so realistically
foolish

*HIBISCUS

"Don't Ever Let Anyone Clip Your Wings" (demo)

The Whereabouts of Happyness (demo) by marksescon

You remember every kiss.

You remember faces and lips.

You remember tongues.

Parts where you spelled "love."

You remember names.

You remember games that they played.

You said they're [all] the same.

That they say they all need me.

So cast away, cast to sea.

You are the saddest girl that I have ever known.

So casted to sink, and cast me.

You don't have believe, but I once did.

You lived in the shadows.

Pirouette yourself into a hole.

You needed someone to prove to you it's love.

You are so alone with nowhere left to go.

No one gave up on you.

It made more sense to lose.

A Parenthetical Life.

Fork, spoon, bowl, plate, paper, glass, porcelain:
disseminate. This court is in session; let the trial be--
(Oh, the pain. Nevermind that. We will continue,)
--begin. What did you see the other night?
Behind the pristine counters and knobs,
behind stiff waitresses with braces twice removed.
I saw on the glass door, upon walking in,
a snooty badge of hypocrity--two lines
converged and attached at the hip.
(Oh, the pain. Nevermind that. We will continue,)
Who handled you in the ostensible shine,
fit for the obsessive; glistering metal, flawless glare.
Tell me now; my mind begs of pencils and pens;
my body? Of bananas and bread.

Waking Up

I've been having really memorable dreams. The other night, I was driving from somewhere important with Father John Francis and then he ended up scolding me for something after we got to Interfaith. Ambiguous much? Oh yes, definitely.

But last night... I dreamt of you.

It was the beginning of a new quarter. I was in a lecture hall (maybe the new Engineering Hall?) and it was so packed. I was running a few minuets late and couldn't find a seat, but spotted one up front. I sat down and you excitedly said hello because we haven't had a class together in over a year.

FLASHFORWARD (and yes, I do have those in my dreams).

We were wearing clothes for warmer weather--you know, tank tops, shorts, slippers, etc. It was around 7th or 8th week or so and I had made a few study buddies in the class (since you and I had scheduling conflicts), and one sat next to me. I introduced you to my new buddy and we went back and continued our conversation. I noticed you were unusually shy and asked if you were okay. You said yes, so I went back to conversing with my buddy.

Then you leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I have an answer for you." And I sat there wondering what question I even asked in the first place. "Let's hang out after class!"

Class came and went and I anxiously waited for the answer to my question: what did I ask you to do? After class, we took your car and we ate somewhere really filling (I'm thinking Boiling Crab right now, but maybe it's just because I'm craving it.. Haha). And when I got to my apartment, there were rose petals leading to my room. A bouquet was waiting on my desk with three Angel figurines, each holding up a world to complete a sentence: "Yes, I Will"

As I stood there, trying to figure out what all this meant, you walked closer, grabbed me around my waist and whispered "I'll go with you to formal."

I froze.

FLASHBACK: It was around the 3rd week of the quarter and I was complaining to you about how bitter I was about learning (via facebook) that my prospective date was "in a relationship" and how the person he was involved with was someone whom I found to be very irritating. And I asked you if, as a friend, you would go with me to formal if I totally didn't end up finding a date. You told me that we'd have to see what would happen.

I turned around and said to you, "Wow... I totally forgot... I mean.. I wasn't even planning on going anymore..."

You turned so red and quickly made your way out of my apartment. I chased after you and called out your name in the hallway. Right before you got into your car, I grabbed your hand and dragged you to a shaded area.

"Look, just because I wasn't planning on going anymore doesn't mean I don't want to go with you... I do. I really do. And I'm glad you remembered. But there are other things happening that weekend...I have to go on a retreat."

And you looked like you were almost about to cry. (It was the cutest thing ever!) At that point, I was already holding you really close and we were swaying. You said, "I guess I was just too excited to be able to dance with you."

"What do you think we're doing now," I slyly asked.

We chuckled and shared a kiss.

You looked down to meet my gaze and said, "I lo---"

I WOKE UP. O_o hahaha.

Alphanumeric EP

Download.
Download mirror.
Stream.

Dear Friend (zone),

A little over two years ago, I fell in love.

(At least I think that's what love feels like. I was seeing in color.)

A year and a half ago, I decided to let him go.

("We're better off as friends," I told myself.)

A year ago, I found a window of hope: he said hello (again).

(What a pleasant thing to experience: to see in color--again.)

Six months ago, I was in darkness: she said hello.

(He was seeing in color while I kept my eyes shut.

I didn't want to see.)

And now I'm (still) in the gray.

But through all this, my dear, you've been there for me.

Tom had 500 Days of Summer; I've had 822 days of spring.

(Yes, it's because I've been sprung for that long.)

Oh, friend (zone)... my very, very, best friend.

I know you'll be with me until the very end.

Thank you(?), my dear, for all of the above.

Written with love (and a bit of hatred),

A companion (and victim)

Conscience

Two pidgeons slurred in pinwheels,
churned their voices into bubbling chyme
against the inviting and fuzzy coat of morning's light;
they spieled on different reels,
spewed wars of illiterate songs,
rampant at the threat of the afternoon's deathly heat.
They dropped music notes onto the concrete,
which broke in halves, wholes, and quarters,
and debated the duet they thought to be innate.
And, crusted by the dawn, flapped on, and on, and on.

NaNoWriMo 2009. [Update 11/30/2009]

The Zookeeper

A quadruplet of jellyfishes deviously loomed,
with their tentacles sneaking vine-like round a tree,
squirming, hissing and pissing scheduled poison
into the wrinkle of Jim's withering arm.
"Crucified by jellyfish?!" screamed Jim,
yet the words refused to pave their way through exhausted lips.

"Now are you in any pain?"

Pain? Pain?
"Are you a zookeeper? An executioner?"
Jim rightfully accused.

The jellyfish hadn't liked the idea;
the executioner hadn't liked the idea.

"I'm just going to give you some Potassium;"

No! Don't you dare touch!
But Jim could not leave nor flee;
"Since when did jellyfish have such a strong grip?"
he surmised; his arms wouldn't bulge.

"Now what's the matter, Buddy?"

What's the matter? There is a team of jellyfish floating above me!

"Now what's the matter, Buddy?"

A fire ignited underneath Jim's wrinkle--
it spread through the toes and caused his stomach to billow;
he felt his toes fluctuate and the back of his hand began to skip;
he felt his forehead leak, his lips evaporate.

The jellyfish suddenly swam away with Jim.
"I didn't know I could swim here," thought Jim.
A mermaid floundered to his side and sweetly cooed:
"Now what's the matter, Buddy?"
And Jim was surprised to find his lip on his stomach.

The sea water must have doused the arm,
thought Jim. "Oh, nothing's wrong Ariel."
"Nothing, nothing's wrong."
The mermaid blew him a kiss and winked.

"Atta boy."

Retrospect

'tacked the cold with a photo album
I pulled up to my shoulders
(open-faced and spine-up)
as I curled on my side
(like the teethy promises of the smiles enclosed).
Etherised on my bed, injected with nostalgia.

Brighten Your Day

With a natural shot.

a toast to time.

Stop staring at the clock.
Tick, Tick. Tock, Tock.
Tick Tock, Tick Tock.
A litany of deafening drumbeats
To match the sound of your slowly dying heart.
No matter which way you look at it, it's always the same:
Life passes by in fast-forward all around
And you're left alone, as frozen as the vacant look in your eyes.

L'chaim, you say. To life.
You drink to life, basking in the delight
Of every raised glass and every glorious sip.
Inebriated debauchery animating each stumble, each misstep.
And escaping your lips, utterances of poetic disaster.
Senseless drawings fill the ever blank pages of the Steno pad of your imagination
The glass falls, scattering broken shards as hard as your luck,
In a salute of farewell to the last vestiges of your consciousness.

False confidence, destroyed in your raging torment:
False as the flimsy idols built to protect your fractured ego.
You count off each broken bead on the rosary of your identity,
Algebraic nonsense never to depart from the jumbled architecture of your mind.
Succumb to the misguided voices that call to you.
The blinding light of reality descends upon your disembodied soul,
Lost forever to the nameless and faceless ambiguity of the world.

You pulled the trigger.

You

stood up and turned

But you looked back

Over your shoulder

Contacted my eyes

Saw through to my soul

Yet continued to walk on.

Then finally

The bang from the fired

Blaring through the silence

And a warm gush of emotions:

My spilled heart, my sweat and blood

The exit of a tear

My wound, my shattered windows

And I.

"Where have all the flowers gone?"

She plucked.
One, five, twenty,
a-b-c-f-z-x.
flowers, withering
lonely within the street cracks;
and she picked them.
Impressionable things,
though limp on the sidewalk,
with elastic backs that hunched
over infertile soil-
unsatiated, dry, and famished.

Black Box Recording Sessions.

Over the course of eight years (damn), I've managed to meet a plethora of musicians, but the ones closest and dearest to my heart and I came together this past week and recorded [in one gigantic, unscripted/improve-take] an album of sorts that we're dubbing the Black Box Recording Sessions. If you like avant garde, indie-experimental instrumental music (Explosions in the Sky meets Fugazi), then you'll like what we got. Free download: here.

Album Cover:

Musicians:

David R. - guitar, bells, drums
Mark S. - guitar, bells, bass
Damon M. - bass, bells, drums
Kurt M. - drums, bass
JD W. - video game (he was playing GameCube in the same room); he also took the photo above

Unknown places

She closed the blinds;
couldn't see. Thought about it,
heard stuff like walk talk
sauntering down the loose-leaved aisles.

Read about it, could sense the
brisk lips floating, spitting
kaleidoscopes on the window pane.
Loud, unbearable rainbows.

Twirled around like little girls
weaving yarn on wood
with soft feet, kissing. She
Dreamt about it, long ago.

The park

Captivating shingles
interlaced homogeneously over
the-splattered-paint-dome,
which eyed me intrinsically,
knew what to do.

My feet billowed,
with an urgent chill,
toward the rustic palette shade
sweeping buttery sounds,
incessant tip-toeing

awarded me drip by drip,
as the sun licked my feet first
and quietly meowed at my entrance.

Grounds needed replacing;
budding arboreals locked in spirals
were knocking beneath me
for a taste of the nectar.

But they were too young.

---

This may be revised later but this is the working draft I have right now.

Failure to Read

I always figured that, in the working world, time was a valuable thing. And I decided that, yes, it must be true, because without time the workforce would be similar to a free-for-all, a coliseum of laziness and complacency. The clock, I figured, had the ability to do what no single leader, or king, or president, or prime minister could do: organize chaos. I stood outside the threshold of my office, arms tightly crossed and foot tapping restlessly against the tiled surface of the library floor. A watch was wrapped around my left wrist and I gazed—obsessively—at its mechanical hands as every second continue to pass. Five minutes after eight. She’s never been this late. By this time yesterday she’d have my office tidied up, desk furnished with my daily dose of caffeine, just the way I like it: black coffee filled in a large mug, heavy on the cream, easy on the sugar. Thoroughly stirred. My eyes peeked through the office’s window, as though to reassure that the room was, in fact, still there. Taking a step back from the window, I noticed my reflection. White long-sleeved shirt, green tie, black dress pants and shoes. Presentable enough. The clock was ticking. Attempting to fully utilize my time, I reached for the door and turned its knob. Nothing budged. I only heard the sound of a heavy thud, marking the absence of entry; it was the sound of the lock’s metal rod meeting the confinements of the box that trapped it, keeping the door in place. I tried again. Nothing. I counted on her to unlock the door for me. I heaved a sigh.

My eyes averted, surveying remnants of the building. While my office sat in the far end of the building, my eyes spotted the checkout areas alongside the information desk that stood near the main entrance, with the DVD and video selection placed on the opposite end of the entrance doors. Perpendicular to the DVD section was the CDs, educational tapes, and new book releases. Adjacent to that was the nonfictional book selection, followed by aisles of classics and young adult reads. As was logical, the remainder of the spacious room was filled with a plethora of books, a mix of romance, science fiction, reference, and more. Good. Everything seemed in order. Only a few patrons inhabited the area, some passing me by as I remained in my position, foot still tapping to the rhythm of my heartbeat.

More minutes passed, but still no sign of her. I would worry, but my workaholic tendencies prevailed. Instead, I shook my head in disapproval. Standing idly was pointless. Might as well attend to the premises. There were always things to fix despite the ostensibly organized atmosphere. Normally I’d be thrilled with walking around the building and perfecting its imperfections, but patrons were complainers, and I couldn’t handle the plasticity of my job when it came to “providing quality service.” She’ll definitely never be late again.

I strutted to the information desk. On my way there, I noticed a book had fallen to the floor, and I picked it up, shelving it in its proper place. Incompetence. Disgusting. I continued my trek, and upon reaching the desk, a man turned his gaze. He sat behind the desk, his eyes immediately fixed on me the moment I looked in his direction. Grey hair. Large bifocals. His appearance reeked of seniority. I’d been around a long time, but even I didn’t know how long this man must’ve been employed here.

“George,” I said.

“It’s nice to see you this morning, Mr. Carson. How are you doing today?” he said, smiling.

“You seem a bit worried.”

“Not worried, George,” I said. “Annoyed. Disappointed. Where is Cherisse?”

“Ah, Cherisse! She isn’t here? I thought I saw her a few minutes ago.”

“She’s not here, George. I need my office doors to be open, now. Patrons are coming in, soon, and I can’t have them harassing me while I need to do my work.”

“Harassing is a bit of a harsh word, Mr. Carson,” George said, chuckling under his breath. He breathed in heavily, taking a moment before speaking again. “I’m sure you will find Cherisse, and soon.”

I rolled my eyes in exasperation. Useless. “Look, old man. I don’t have time for small talk. I want to know where Cherisse is.”

“No need to be angry, Mr. Carson. If I see Cherisse, I will let her know of your inquiries.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I shook my head. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“It is possible that she is walking around the building. Perhaps she is in the back storage area, or in one of the aisles?”

“Sure.”

I motioned away from the desk, turning toward the aisle filled with classics and young adult literature.

“Have a good day,” I heard George call out as I walked in stride toward the aisle of my destination. “Old employees,” I muttered to myself. They always tried to play it nice with the bigger authorities, maybe in an attempt to keep their jobs. Plasticity, plasticity. They may be old, but they could still use that to their advantage. Disgusting.

I continued walking to the aisle, as though an invisible magnetic force pulled me to it. If there was such a thing as an immaculate aisle, it’d have to be that one. Not that there was such a thing as an immaculate aisle since things always were out of place, but that’s besides the fact. Volunteers loved cleaning up that aisle. It contains the trendy books of their time. Garbage like Harry Potter and the Twilight series. Not to mention that the graphic novels sat adjacent to it. I finally found the aisle and, as I stepped into it, I noticed a cart of misplaced books lay still. A volunteer was there.

A young volunteer balanced on a short stool, shelving books. He looked slightly familiar. Then again, all of the volunteers looked the same.

“John,” I said.

The boy continued to shelve.

“Justin?” I said.

He didn’t care to turn his head.

“Joseph,” I said. “It’s Joseph, isn’t it?”

He stopped shelving. His eyes were fixed on mine. They seemed to recoil a bit after giving what appeared to be a “once-over” of my outfit. He parted his lips. “Thomas,” he said reluctantly, crossing his arms. His feet were glued to the stool.

“Thomas,” I repeated. “Thomas, of course.”

“What do you want?” he asked me.

Must be on his period. “I want to know if you have any idea where Cherisse is,” I said.

“I wouldn’t know.” He shrugged. “Who’s Cherrise?”

I sighed. After a few moments, I looked up at John. “Hey, John, how long have you been volunteering here?”

“It’s Thomas.”

“Thomas, how long have you been volunteering here?”

“Who are you?” he said, covering his nose.

I was mildly surprised. “You don’t know who I am?”

“No, but I know that you need to wear some deodorant,” he said offhandedly. He had a nasally voice; a result from covering up his nostrils.

My mind boiled in frustration. “Look,” I said sternly, “I’m the manager of this place, okay? I’ve been here a long time. You ought to be nice to me. When did you start volunteering here?”

“About a week ago. What’s it to you?” The boy raised his eyebrow questioningly, his hand still over his nose. “I doubt that you’re the manager.”

I paused. Not the manager? “You’re wrong, kid,” I said, my voice slightly rising. “Like I said, I’ve been here a long time. And why the questions? I’m looking for my assistant. Her name is Cherisse.” He couldn’t have known Cherisse, though. He’s only been here for a few days.

“I don't know who Cherisse is, mister. But, please, step away from me. I can’t stand the smell.”

I took a moment to ingest the fumes about me. “What are you talking about? I smell nothing.” Movement caught the edges of my peripheral vision. I glanced over John’s shoulders. A few young patrons had tried to gather in the aisle, but, like John, they covered their noses and talked amongst themselves, immediately leaving the nearly immaculate aisle.

“I’m going to a different aisle,” John said. He hurriedly moved toward the book cart. As he took off, I opened my mouth to speak.

“By the way, John,” I said while he walked off, “you’re shelving those books incorrectly.”

“No, I’m not,” I heard him shout as I, like him, paced myself to another part of the building.

“People these days,” I mumbled. My eyes found the time. Still no sign of Cherisse. Where the hell was she? I wondered if time was in check; if I was in check with time. About a half an hour had passed since I noticed Cherisse was missing. Perhaps it was appropriate to worry now, but in my irritation I continued to search for imperfections amidst the grounds. I found myself in the history books aisle, making sure that the call numbers were in proper order. This is good, I guess. Those volunteers can’t shelve correctly, anyways. I ought to be more aware of the amount of times I check for mistakes around here. There are plenty. I reached for a book and pulled it out of its misplaced location. Odd to see that a book was misplaced in this aisle since few people actually visited it. Emanating from the gap where the book used to stand, faint sounds of mumbling filled my ears. Usual for library settings, but unusual nonetheless. There weren’t too many patrons, and it was my philosophy that patrons could care less about chitter chattering while under the eyes of the morning sun. Early-bird patrons would either sleep, panic to complete an assignment due within the next hour, or panic to print the assignment due within the next hour.

I placed my ear against the gap, listening intently.

“It’s been months since he was fired, Cherisse, can’t you understand?” I heard a voice say.

Cherisse?

“I know it’s been months, Susan, but all I’m asking is that you just let me help him out. Just let me please continue keeping an eye on him. He’s been misguided,” Cherisse explained.

“I don’t know where you’re planning to go with this, Cherisse. He was alright the first few weeks, maybe even the first few months, but now it’s getting ridiculous. I’m starting to hear complaints.”

“Susan, just give him a chance. I’ll take care of it. You don’t have to worry about it,” Cherisse said.

I heard a sigh. I assumed it belonged to this person named Susan. I hadn’t recognized that name.

“Okay, Cherisse. Okay. I don’t know why you’re continuing to stick your neck out like this, but if things stay the way they are, it’ll be detrimental not only to the patrons, but to all of the staff. It doesn’t matter how long they’ve known about the situation. The man’s been particularly rude lately, despite the staff’s nice attitude and understanding. I’m beginning to question the relevance of his staying here despite the fact that he’s your relative. There’s always a limit to generosity.” A pause ensued. “Remember that, Cherisse.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cherisse said softly.

That was one aspect of the workforce that perhaps was the most important, yet the most excruciating. I’d always been aware of the performance levels of each employee at the library—of course, I hired those employees. It slipped by me that one of them wasn’t performing to maximum capacity. Who was it? A new opportunity in the pursuit of implementing work perfection awaited me. My feet immediately stepped away from the scene. I didn’t want Cherisse to catch me.

Doing what I thought was the next sensible thing to do, I walked toward the checkout aisle of the library. Make it seem like I was keeping myself busy before Cherisse found me. Good one, myself. I smiled at the thought of how clever I was. My feet were planted in front of the checkout station. A woman manned the cash register and catered to various patrons. I waited in line. Patron service was top priority. I couldn’t forget that. No matter how annoying I thought they were, no “quality service” meant no money. No money meant no work. No work meant no income. No income meant no check for me.

I was next in line. I thought I might as well see how things were doing at the checkout station.

“Hello Mr. Carson, would you like to check out a book today?” the woman asked. She smiled. A brunette. Her hair was tied up into a neat bun. She wore thick-rimmed glasses and ironed clothing. Her skin was clear and her makeup moderate, but sophisticated. Fit, lean body with toned arms and toned legs, too.

“Obviously, I’m not checking out a book. I have an inquiry.”

“Yes?” She tilted her head.

“How are things going at the checkout stations? Everything in order?”

“Everything’s been great, thanks to you, Mr. Carson.” She smiled once more.

I would have smiled back, but I didn’t want to reveal any sense of friendliness while in my “work” mode. I noticed her eyes were no longer focused on mine.

She glanced over my shoulder. “Hi there, would you like to check out a book today?” she asked a patron standing behind me.

“Mr. Carson?” I heard a voice ask from behind. “Mr. Carson?”

I quickly turned around.

“Mr. Carson, there you are!” The voice belonged to an older woman. Perhaps a bit older than the man at the information desk. She was smiling at me, and walking toward my direction. The wrinkles on her face shaped the lining of her mouth. On her head was some type of hat. It was an odd hat, completely black with a little strip of white, covering all her hair. She wore a simple kind of dress, covering her entire body and running down to her ankles. Completely black, with a bit of white around her neck. A necklace hugged that neck. A cross pendant. My eyes glazed over her limbs. Long, black sleeves. On her feet were black shoes and black socks or some type of stockings. I recognized that attire.

“Mr. Carson, how have you been doing?” the woman asked.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. She was the landlady to my current apartment complex.

“Let’s talk outside,” she said, smiling. “We shouldn’t disturb the silence.” She beckoned me to follow her as she moved her feet in the direction of the exit door.

The woman at the checkout station stared at me.

“We’ll talk more later,” I said to her.

I sprinted after the landlady and found her walking to a car parked nearby.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but I have work to do,” I called out. “Is there a problem with the apartment? We can talk about it at a later time.”

The woman stopped walking and turned to face me. “Mr. Carson, I’m afraid we have to get going. You shouldn’t be wandering off so far all the time.”

I didn’t budge. “What are you talking about? This is my work.”

She steadily treaded to where I was standing. When we came within about five feet of each other, I saw that her face was wrinkled, and her smile disappeared. “Mr. Carson, dear, I know you’ve been experiencing hardship, but there comes a time when we have to make use of whatever little spark of hope we have left. Especially after a huge letdown, dear. Life is hard. But only the ones who do something are the ones who end up alive. Alive and smiling.”

I recoiled. What was she talking about? “What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Come along now, dear. Denial’s the hardest part. Always was. It will make more sense if you come back at your… apartment more often.” She reached for my hand. “Now let’s go back now, before the sun comes down.”

I looked toward the sky. There it was, the sun. But it was nowhere near sunset. In fact, the sun rose high above our heads. It was at least a few more hours until dark.

Clearly the lady was senile.

“Look,” I said, “I don’t have any time to waste here chatting. You’ve disrupted me during working hours. I’m going back inside.” As soon as my legs moved, she brought up her right hand, her palm and fingers directly aligned. Her arm completely straight. Halt, I guess, was what she was saying.

“You’ve got to stop, dear. I’ve tried to help you out. Your chances are up. That hope I talked about earlier? You’re out of it, dear, I’m sorry to say.”

I wasn’t sure whether I should punch her and call the cops or direct her to a mental asylum. Whatever the case, whatever her case, I knew one thing was for certain. I hated wasting time. Such trivial matters didn’t deserve my attention. I neglected her mystical jargon and, while shaking my head, I walked toward the library’s entrance doors and said, “If there’s something wrong with the apartment, I’ll talk to you about it later in the night when I come back from work.”

“Mr. Carson,” she called out.

I didn’t bother looking back.

“Mr. Carson, don’t say I didn’t tell you so. I’m going to be waiting right here until you come back out.”

I entered through the doors and heaved another great sigh. The brunette at the checkout counter gave me a concerned look.

More than an hour was wasted since I first attempted to unlock the office doors. Might as well find Cherisse, now. After all, work was work, and it was imperative that I continue to go about my duties with no distraction. It was for the better of the library and the better of quality patron service. The day was odd, but it didn’t matter. These issues were trivial. I directed myself to my office.

“Is everything all right, Mr. Carson?” the brunette asked.

I struggled to remember her name. I scratched my head. After a moment of silence, I gathered my thoughts. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, everything is fine. But I have one question.”

The brunette looked up at me in wonder.

“Where can I find Cherisse?” I asked.

“Cherisse?”

“I asked you first,” I said.

She chuckled. “Cherisse. She should be by the office, actually. Yes, I’m certain she is there. I know that she had a meeting earlier today.”

That conversation from before.

“Thanks,” I said. I thought it was odd that the brunette’s eyes opened widely, as though she just saw Jesus come down from the heavens.

She was speechless.

I sauntered toward the office. The site of my happiness and frustration. I checked the clock. I was amazed at how much time flew by. At this point, most of the patrons had left. Nearly closing time. As God would have had it, I found Cherisse standing by my office right when the library’s doors were about to close. As I approached her, I felt a sickening sensation gather in my stomach. She wasn’t the only one standing in front of the office.

That annoying landlady was next to her.

For the moment, I ignored the lady in black. “Cherisse, where have you been?”

She bit her lip as she looked toward me. I noticed she was holding a large mug. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I was caught in a meeting and I had to go. It was mandatory.”

“A meeting?” I asked. “What meeting did you have to attend, that I wasn’t a part of?”

“Just a meeting, Mr. Carson. Please.”

“Listen to her, Mr. Carson.” A new voice interjected. It was that landlady.

“Look, I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You’re hiding things from me.” I felt my frustrations coming back.

“Please, listen, Mr. Carson,” Cherisse said. “There are matters that I have to speak to you about.

“What matters? What’s going on? Cherisse? Why are you standing next to this lady in black?” I turned toward the landlady. “Why are you here? How did you get to this office without me noticing you?”

“Please lower your voice, Mr. Carson,” the landlady said with a smile. “We are in a library, after all.”

I felt my anger rising to beyond its boiling point. “What’s the meaning of this, Cherisse? Explain this to me, right now!” I saw her throat move as she gulped in a mixture of air and saliva. Her eyebrows creased in sadness. I couldn’t understand it.

“Well…” she started. She gulped again.

“I can’t understand the problem when the problem isn’t being mentioned,” I said.

From that point, her eyes fixated on mine. “Mr. Carson, there are a few things you should know.” She pointed to my watch. Closing time. Patrons no longer stood in the building. Instead, I saw employees—the old man, the brunette, even the puny volunteer—as they gathered around, circling me, Cherisse, and the landlady.

“What is it? What is this?” I asked, grasping my chest, nearly in panic.

“You aren’t who you think you are,” Cherisse said calmly.

“And I’m not who you think I am,” the landlady chimed in.

“What do you mean? Cherisse? Explain?” I questioned.

“You’re not in the right state of being... father,” she said in a calm, yet hesitant matter.

“Father? What do you mean? You’re not my daughter, you’re my assistant! You’ve been my assistant for years!”

“Father, listen to me. I joined the library so that I could watch over you. People have told me, the staff here has told me that you were fired. You were fired months ago because they couldn’t take your personality anymore. They said you were too much of a high-standard person. You were too fixed on changing the process all the time. They said they couldn’t stand it. So they told the branch, and the higher-ups all decided that, yes, you have been affecting the quality of the library’s service.

She took a step forward.

“Father, I came here with the worry that, after you were fired, you would keep trying to come back. And you did. You never stayed at home. You said you were too ashamed to have no job, to have no means to support the family.”

A tear rolled down her cheek as she continued to speak. I couldn’t say a word.

“And when you were back at the library, you still believed that you worked here, that you had a duty to fulfill.” She struggled to keep from crying further. “A duty that you can no longer fulfill.”

I still couldn’t speak. I couldn’t remember the events that she spoke of. I couldn’t recall the despair I must have felt if what she said was true. I couldn’t come to terms with the fact that what she said may have very well been the truth. All I could do was stare, and hope that her words were false. That her words were all a big joke.

“When you left to go to a new apartment,” she continued, “I followed you. I spoke to this nun.” Her fingers pointed to the landlady that stood before me. “She’s been watching you ever since.”

My eyes jetted toward the so-called nun. I still couldn’t believe what I heard.

“She’s right, you know,” the nun said, nodding sagely.

I felt my face get hot as blood rushed to my forehead. My cheeks were crimson. A burning sensation radiated over my head and my heart. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Cherisse,” I managed to squeak. “I don’t even know who you are, who you all are.”

I ran away from them, I ran away from them and headed toward the office door. The door shook as my fists pounded against its wooden composition. I hoped, wished, that someone, anyone, would open it in my humiliation. I turned the knob with the hope that, for some odd reason, the lock would loosen its grip and grant me passage to the room that stood before me. Beads of sweat collected on my forehead. I felt the drops as they trickled from the top of my head to the bottom of my chin, clinging onto the edge of my face until so much pressure had accumulated that the only option left was to meet the ground. My breathing grew into a pant. Harder, now. Harsher. My heart swelled with blood as it pumped whatever fluid was left to circulate through the vessels of my body. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. I felt it. My mind reeled in reply. Migraine anticipated. I continued to pant as the wooden door remained shut, only slightly budging when my knuckles attacked. I knocked and knocked as I felt eyes stare me down, like a doctor examining a patient before a surgery.

My hands relented. I sat down in despair. I opened my mouth to speak, but words didn’t come out. I closed my eyes and locked myself in a fetal position. I could no longer see. I could no longer hear. I could no longer speak.

And in that position, I remained.



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This story is the final draft of a short story that I submitted to my Beginning Fiction Writing class as a final project. There was no particular theme, although my story was mostly inspired by a homeless lady that I often see roaming about the UCI campus, particularly in Langson Gateway. Comments and critiques welcome.