Los Gatos de la Noche Preview

Los gatos de la noche cantan a la luna.

Se dicen que ella escucha y sonríe.

He heard the rain fall around him but he didn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel anything but the cold. It was creeping in from his extremities. He knew it wouldn’t be much longer. It couldn’t be much longer. There was an odd comfort in this.

He didn’t notice the café he had collapsed in front of but it only seemed fair. None of the people inside had noticed him either.

A young couple sat by the window, warmed by the heat radiating from the cups on the table between them. The young man was babbling on about any and every subject that came to mind for no other reason than to draw out their time together. He traced the lines of her face with his eyes before falling into hers just long enough to get his fix without the impression of staring. She didn’t protest. He’d heard an old proverb once upon a time that said the eyes were the window to the soul and he knew in that moment that it must be true. She had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen in his life. The orange pseudo-fireplace across the room cast an amber glow that accented the soft, acoustic background music perfectly.

The world outside had taken on a nasty gray film that weighed everything down and made everything blurry. As he lay there in the gutter, Horatio couldn’t help but think of her. The streetlight overhead provided no warmth. His eyes ached in their sockets. Horatio wondered if he was sinking or if the puddle was expanding. Eventually it ceased to matter either way. He closed his eyes.

Stars Like Eyes and Dreams in Blue

Good morning!

My eyes flutter open of their own free will. The last thing I recall is blinking. Each time, my eyes stay closed a little longer bringing me a little closer to something I've forgotten; we've all forgotten.

Here I am. It's early. The grass seems metallic as the rising sunlight hits the morning dew. I'm standing alone in the silence. The beauty of the sunrise overwhelms me. Rays of light from the East pierce the clear blue sky like a volley of arrows. Yet there is peace.

Birds chirp off and on then off again. They're far away but they sound as sweet as the honeysuckle.

I stand at a crossroads. Someone is walking steadily towards me. By the grace of God, the stranger walks with the grace of only a woman. I realize that this is one of His greatest gifts to man; that she is so unlike him.

Blue is my favorite color. I see it everywhere and wear it around my soul. I can’t help myself.

The stranger approaches with patience before each step. I look to the sky again. Tears of joy streak my face though they are not my own.

I look down again and see the stranger once more. The tall, tall trees reach towards the sky and then, realizing their mistake, for each other, forming a grand corridor. The stranger saunters ever onward through the archway.

She walks onward; always onward. The trees pull apart for her, revealing the night sky. There are no stars but a brilliant light like I’ve never seen is just out of view.

The stranger pauses for a moment just in front of me. I meet her eyes and I fall in, losing myself for a long, long time. I am warm for the first time in a long time.

They radiate the deepest blue I’ve ever known. I feel it straight through to my core. I see everything from the top of the highest mountain and from the depths of the deepest ocean. I let myself go entirely limp. I float. Upstream or downstream I don’t know or care. I feel the sweetest relief and I relish it.

But then something or someone has grabbed me by the ankles. He or she or it is pulling me away. I panic. I try to scream but the only sound is the birds still chirping in the distance. I reach out desperately for a handhold but there is nothing.

I’m standing between the trees again. The stranger smiles at me for a moment before walking on past me. The trees come together again in her wake.

She’s not a stranger. I think about her often and wonder if she does the same. The comfort in those eyes is the same comfort in that voice; in her mere presence.

I’ve made a mistake. I try to turn around and call after her but the Earth has swallowed up my feet and I have no voice.

There’s so much I want to tell her! I see little things everyday that only make me think of you and wish you were here. I’ve met this girl who wanted to be friends but I can’t ever look at her without thinking of you.

She’s still smiling as she walks away, as if she can hear me. She’s always smiling.

Good morning!

My eyes flutter open of their own free will. I reach for the phone and the number dials itself. I sit up as I hear the rounded electronic trill in my ear. Once. Twice. Three times.

I notice the clock on the wall. It’s late enough to be early. It’s even earlier where she is.

“Hey! You’ve reached…”

Click

There’s always tomorrow.

A Suh-then Gennelmen

The mighty jaw crunched closed like Jason's Wandering Rocks. Hungry lips kissed themselves, parting with the moist pop of a suction cup coming off a frosty window.

"Bill, will you shut yo' dadgum mouth when you chew?!" he shouted down the length of the elegant table. "Makin' me sick! I sway-uh!"

Bill mumbled something through his mouthful of beans that Charles assumed was an apology.

Charles chuckled to himself, twirling the cold metal thoughtfully in his hands. In the crazy, ever-changing world he lived in, Charles knew that he could always be sure that Bill would never get above his raising. If it were any possible to get lower, well, then there might be cause for concern. But good ole Bill, raised by wolves or himself or maybe a far off king (depending on how creative Bill was feeling), was as steady and intelligent as a rock. His undying loyalty to Charles made him a perfect member of the household. Though it was an inadvertent result of Charles’s having once lapsed and shown a fleeting kindness to another soul, he’d never once regretted. Bill’s lacking table manners were insignificant next to the security that came with having such a behemoth around. Plus, though he would never admit it, being the gentleman that he was, Bill usually doubled as the evening’s entertainment.

As if on cue, a slight rumble emitted from the other end of the table. Bill lowered his hand from his mouth and smiled up at him like a small child. His face looked like a distorted reproduction of his plate five minutes ago. Charles couldn’t help but smile back like he imagined proud father might. Billy was learning.

Charles’s father, known throughout the region simply as Senior (even before his one and only son came along), had been a cold man. Charles had never known his mother. Growing up, he’d always heard stories about the delightful man his father had been before the cruel exchange and how immediate the change had been after.

Charles didn’t believe most of what he’d heard. The man he knew had kept his son and everyone else at arm’s length. Charles, who believed that his father somehow blamed him for his mother’s death and sometimes even joined him in this belief, had spent most of his youth at a boarding school far from home, learning all the skills and manners that had gotten him to where he was. He never had time to write to his father, who reciprocated the sentiment. Theirs was a strained relationship.

When a massive heart attack took his father late one afternoon, no one noticed until it was time for dinner almost 6 hours later. He’d been discovered in his study, his personal sanctuary where he was known to disappear for hours at a time. When he was over twenty minutes late for dinner, which he never missed for any reason, the blanket “Do Not Disturb” policy was broken. He’d been slumped over his desk with the last remains of Charles’s inheritance spilled out on the floor.

It’s been a very long time, thought Charles. Upon receiving news of his father’s death, Charles hadn’t even thought of shedding a tear. He immediately left school and came home to sell off his father’s estate and all of the baggage attached to it. He would use the money to finance his new life and a new business venture.

He’d discovered Bill rooting around in the woods at the edge of the vast property. After inviting him in for a warm meal, Charles had found a better business partner than he could possibly have hoped for. Bill’s superhuman size and strength always made negotiations much smoother.

There were voices at the front door. “Aw-right, Bill, ” he announced. “It’s showtime.”

They took their positions as the tumblers in the lock squeaked and popped. They should have tried the backdoor, thought Charles, laughing to himself. It’s open.

The door opened and the two unfamiliar faces were greeted by two unfamiliar faces, waiting for them eagerly in the foyer. The woman started to scream but Charles brought his gun out from his pocket and raised a finger to his lips. Her husband stood in front of her with his jaw hanging open.

Charles’s lines flowed naturally, as if he were saying them for the first time. “Good evening. If ya’ll could please have a seat and speak only when spoken to, then I think we can get this unfortunate ugliness over with rather quickly. Thank you for dinner, by the way. Bill, thank the nice folks.”

Bill stepped from the shadows and nodded with a grunt, pounding his monstrous left palm with the club in his right.

Beneath Your Window

The sweetest pillow my head hath known

Was little more than a humble stone

If only because twas lodged beneath your window

Though sleep resisted and my head did smart

It did wonders for my heart

If only because twas lodged beneath your window

I dreamt of you, my love, for quite some time

Safe, warm, and happy in my mind

Though a coat of frost grew across your window

Cold it was though I slept fine

Until I awoke around midnight

To find blue lights flashing bright upon your window

I swore there had been some mistake

But I felt my heart begin to break

I saw you crying through your upstairs window

You see, the last time that we met in court

I thought it was a joke of sorts

A lovers' game; to keep me from your window

You said you did not know my name

I said loved you just the same

Forever I would wait beneath your window

Yet here I sit in my tiny cell

Wondering if it's just as well

That metal bars encase my only window

Though my time in here may take it's toll

Before you know I'll be up for parole

And with any luck, they'll tell me that I can go

So please, my darling, save the date

I'll see you soon; in six to eight

Moonlit, we'll meet again beneath your window.

With love,

Larry

The Excluded (a.k.a. The Cyber Dead)

Stephen is disconnected. His high-end laptop is as dead as the proverbial doornail. His artificially intelligent phone is nothing more than an expensive paperweight. It has only been a few weeks but already he's become use to the isolation. He walks down the street as seldom as possible these days, but when he does, he takes the four small walls of his apartment and the cramped space between them with him.

On paper, Stephen is still alive and well. But paper is irrelevant. Social networking pages, portable telephone numbers, television. These are the things that connect a man to the world today. Without them, he floats through his days alone and free. Total freedom. Who knew?

Stephen has a family. Or he did. He hasn't spoken with them (or anyone else, for that matter) in the past few weeks. They might be worried. He hopes they are. But he has disappeared before. Never for this long. But it's happened.

The last time had been for three days. There had been no particular reason for it. Stephen finds that very few actions are motivated by reason today. Instant gratification tastes oh so sweet. And why not? If the book of Genesis is to be believed, it was the want for more than instant gratification, the need for reason, that got us into this whole human mess in the first place.

And what a mess it is! Unless I’ve been misinformed (which we must take a moment to realize is certainly very possible; we’re all so gullible in the long run), we (and I mean humanity as a whole) couldn’t make it two generations into this whole thing without letting our homicidal tendencies get the best of us. Oh to be the logical creatures that we pretend!

Stephen thinks too much. He recognizes and acknowledges all of the above with minimal reluctance. He just can’t help himself. (Thank God Stephen’s not homicidal!) The thinking in and of itself isn’t the problem.

People wouldn't mind, but Stephen has a bad habit of thinking out loud. He'll babble on and babble on and babble on in Babylon. Are you paying attention? No one ever asks him to be quiet but he can tell that they're thinking of nothing else. So he did one time.

Stephen unplugged. He turned off the lights and unplugged the phone. He shut down his laptop and locked the door behind him. He walked outside into the pouring rain with nothing but a bad idea in his head and a few dollars in his pocket.

He'd turned up a few days later physically tired and broke. Yet his heart had been so light. Stephen’s introverted inclinations disappeared for a moment. Walking to his parents’ door, he’d smiled at every person whose path he crossed. He’d even gone so far as to wave and speak to the familiar faces. Every one of them politely waved back and brushed him of as quickly as decorum would allow. The false smiles would disappear before they’d even turned completely around. Stephen had thought to himself that the rain must have washed them away.

Stephen’s heart grew heavy again. He’s been gone for these weeks trying to make a point to the people he loves. He’s not online yet still he exists. The physical interactions let you know you’re not alone in the universe. Prolonged isolation, modernity’s most prized possession, has even managed to convince a few that there is no universe. They just possess extremely active imaginations. It’s an interesting thought but something in Stephen just won’t let him buy into it. Even if he could, the discomfort of being an ineffective god would probably bring him back to the same conclusions he’s already reached.

Stephen is going home now. The wilderness that starts just south of what once was 8^th Avenue has given him the solitude he’s needed. He hopes someone has noticed his absence but that’s not really important.

As Stephen walks into the city at twilight, he sees the sun burn a brilliant red on the horizon like it never has before. He pauses for a moment. It dawns on him, ‘neath the rays of the setting sun, that he hears absolute silence. Yet for once in his life, he hears everything. The city is dark.

As Stephen gets closer and closer to the city, he realizes that something is very different. He begins to see people in the street. Bonfires burn freely in the alleys. People sit in large groups, larger than he’s ever seen, gathered round the fires like the ghosts of cavemen. Then it hits him. He hasn’t seen an operational vehicle yet. Neon advertisements seemed to have disappeared. The streetlights are out. All of the lights are out. Stephen is not alone anymore.

Look To The Stars

Aeons ago, just after the beginning, there was a man who couldn't sleep. He suffered from what was at that point the worst case of insomnia this world had ever seen. It had nothing to do with financial or social responsibilities. The world was young enough that man had not yet learned to be afraid and nightmares suffered from lack of source material. Though entirely a possibility, the historical record does not mention a woman.

Night after night he fought with his pillow, turning it this way and that. He tossed and he turned on the ground. Like all of the people, his dwelling protected him from the cool night air. Yet still sleep did not come. Days passed and each morning the flaming sky taunted his bleary eyes. The days became longer and longer until he no longer knew the difference between day and night. The nightly fire became to him the evening sun until the darkness chased them all inside.

He lay alone staring at the ceiling again and again. At times, the man would reach out his hand and feel nothing. It would fall down by his side again, empty.

One night, the man’s fatigue became something more. Within himself, he felt desperation when he reached out his hand and then a solemnity settled upon him that could only be described as final. He got up from his dwelling place and walked outside into the darkness. The embers in the circular fire pit still glowed softly around the edges; their warmth and light imprisoned in their ashen shell. The wind blew like a strike to the face.

In those days, all men still spoke with God. There were no set apart orders or charismatic leaders. In a time before distraction, God’s constant presence was felt by mankind, gifting them with a personal faith that they have sought to reclaim ever since.

The man bowed down and began to pray, saying, "O My God, why has sleep departed from your servant? My bones ache and my mind races! After seven days even You rested from your labor.”

There was no answer.

“Lord, what would you have me do?” he asked, keeping his face to the ground. “If it be your will, grant your servant understanding.”

Still there was silence.

“Please, Almighty God!” he pleaded, pounding his fists on the ground. “If nothing else, grant your servant a reprieve! I can take no more!”

The man rose to his knees, “Since I was a boy, I have learned to walk in Your ways. All of my days, I’ve done my best to walk the path of righteousness, yet I know that tonight you have something to say to me. I pray please! Say it! For I fear this might be my last night to hear it.”

Exhausted, the man began weeping. “My Lord, I give myself over to you. I have lived in the world of light and darkness for too long! I see you each day in my brothers and sisters, yet at night it seems that You depart from me. I beg that You let me hear what You speak to me. Quiet my mind! Open my eyes and ears! Let me know that you hear me!”

He rubbed his watery eyes and looked up. With the fire dead where it lay, he saw, for the very first time, the night sky unobstructed. He gasped in wonder at the countless stars above, sprinkled densely across the wide open sky. In the uninhibited darkness, their light shone even brighter.