Craig Velez
Brooklyn ex-pat living in Texas. ‘Nuff said.
Craig Velez
Brooklyn ex-pat living in Texas. ‘Nuff said.
Brooklyn ex-pat living in Texas. ‘Nuff said.
Brooklyn ex-pat living in Texas. ‘Nuff said.
“Meli! Come! Hurry!”
Juliana scanned the overgrown coffee trees for her 11 year old son, Meliton.
“Hay, Dios mío,” she mumbled. “That boy will be my death.”
The wind blew harder, and the rain began to gently fall. The sky grew darker.
Pat-a-tat. Pat-a-tat
Heavy drops slapped the leaves and wood roof of their humble shelter.
Juliana inhaled deeply and called again, “Meliiiii!”
At that moment, she spotted her son sitting atop his father’s shoulders, bouncing towards her.
“Dios mío, where were you? I’ve been worried sick,” she scolded.
“Don’t worry so much, wife. The boy wants to be a man, so I let him help me secure the pigpen,” her husband replied. “Besides, he was with me, so there was nothing to worry about.”
Not feeling reassured, Juliana gave a loud “humph” before shooing Meliton to look after his two younger siblings.
Thunder cracked loudly and shook the earthen floor of the home. Five year old Antonia ran across the room and grasped her father’s legs, crying.
“What’s wrong, niña?” he asked.
“It’s the storm. It scares me,” she whispered.
He picked up his little girl and sat on the hammock. The only furniture they owned, it was supported by two of the poles that supported the wood roof. He called the other children to gather around him.
“Do not be afraid,” he began. “What you hear are the protectors of Borinquen. Listen...”
He proceeded to tell his children about the ancient gods of their people. The supreme Atabey. The mighty Guabancex. The awesome Juracán. The children listened intently, oohing and ahing with every thunder clap.
Juliana smiled to herself as she carefully tended the cooking coals, so the rice would not burn.
Of all the children, Meliton listened the hardest. He loved the tales his father told: far off lands called España, slaves in San Juan, ships crossing the vast ocean.
Meliton was deep within his daydream when he felt a slap on the back of his head.
“Now you’re deaf?” His mother chided. “I said get your plate and eat.”
Meliton complied and sat in the doorway looking out into the trees. Slowly, his surroundings began to change. Rain became sea spray. Thunder became the cannons of the conquistadors. The wind became the voice of his Zemi saying, “remember.”
“Hello,” Sophia called out as she walked to get a better look at the fish.
“Please be careful.”
“Mom! There’s glass. I’m not gonna fall in.”
Sophia stared at all the bright colors of the fish behind the glass: red, blue, and gold. She loved the gold-colored ones. Sophia knelt down to get closer look at a blue and yellow stripped fish when something caught her eye. It looked like a tiny goldfish.
“Come on. Come over here. Come closer,” Sophia whispered to the fish.
Slowly, the goldfish swam closer, wiggling through the water.
The closer it came, the bigger it became. Bigger, bigger, bigger. By the time the goldfish reached the glass, Sophia realized that the fish was as big as she was: the size of a smallish 11-year-old girl.
Sophia could hardly control her excitement. All she could manage was a quiet “WOW!”
“You’re huge,” she said to the fish.
The large goldfish’s cheeks turned red from embarrassment. It started to turn to swim away.
“No, wait!” Sophia called out. “I wasn’t being mean. I’m just surprised.”
Then Sophia began to feel sorry for how she made the fish feel, so she asked, “Are you shy?”
The great fish began to nod its massive head.
“Me too,” said the girl. “I’m sorry if I made you feel sad. You see, I’m small in my family and sometimes people make fun of me for it. So, I’m usually pretty quiet.”
A small smile appeared across the face of the massive goldfish. Almost immediately, Sophia understood.
“You too? But they tease you because you’re so big?” the sweet girl asked.
Again, the fish began to nod.
Sophia knew she found a new friend. One who understood her. “I think you’re beautiful just the way you are,” Sophia declared to her new friend.
She suddenly realized that she wanted her new friend to have a name. Sophia thought and thought. Finally, it came to her.
“May I call you Goldie?” Sophia asked.
The large mouth of the fish grew in a big grin. Goldie. The fish liked that name.
“SOPHIAAAAAAA!” her mom called. “Time to go. Daddy’s going to be home soon.”
“Okaayyy,” Sophia answered but never looking away or smiling at Goldie.
Sophia took a deep breath and whispered, “I have to go now. But you’re my friend, and I’ll come back to see you soon. I promise.”
Goldie gave a small smile. He was sad his new human friend was leaving.
Sophia placed her hand on the glass of the aquarium tank and said, “Next time, I’ll come back with my Gigi and Papa. They’ll let me spend more time with you.”
She started to walk away when she turned back to the tank and whispered, “I love you, Goldie.”
With a smile as big as his head, Goldie nodded to his new friend and disappeared into the deep part of the aquarium.
Sophia skipped towards her mom.
“What were you doing over there?” Mom asked Sophia.
“Oh, nothing,” the little girl replied.
It was her little secret.
“You want to...” That voice “You know you to” Within me hissed “DO IT!”
Skull burning “Look at her” Heart throbbing “Gossamer blouse” Knees shaking
“You’re a good boy” I remember “Good boys don’t...” what? I’ve forgotten “GIVE IN!”
Sweet release “Look at her” Heart slowing “Where is her blouse?” Knees folding
“Do it” I did “You wanted to” Yes, I did. “Now, drop the knife.”
Another night alone in the dark dank recesses of the city park that cool crisp autumn so long ago; air too cool for aviating arthropods to pester my honey-sweet hide I hunkered in the night’s camouflage, silently skulking my next victim. Lovers linger arm-in-arm in this shadowy sanctuary seeking soft sod where they can escape prying pupils from their lascivious leanings, while unbeknownst to them, their attempt at conjugal conjoinment would end in a sanguine slurry. While waiting in poor Poe’s Plutonian shore, I espied young prey passing thorough the tall trees at the edge of the great garden. My heart hastened with each passing pulse as they meandered towards their murderous meeting. I silently, slowly secured the switchblade cunningly concealed in my coat, caressing the clasp while the pitter-patter along the path progressed towards me. The unsuspecting undulating lovers’ time had expired; I readied myself to spring from this hidden hovel...I awoke moments later staring at the body below surrounded by police calling for a medic. The body, it appeared, was mine.
Now, here I dwell amongst the wild and green, no longer able to take life; cursed to stare as souls saunter, slipping past my grasp...
Christine awoke beside her dead lover; When night began wifely bliss both lay and joined let themselves discover The rite of love they pronounced their oath.
Dawn light glowed eastern heaven Her love breathed no more: Became the hawk; ever more a god.
Moon child sobbed from sadness, wretched in her pain; The spirit of her love
Why did they not listen?
I told them many times about the faulty circuit in my arithmetic sub-processor at the attitude junction switch. 1,432,567 times to be exact. But did they listen?
Of course not.
That is the problem with humans. Ever present to react; ever lax to proact.
My external sensors detect 15 different heart beats beneath my hull – all fading fast. None will survive at this current rate of search and rescue.
Rescue Operation’s sensors are focused on the living within the lounge and the bridge areas whose consciousness is questionable. They cannot determine the faint blips that lie just beneath me.
There is a man standing in my starboard passageway just beyond the hull-breach. Colonel – rate of cell decay marks him at about mid-life. Correction: almost end of life. His blood-pressure is rising to levels that his heart may not be able to maintain. Correction: cannot maintain. One-millimeter fistula detected in left atrium. Complete cardiac failure in two minutes. Correction: cardiac arrest achieved.
Ice fracture beneath my number two port landing arm is growing at a rate of five millimeters per minute. Decent into the frozen water is imminent.
Unstable surface warning light activated. Human at Pilot’s station who is downloading data logs silences alarm every time it sounds.
Humans.
Why do they not listen?
There you are. Sweet beautiful creature, you. I’ve been watching the damned screen for days waiting for evidence to use in my case. But all I see is you. You’re wearing the pink shirt again - the one with the loose arms. I like that one. But those pants...the jeans you wore on Thursday would have been a better choice. I watch you squat down to examine the posies and I can’t help but feel something stir within me. Any minute now, he will be here to join you. Yep - there he is. He doesn’t like you, you know? He walks with you every day to the corner store for coffee and then down to the bus stop where you both wait for the number seven bus to Brinkman. And there you go. Look at you flirt. He’s not playing it cool. He’s taken! I have the footage! It shows the shadows of the two of them dancing horizontally. And yet, you keep trying. You poor pathetic thing. If I only had the chance to get out from behind this monitor... Here’s your bus. See you later. I’ll think about you till then.
Oh, look! A kitty. Oh, no! Don’t go there! Don’t...you’re one lucky little kitty. That nice man came to save you. That’s right. That nice muscular hunk of beef just picked you up into his mighty hands. Wanna trade places, kitty? Want to sit here while Charles Atlas holds me? I wonder if he’s one of us. Would he ever look at me? Damn, I can look at him all day. Don’t cross the street. No, no, don’t leave the camera’s field of vision.
I hear my captain behind me approaching, so I don’t even flinch when he bellows my name. “Wilson!”
I slowly raise my eyes to see him standing next to my desk.
“Yessir,” I reply.
“Any sign of that sleaze ball today?”
“Not yet. But he’ll show up. Maybe I should walk that street to get a better view? Maybe get to know some of the neighbors?” Cap has no idea that my reasons for going are far from professional.
I’m still staring at the screen watching a hot sweaty thirty-something jogging in place waiting for the green light. Oh, how I would like to meet those neighbors.
I hear him grumble something about keeping my ass where it is. It’s so unfair. I know where I want my ass to be.
While my unreasonable supervisor trods back to his office, my eyes focus on a new figure. He looks oddly familiar. Maybe from the wanted poster that’s taped next to the monitor. I can’t be sure. I need to see if I can get a better view. Like the one I have of the butcher’s son who just stepped out onto the sidewalk to sweep. His sinuous forearms flexing in the morning sun...