Back in the day there used to be short stories printed in periodicals in newspapers chronically certain stories for a couple of weeks or so. I have been working on a little bit of a story I would like to share with you that will come in installments. I will post a little bit of the story about a page or so every two days I think and see how it goes.
Installment 1 of The Night:
This night was different than the last unbearable ones. It had almost a sense of security that came through the enveloping darkness. The absence of light made everything balanced to the naked eye. The power to obscure the clearest object in the daylight to an almost unrecognizable concept was something to envy. The nights had been so vivid and real that even the blurring of realities lines could not soften the edges of nightmares that I had. They had all started and ended the same, the rising of the tide of anger in my body seemingly from out of nowhere to the horrendous fall back into my own consciousness. The dreams would start at work. The one place that can take my mind off the troubles of the world is at the one place the anger starts. The boss storms through the door yelling about the loss of figures and the losing of clients. I assure him that I kept the books tight and neat and that no number could be found out of place. This does nothing to quell the anger that seems to erupt from his momentary personality defect. The whole anger monologue becomes a blur, something that resembles mumbling and whispering into an incoherent fast forward grunt. I end my day furious feeling like a bottle of soda shook one too many times. My beat up Honda Civic seems to be driving in butter like mud not being able to move down the freeway to my home. An almost standstill going 60 miles an hour I have no choice but to go over the feelings that are encapsulated within my bottled up existence. I hear a tapping from the side of my mind breaking my monk like focus. This tapping starts as a pin drop in the back of my brain almost a tattoo needle scaring me with an annoying message to be seen whenever I close my eyes. The tapping needs to stop; it becomes a migran of annoyance pushing into everything I exist for. My very purpose in the moment of my dream is to rid the world of this tapping. I look around in a state of panic and frustration. The tapping, I found the source my hand on the steering wheel beating a beat that I feel in my core. I know that is not the person whom people know me to exist as; I am not an angry person. This dream, my sub conscious existence is something that I am not. Yet my hand in my dream taps, and continues to tap without my body willing it to. The emotions I feel control my bodily functions and motions. The tapping is numbing my hand. My hand cannot stop. I am throwing all my rational thought on my hand to stop. The emotional mind wins, in my dream it always does. The tapping turns into an almost tribal beat on the dashboard of my already haggard Honda, taking out the plastic accessories for the air vent and air conditioning. Every dream I see this happening, and every time I know where it leads. I cannot stop the outpouring of emotions in the car ride home. I feel every time as if my mind is in the eye of the violent hurricane my body becomes. My mind is calm and I understand every thought, every feeling. I cannot however control what I do. I have a surreal feeling of seeing myself not only through my dream but above myself in my dream. A movie plays and I have to watch it every night. I get to the drive way of my home, and realize that the insurmountable minutes that had passed had only taken me a half hour of my time. I turn the engine off, and sit in the silence the absence of the engine had made. My chest is moving deeply in and out labored with a sense of violent undertone. My hand, the one with the drumming and beating, is beaten bloody red. Funny, I am thinking to myself, I felt no pain. My mind is calm but my breathing and my body say otherwise. The pulse in my veins accelerates making them bulge in my arm as the adrenaline surges, my angers energy drink. My mind is calm, my body walks through the door and I reach for the handle I have no control. My presence is acknowledged by my wife who comes to greet me at our door. I cannot hear what she says; my body is on auto pilot.
To finish first installment go to: http://www.everydaynight.com/