Matthew Newton

What the Message Was: (part thirteen), by Matthew l Newton

So strange, the taste of silence, bitter and green like rotted slats of the pier outside; stretching out into the ocean like a point. A bridge to Knowhere. Yet the color may not matter, here below the Earth. I have crawled my way to the pulpet, the pillowed restings of sadness, the cool wet and slick oiled scents that waver around me sleeping. So strange.

Above me are pictures from nights where men sung merry eyed, anticipant and firm, their women crest each shoulder spy and wait for them to turn. A leach, a leapor, a lesson, a livid corpse. More then their photographs though were the framed certificates below, speaches given to crowded halls for awards won over the balcony; a view few could afford in those days. I stayed with each memory long enough to carry a piece of it with me. This of course being my appointment now that I had made it inside.

‘How did I get in here?’ I wondered.

The doorway shut, unyeilding, frozen or just locked. I remebered then the whispers to me right before my knock.

“Hello?” I tried, if only, if maybe my effort would be faint.
“Hello.” I say in case the answer came without much weight.

Nothing. So strange. No one. I was alone here. Alone to see and hear and touch and take and care and study. Alone to sip a pitcher if needed. Alone to sleep in a bed. Here the islands were plenty, wrapped with blanks that hadn’t been used for more than a hundred years though they looked as if they had been cleaned yesterday. Everything here in fact was prestine, flawless with sprakling surfaces of an open house; that new car scented caramel that melts inside your mouth. I had escaped to a paridise, the fountain of youth, forever safe from the ravages of time. A time without time.
Why did that sound so familiar.

“Are you going to lie there all day, droiling over the decore, or can we get to work?”

The voice above me boomed into my ears with so much force that I pissed myself before I even realized someone was speaking to me. I swung my arms rapidly around me searching for the knife I’d had just moments ago. It was gone. My coat, it was in my coat. I throw my hands into pockets that were no longer there. My coat had vanished. I was naked. Naked and shaking and pissed on and frightened there lying frozen on the floor of the bar I’d broken into.

“Well?” Blasted the voice again, this time softer yet overwhelming all the same.

“What do you want?” I cryed out, placing my palms over my eyes as if to shield myself from the pain of his questioning.

“You should know, your the one who brought me here.”

Matthew Newton
DOC #81868

Categories: Matthew Newton

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