Silas Livingstone's Moment in Time

Yesterday I Woke Up Sucking A Lemon

2007-06-09T08:25:00.001-07:00

So what happens when you're a fugitive from the law? I remember seeing a movie called, ironically, The Fugitive. It starred the dangerously handsome Harrison Ford who was wrongfully accused of killing his wife. Where is my one-armed man to blame? Will I find myself at the end of a turbulent tunnel only to plunge 500 feet into a waterfall?

I may as well... my love is gone.

So I was on the run, still wearing the same clothing I'd been wearing for days. I ached for a shower and a real meal. My feet carried me to a place where Bobbie would volunteer her weekends, the Loaves and Fishes Shelter. I stood in line awkwardly, since the place was always busy. If you made it before sundown, you were likely to get a cot for the night and a conglomerate of mixed food.

I scrawled my name at the registry, which was fine because my signature was nearly identical to the other vagrants there. I filled my stomach with a chowder with potatoes and chicken, found an empty showerstall, and finally scrubbed all the red from myself.

I stood in the shower for what seemed like ages, staring down at the grimey tiled floor, at the brown water swirling into the drain. There goes her blood, away. I used the sandpaper towel they provided at the shelter to dry off, found myself a cot and finally breathed for the first time since finding her.

Vagrants all around tried catching my eye to instigate conversation or dice games, but I blatantly ignored them. I'm not here to make friends.

What am I here for?

Take me on board their beautiful ship, Show me the world as I'd love to see it

2007-05-13T11:08:00.000-07:00

When I came to, I was still in the cell. An ominous quiet had settled in the station, like when you're in the middle of a park and all the birds go silent at the same time.

Walking up to the bars, I noticed there was no movement around. I rested my hands on the bars, trying to see to the left and right of me, and realized the the cell door was ajar. What?? I tapped it lightly, and it swung open easily. What are you supposed to do in situations like these? Do you take advantage and just leave? Or do you do the honorable thing and wait around until someone notices that you sat like a good dog and didn't leave. Screw this.

I tiptoed out, feeling like a masked burglar in one of those violent cartoons they show on Saturday morning television. Not a soul was in sight. I ran to the desk where they had taken my information and inked my hands. This was too easy, what's the trick? I grabbed any piece of paper that had my name written on it and stuffed them in my pockets.

I was out the front door within a matter of seconds... and free.

Wax Me, Mould Me, Heat the Pins and Stab Them In

2007-04-24T16:16:00.000-07:00

I was thrown into a cell, in shock staring at my ink-stained hands. They had looked down at me in disgust, already judging that I had committed the crime. The door slammed, echoing a horrible metal clang.

I snapped.

I screamed.

I screamed as if it was me that was getting murdered.

I had to get out. I was a Stranger in a Strange Land, unable to grok these hard, cold walls with fingernail scrapes in them.

I plummeted all the surfaces of the small cell with my fists until they were bloody. Then, the world went black.

Just Because You Feel It Doesn't Mean It's There

2007-04-12T19:17:00.000-07:00

I lay with her for what felt like days. I placed her body in a more natural position, ignoring the fact that parts of her were mangled and... missing. I held her close, pretending she was still there, just sleeping, napping, relaxed.

The most awkward sound of a Beatles poly-ringtone on my cellphone across the room awoke me from my daze. She had put "All My Loving" on my cellphone when I wasn't looking several weeks ago. It sounded distant and like it was from the 90s. I snapped, and looked down on her, with her eyelids closed, and smears of red spread about her still soft skin. She was still beautiful in death. The telephone continued to ring, and I hummed along with the music while I stroked her hair. She had gotten me into the Beatles. Funny considering they were from my country.

I kept her close to me for a few more hours before I succumbed into getting up and calling the authorities. Red and blue ambulance lights blinked through the mini-blinds shortly, and within seconds, the banging of outsiders trying to get in stormed my door. I managed a small yelp, like a hurt puppy, and they entered, eyes wide in disbelief of the carnage.

I remember they saw her body there, and finding no sign of life just as I had. Officers in jackets that make wooshy noises surveyed the apartment, squinted in distaste towards me, and handcuffed me as what they call a "suspect."

They placed me in the back of a cruiser, all the while asking me questions. I couldn't muster a word, all I could see was her, as they carried her body out on a stretcher and placed it roughly in the back of the ambulance. Be gentle! The ambulance veered away, not even with the sirens on. I know that sometimes they don't turn the sirens on when the patient inside is dead, but that silence coming from an ambulance is deafening when you know a body is in there.

I flinched, glared into the headlights of another cruiser inconveniently facing towards me, and closed my eyes, waiting for the verdict.

Don't Know Why I Feel So Skinned Alive

2007-04-09T12:42:00.000-07:00

Faint purple lines were peeking up from the horizon. The sun was ready to start the day, I was ready to pass out for the next week. It's kind of funny how most American towns are filled with neon and flashy lights. I knew I was getting close to home when the neon died away into porch lights. Luck was finally on my side as I found the secret spot for the doorkey and opened the front door.

The air was still as I walked in. Normally the two windows we have are opened. My hand reached for the light switch and found something wet. The room illuminated and before me was more than I can ever express in words. It was as if a horror film crew had rampaged my living space with their theatre gore. Lines of red smeared upon our moldy yellow walls, glass shatterings aimed at delicate places, furniture fluff was strewn about. Not one item lay intact.

Bobbie....

I was forced to walk slowly through the chaos. The smell I've only heard of in newpaper articles and movies lingered, filling me with dread.

Oh god, no....

And there she was... strewn about on her favorite bed sheets. Her skin stained the same color as the fabric, as if it melded into her. I rushed to her, checking her pulse, pulling her to me, sobbing. I breathed in her hair, it smelled of blood. Her life drenched my clothes, her breath gone, her eyes vacant.

What do you do in situations like these? I knew that if she were ever gone, I wouldn't live long after. She has been the love of my life, my whole life. My Bobbie...

How does one handle this?

Sit Down, Stand Up, Walk into the Jaws of Hell

2007-04-07T07:45:00.000-07:00

My vision focused on the rusty sink basin, my heart racing as if I was there again, in the flat with that horrid thing just looking at me. I rubbed my face hard, trying to get the images out of my mind. I wasn't ready to deal with those right now. I thought I was alone until I heard an uncomfortable cough from behind me of some truck driver who wanted to use the sink as well. I slid over and leaned up against the cold tile wall, closed my eyes, and tried to get my bearings.

I was hungry. I had no idea when the last time I had eaten.

My clothes were still a dishevelled mess.

And Bobbie wasn't here. I fumbled in my pocket for my mobile phone, but it was gone. I knew it was gone before I even looked for it. I swept to the door of the restroom, left the sanctuary of Happy Meals and glowering clown statues, and found a payphone around the side of the building.

I dialed collect to the flat directly. No answer. The hum of the phone ringing was condescending to my ear. I just want to talk to her dammit! I called again, then again, like a madman; like there was a faint hope of her just happening to be walking in the door when I called. I never have the luck.

I started walking home, well at least in the general direction I thought was home. The sooner I started, the sooner I could see her.

The Panic, The Vomit, God Loves His Children

2007-04-06T14:37:00.000-07:00

So there I stood, my bare nakedness my shield in the dark. I was cursing myself internally for not getting a cat to blame that blatant noise on. Bobbie's thin string of panties got tangled around my toe as I was walking through the short hall. I'm glad she didn't see me fumble in the dark as I shook my leg like a rabid dog to let the cloth loose.

You know the feeling you get when you can feel something is there, but not see it? It's like someone telling you to taste an orange, even though you don't have the fruit in front of you. Your taste buds recollect the taste, and your brain relays what it tastes like. Same thing with knowing but not seeing. Maybe... Maybe more like when you were a child, lurking around the neighbourhood haunted house. You haven't actually seen a ghost, but your subconcious tells you there is one there. You get the prickly skin, your eyes move about rapidly, the air tastes like electricity, etc.

This is what it was like while I walked down the hall, peering about, feeling the bumps of plaster along the wall. Should I have brought a baseball bat like they do in the movies? Too late now. Going back to the bedroom would be disasterous in her eyes.

Of course the corners looked dark. The first place you always look in situations like these is the corners. But what I was looking for was not in a corner. It was conveniently sitting on our ratty and tattered couch with a smile on it's face.

A Drip Drip Dripping

2007-04-02T12:13:00.000-07:00

The faucet in the men's lavatory was taking too long for the heat to kick in. I filled the basin with dingy lukewarm tap water until it was full and submerged my head in completely.

My thoughts went back to a few weeks before. She was laying sprawled out on our deep red bedsheets, looking at me with those bedroom eyes she was so good at. "Come massage my feet," she cooed. I couldn't resist those eyes. She had large feet for a girl, but her eyes made up for those giant toes. Massages always lead into what I like to call the good stuff.

It started raining then. As tacky as that sounds, rain reminds me of home. She was home, even though we lived in an efficiency apartment with hand-me-down furniture. It didn't bother us any. Afterwards, we lay tangled in those blood red sheets, the ones she insisted we splurge on because they felt smoother than the other types at the store; because they matched the red streaks she had dyed in her hair shortly before purchasing the linens. Her breath was hot against my chest as she started to doze, and my eyes crept slowly down, slipping inevitably into sleep.

But a noise... a noise woke us from our lazy dreams. She looked up startled, and squinted into the darkness of our small flat. Her face turned towards me giving that, "I'm the girl, and you're supposed to protect me, so go check out that strange noise now" look. With a light stroke to her hair, I squeezed out of bed into the awkward stillness.

What I Didn't Know Then

2007-04-01T19:45:00.000-07:00

It was October, maybe early November, I don't remember too well. My face was plastered to the ground, my eyes shut, my breath backfired on my face. The sting of gravel digging in my flesh brought me to conciousness, and I sluggishly pulled myself up. It was dusk and I was surrounded by an abandoned parking lot.

My first thought was, "Where is she?" I skimmed the horizon for a beacon of recognition, something that looked familiar. She had insisted we move to this town, some suburb in the Americas, to be closer to her family, and after 6 months, I still didn't know my way about. These damned Americans did everything backwards so it was hard to adjust. The neon glow of restaurant signs not far off lured me in with hopes of finding a telephone and maybe a restroom to survey the damage done to myself. I don't even remember if it had been a hard fall, I just know that my body ached and my clothes were torn.

"Where are you Bobbie?" I whispered to myself as I lugged towards civilization.