Cholo

(8) Ocho

The life of a college graduate is simply dull. Your sleeping schedule is completely ruined; your nights become days, and your days become nights. You'd pick up on your hobbies, similar to what I'm doing.

Later on that day, I picked up my paint brushes and a canvas. I allowed myself to transport into my art. I painted what I felt. My paint brush glided onto the canvas; colors of pink, yellow, red and blue merging to create the image of a corpse. I still couldn't shake the illusion of Caesar as nothing but a lifeless body. His hair stuck to his forehead, disheveled, and stained with dried blood. His eyes had no hint of life in them as they stared at the sky wide open, with his mouth agape as if whomever killed him frightened him. His clothes, a white wife-beater shirt and beige shorts were bloody. His body laying on the concrete floor; abandoned with a pool of dried crimson blood around him. My heart pounded as one question continued to race through my mind: Who did this?

The paint brush slipped from my hand. It fell on the floor with a clatter and splatter of red paint all over the room. I looked around in a haze. The floor was red as was his blood. I looked at the painting that I painted almost blindly; a body in a pile of blood. The face of the dead man was covered furiously with white. My body heaved, heart pounding in my ears.

He's not safe. He's not safe. He's not safe. He's not safe.He's not safe. He's not safe.He's not safe. He's not safe. He's not safe. He's not safe. He's not safe. He's not safe. He's not safe. He's not safe.

The voices in my head were becoming louder and louder. My hands blocked my ears and I shut my eyes. But no matter how hard I try to block out the voices, or the image of his corpse - I failed for you can't block what's mental. You can only shove it away with happier thoughts. I shook my head - thinking of my family. I thought about my father's smile when I graduated, or my mother's words before passing and instead of drawing in grief and misery, I was lifted.

Scrambling to my feet. I  made my way to the backyard where my father sat reading a book. He looked up at the sound of my feet, smiling. Grabbing a book as I sat. I did not even bother to check what it was, the book served as a therapeutic way to ease my conscience. "May I join you?" I flopped down next to my dad. He simply nodded, returning to his book. I sat there observing him as he read: So what if Oscar doesn't want me to meddle with their lives? I have everything I need right in front me.

Abandoning the book, I threw myself into his arms. I listened closely to his heart beat as my father hugged me in his arms. He pecked the top of my head, brushing his hand through my hair. I felt like a child again, prancing around in a pink tutu and a wand. Thinking that the world was happy and being naive about reality.

"Todo va a estar bien mi hija [Everything's going to be okay, my daughter]." 

"Espero que sí  [I hope so]." My voice muffled as I muttered a reply.

-      C     H     O     L    O    - 

The following morning I was groggily awoken by a continuing vibration. With my eyes squinted in irritation I scanned the room. I was in my bed which confused me for I can't recall returning to my room. I scratched my head in confession. The buzzing of my phone repeating itself again. I fished for it, diving further into the covers; getting tangled up in process to find my phone. I pressed the answer button even though it read unknown.

"Hola? [hello]"

A voice replied immediately, "Maria! Great news!"

I furrowed my eyebrows in concentration. "Yes?"