Ghosts' of November

Chapter 15. Just Another Friday Night

Chapter 15: Just Another Friday Night

> There are some dreams I can't remember as I awake, yet the bed is still soaked with sweat. Are these the dreams I can't remember by choice, maybe I am the monster in these dreams. I guess you never really forget who you are, you just ignore it long enough that it becomes a forgotten memory. As I've learned the worst parts of who you become, never die, they just lie in wait for your weakness. I am now weak, and I need help. There are no shadows to be seen at night, only the silhouettes of what exists in the day. I am just a silhouette of who I used to be, but I am exactly who I never wanted to be. I see the scars hiding on veins, and lines of unforgiveness marking my body with regret. The room is dark and it is so damn quiet.

> I try to pace between the walls full of memories I can never forget, but I don't remember the smiles that were shared. I feel so small, so fragile again, just like I did so long ago when I walked out of the darkness of addiction. I try to sit and read some words from the good book, but it doesn't feel good, in fact, it feels damn angry. How could she smile when she was in such pain, and I can't even breathe here in another midnight. She stayed so strong up until the end, she smiled and I know it wasn't because she wanted to. She would read from the good book, and even the curses sounded like a blessing coming from her lips. She said God wasn't someone you could only know, you had to experience Him. I only experienced judgment, and now I just can't see who He is.

> Earlier today, I had to get out, I had to get out and breathe air that wasn't stale, look into a sky that wasn't a reflection of blue. I couldn't become another prisoner in another war, I wouldn't survive this time. On the walk home, I went through the park. I needed to feel the grass and see the colors of the world. I had hoped to hear the sound of a child laughing, or see a kite flying against the morning sky. There were no kids, no laughing, and no kites. I hadn't even gotten a chance to sit in a swing, or slide down a slide when a voice said, "Park is closed until further notice, if you need sleeping arrangements go to Cannon Kip Community Center." I could only see his back as he didn't even stop to see if I would listen, everyone was listening.

> I started walking back up the lonely street, I had only hoped to sit on some park bench and read a comic. I'm not sure when was the last time I could live so carelessly. There was something about the way the characters spoke in comic books; you didn't have to believe them to know it was true. It was like having to use all of your imagination and none of your imagination at the same time to really see what the artist was creating. In the war, that was the only entertainment we had for nights on end. I would still read the comic, but it would have to be inside. The gentle breeze was slowly becoming wind again as another storm approached. I look up at the building and realize with just a few short steps up some stairs, I am back in the place where I can never escape.

> Inside with a comic waiting to be read, I turn on the lights. It is one thing to live in silence, but I couldn't stand it if I had to live without light. There is no need to turn on the radio, the comic can provide the only world I need tonight. In the middle of the jungle I was once called Hulk Jr., it seemed I was always reading one of his comics, and I had his temper. I never took a swing at someone I knew, but I fired more bullets than anyone else when the time came. I guess the questions that has never been answered; was he always The Hulk in a man's body, or was he Bruce Banner trapped in The Hulk's body? I never wanted to tame the monster I became; until it was too late. The corner store didn't have a Hulk, so SuperMan became the world I would get lost in.

> He wasn't all that different from The Hulk, he just got a choice as to when he became his monster. I honestly believe in some version of the story, the villains are the hero's and the hero's or the villains. I sometimes wonder which version of the story we are living in. I read the words: "Abruptly, Superman summons all the power of his powerful lungs, and blows out the torch from where he stands. Out of all the super powers Superman possessed, this was the best of them. It is a superpower that is unexpected. I read a few more words, as the story became clear. In the end after all the words have been said, the story still ends the same. Outside the window a few hours seem to have gone by as the moon is floating across the sky.