More Ramblings

I woke up with swollen eyes and a headache this morning. Why? Because I cried myself to sleep. Why? Because I watched the HBO Sports special on Barbaro. Yep, I watched a show about a horse and cried myself to sleep.

I wrote this short story recently. The title is: Piccadilly

Kyle Reyado was surrounded by his family as he took his last few breathes. Through eyes filmy with age he gazed upon the face of his daughter, Liesel. She was as beautiful as her mother. Her husband Cal held their son, Chris, in his arms. Chris kicked and fussed in his sleep.

Tracy, his daughter-in-law, held the hands of the twins. The little girls looked at Kyle with eyes too big for their angelic faces. He wanted to tell them not to be afraid but he had no strength to speak. The light was already beginning to fade. His two sons stood at the end of the bed, one with his hands in his pockets and one holding his head. A good solid family, he thought, I did well. We did well.

Between his sons the spectral form of his wife shimmered into view. He had not looked upon her face in 17 years. Oh, how he had missed her. He felt a tear slide down his weathered face as she smiled at him as she held out her hands. With a hint of a smile on his own lips Kyle joyfully gave into death.

He woke on fire, screaming, and naked. He was strapped, back down, to a metal barrel, his arms and legs stretched painfully behind him. The barrel was glowing red with heat, he could smell his own flesh cooking. The barrel rested on an endless bed of coals, independent fires burned here and there. His skin melted and dropped off into the hungry coals. They lit immediately and fed flames that burned through muscle and straight into his bone.

Kyle screamed and screamed.

A demon came into view. Huge, red skin like a snake, and on cloven hoofs the demon followed the sound of Kyle's useless screams. In one hand it held a chain of skulls, the last of which drug on the ground. Those skulls were scorched and broken. How Kyle wanted to become one of them. The demon stood before Kyle and bent down to meet him face to face. It said nothing but just watched as Kyle struggled with his misery. Finally Kyle rasped, "Why am I here? I don't belong here."

The demon threw his head back and laughed. He then took a deep breath and bathed Kyle in a string of molten fire.

Kyle woke with a shout. His body jerked and writhed in imaginary flame until he nearly slipped off his bed. Coming fully awake he jumped up and stumbled to the middle of the room. His skin felt icy cold, he was drenched in sweat. The images of the dream began to fade as Kyle took a few deep breathes to calm himself. Just a dream, just a dream, just another dream. He ran to his mirror just to make sure. He checked his image, the skin on his face and chest was smooth and unmarred.

"So fucking real, " he whispered as the door to his room burst open. Kyle shouted and nearly fell over his desk.

"Kyle? You alright? I heard screaming."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bad dream."

"Again? You want to talk about it?"

"No, Mom, I'm good. Just, you know..."

"Yeah, I know. Try to get some sleep, honey, you have school tomorrow," she closed the door.

Kyle looked back at his reflection, then turned and fell onto his bed. There would be no more sleep this night. He lay on his back staring at the shadows on the ceiling and waited for the day to come.