I don’t know, maybe this is only about the Khaleej and Solano winds. Two of the most powerful winds on Earth. They blow. They tear down. Every living creature. Every city. Every pile of wood. Dusting the lamp with dark that even dusk can’t trail to tell. [/sta_intro]
I was with the Lumberjack and Kip. We were going up the street, covering its whole extension with steps, hand in hand with two of our best girl friends. Joyous. All of us joyous. Joyous streets. People who climbed with us. Some going down. Others opening the door of their homes just to close them after. Softly. Some with buckets. Others with hoses. Some screaming. Hanged on their tiny screams. But all of us joyous. Having fun.
Suddenly a furry creature leaping in the middle of us. A hairy man. Giant, deformed, monstrous. Twisted. Throwing the greediness of his being right on top of Luze, one of our two best girl friends. A man with an enormous head, empty inside. But a being full of greediness. Throwing himself on her – we saw – crashing her against the wall. Tearing her skirt, her small tweed skirt, with a pin, in black and white squares. Like those we see in our dreams. With his hand on the wall above her body. Getting off his furry skin, all of it. All of him. Hairy. Deformed. Monstrous. Unable to speak, unable to growl, only strength. Only greediness. Twisted.
Straightaway I jumped on top of him, hand in hand with the Lumberjack. Just on top of his fur. Him with the back against the wall, against her. Him falling down. The Lumberjack too. Me ridding him, hitting his head with a plastic fruit peeler or some sort of something. A gigantic peeler for some gigantic fruit, getting him on the head. Hitting him with suffering and still observing his being, by the corner of the eye. Deformed, still unable to growl. Me. The whole of him. Hairy, falling down, dying. Dying in a dark alley. Me holding the intact fruit instrument, covered with blood. Me all covered in blood, his blood, all of his. Melted. The Lumberjack standing. Him on the floor. Monstrous. In a dark alley. Fallen. Unable to growl. Nothing inside his head. Bloodless.
And so. We went down, forgotten. Trying to forget the dark alley. Luze with her Scottish skirt. With her shinning pin. So pretty. The Lumberjack holding two beers. A shot of something in his other hand. A shot of something liquid and poisonous, like a cocktail of Khaleej and Solano winds. Me hiding the fruit gizmo inside of me. Needing to hide it. Outside of me. Needing to melt it down. The plastic. The blood. The me.
By the corner of the eye, I saw me running to the woods, behind the houses, at the back of the streets where people let the doors opened. With buckets and hoses. In the woods, at the back of doorless houses, where only dark walls glowed. Far away. The weapon of the crime to be disposed of, burnt. Me falling asleep in the woods, inside the darkness. Shattered. In black and white squares. So pretty.
Time. Darkness being burnt, with day breaking, and me in the woods. In fear. Frightened. In panic. Wanting to burry myself. Seeing the hairy man running in the distance. Monstrous. Seeing the Lumberjack running in the distance. Kip. Luze. All running towards me. Me waking up, standing up. Running away up a tree, and up another one. And another. And another. And another. With no way out, in the woods burnt by the morning. The monster arriving.
White squares. Skirts. Dreaming. For real.
Me seating at a large table at the centre of a bare place in the woods. A clearing. The hairy man talking to me, smiling. With his head. Full of life. “Remember when you killed me? Remember when I died? It was so beautiful.” The monster talking to me. Talking to me in Scottish. Sitting by my side. Joking, willing to tell a joke. All of them taking a seat. Bringing food. The Lumberjack bringing beer and shots of Khaleej and Solano winds. For everybody. Luze sitting by my side. Kissing me. The hairy man kissing me. All partying. All of us happy. Seated.
For having saved the man from the greediness of his own being. For having killed the monster. For having given life through death. For having given him the morning, burnt with the plastic of his luck. His bare fruit. The clearing.
All of us happy. All of us happy people. Joyous. Full of life. Sat down.