People of the Sun

By Travis Outten

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Travis Outten
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4389-8996-9

Chapter One

"I waste away; I will not live forever. Leave me alone, for my days are but a breath." -Book of Job

An endless void. A flush of hot and cold. Through it, in it, came the emergence of anxiety mixed with the patter of thick soles. The warmth of emotions, the heat it generated seeping off the owner of those soles, was engulfed into the prevailing wind, an easterly that would die by morning, but now, was content on pushing through the scattered elm and oak that would always watch from an inert existence all the secrets of a transient race.

Through them, a figure rushed past. A young woman. Under all the thick hair, disheveled and made wild from the breeze, lied the core from which insecurity loomed. The emotions said this: "I will never let them take me; I could never let them take me like this. I control my own fate!"

Looking down at what she held in her pocket, she knew they knew. They somehow knew of all the subtle intentions ever masked by this one grim cop out. Like a gun blast heard around the world but only to their keenest of senses. Those shadows would forever haunt this realm of doubt for those who dwelt there.

As things came together, the trees unveiled a narrow city street through all the yellow and auburn, sidewalks with tall green lamp posts and empty cars parallel parked along side a small park. She passed the last person a while back, but it mattered little. She was on her own here- crazy. Brushed aside, because that's what you do with crazy people; they were all delusional, merely striving for attention to those who grew tired of the boy who cried wolf.

It didn't matter too much, though. The adrenaline was like fire to the heart, the biggest obstacle having already been hurdled over. She would merely walk until she couldn't walk anymore, until all the world faded before her as she got to enjoy her last cool night in the city, her last midnight stroll unattached and free of guilt as all the goodbyes had indirectly and unknowingly been passed on. Pity had no place in this land.

Then, with little hesitation, she stopped. She turned her head back the way she came, and just as suddenly, contemplation came and sat down on her shoulder. It came as she transferred the tears from her face to a casual red blouse, looking down at the pavement and following a thin, almost untraceable dotted trail of blood she had made back to another road. Her conscience literally drew a line in blood, blood that had been leaving fast, now, trickling down and out of her sleeve from both sides as a sharp stainless steel object fell from the hand that was used to pull it out from concealment. But if only those around her knew what she had thought she'd known, what she had thought she'd seen, craziness, then, would simply have been sober indecision.

There was a building in the distance, a discreet red cross accompanying it. They were basically on every block in this part of town, these medical facilities. And she thought about it, turning her body so that she faced the direction of nearby help, thinking to herself that nobody really wanted to give up. No amount of fear, misunderstanding, or depression would cause someone to come down this path. They just didn't want to be alone. They wanted empathy; they wanted not to be misunderstood.

So she thought, "Maybe I can find someone, someone who knows about them, too. These creeps- I can't be the only one they've come for."

Another wipe to her face told her she didn't have much time. Debility to not quit had let her own irrationality destroy her self confidence. Dizziness would soon naturally take hold. And so knowing this, knowing ultimately that ugliness of surrender was something she would never truly want for herself, a renewed will had given her strength to take that step towards the help she so urgently needed. And the next step. And the next.

She hiked up 20th street NW, across that small park, one feeble foot in front of the other. A distant intoxicated onlooker could have possibly thought by the lethargic movement utilized that a zombie was trying to get to the hospital. But she was still alone. The otherwise sleepless city turned a cold shoulder to a vulnerable tenant. Though, a glimmer of hope changed everything for her.

A white van pulled up to a large building that was merely within shouting distance as a paramedic got out. He opened up the back of his van while she tried to speak out to him, but her voice was hoarse and dry. It could not make the projection needed to call his attention and win her rest, the rest she felt so dependant on now as her eyes as well as body started to slow their frantic pace. She then nearly tripped as dismay struck her with a disheartening blow seeing the guy grab some IV drip bags, shut the door and disappear into the hospital.

Determined, however, she got back up. She steadied herself for a moment in the middle of a small grass field and waited then. With each blink, she could sense it coming on. The whiteness, the fatigue. Every time her eyes gradually shut and reopened, the view before her grew hazier and hazier. It was time. She knew. Yet, she couldn't help but think before she finally made that imminent plunge, "Finally, I always wanted to know- what comes next."

Interlude I

The world is grayed out. There's often no sound. Smell here is strange, and taste is somehow unique. But feeling, feeling does not change. It only grows stronger.

And somewhere waiting, it lies. Only seeing what it wants to see, the immaterial passes through. In an eternity of nothing, even the most trivial things are worth noting. Yet this is not trivial. It's exciting. Purpose, then, has become important once more.

Chapter Two

"Take me down to the paradise city where the grass is green and the girls are pretty. Oh, won't you please take me home." -G&R

I live in paradise.

And in this paradise, the streets celebrate. For it was the time of year to do so. This place, this world- it was all a visual utopia. Temptation was its driver, and intrigue, that gateway bordering to the realm of obsession, was the fuel. And "they." They, of course, were here too. Though the word or concept of "them" had no bearing on my life at that point. I had no idea who "they" were. I was just caught up like everyone else, entangled in the web of our own self serving ways. Absorbed into this conscious dream that surrounded me.

The crowds were where I first felt it, this other presence, sifting through the masses shoulder to shoulder like it was New Year's eve in Times Square as I was looking for my group, all of us, needles in this giant haystack caught on fire. I was following one of the few close friends I had, when somewhere in it, I lost sight of him. The raving noises of a mad swarm, they took over on a fiery Fall night, and a melting pot of aromas had long since invaded their way into my lungs, now, saturating them completely. Two young females brushed pass me then, and I turned my head around to see the backs of these two scantily clad twins that were dressed as angels. One had these uniquely tapered black wings to rival the other's white. And I had to shake my head to regain focus from the fact that I could have been looking at two high school kids. For age here was indiscriminatory. Perverts were sometimes born unbeknownst. Others would never change. A sad fact.

I was alone suddenly.

Sound had ceased for a moment, and though the party had long ago begun, it greeted me. "Welcome," it said. "Lose yourself. For the apple is ripe."

I was captivated through all the false identities that drew in and out of sight. Or if nothing else, I could say, humorously curious of that which I saw. Everything, from the flashy lights to the whole flamboyancy of the entire place made reality groggy, and I would turn one way to see Chewbacca do his Wookie roar just to turn the other to be serenaded by a tall black, bobbing Elvis with a deep impersonating voice. Dancing and laughing, the people were eating it up, life, every breath of the place.

A man in a giant penis suit walked up to me afterwards, and I diligently dodged him so that he could pass without any difficulty or need for close contact. The cheesy smile on his face and his whole guise left me feverously pushing away so that I knocked into this blonde kid with a white tee, a fake Slim Shady perhaps, which welcomed in a frown from the Flintstones behind me and also one from the white version of Michael Jackson next to them.

The aftermath left a "hey" resounding through my head, and from the colorful mob came a hand that immediately met my shoulder. It wasn't from the Flintstones, but from my friend. The narcotics of the scene seemed to wear off a bit, and I turned around to receive his message through varying intensities. The words, I couldn't quite grasp through this dynamic environment we so much indulged in, but it wasn't hard to piece the syllables together.

"Up ahead. They're waiting for us."

My good friend, he was a king tonight. A Spartan. A modest soldier with a brown suede vest to cover up his abdominals, capped with a crown and a sheath that held in it a plastic sword attached to the hip. A true emperor. Or at least, I thought, a true pal.

I got closer, so I could hear him.

His exaggerated but necessary yell told me where the rest of our group had went, and when I asked about how they got so far ahead, he simply stated back,

"Magic."

I took the time to actually look over at him as he followed me through the bustle of people, hearing him revert back to seriousness in saying that he didn't know.

And then I asked,

"Irish Kevin's?"

And he confirmed with a nod.

Indeed, it was that time of year. The one day where you could be anything you wanted, anything you so desired. With an atmosphere that had its own tempo, that tempo literally marched to the beat of its own parade and was now finally finishing up so that we could cross the road through all that was this liberal verve to find the rest of our people. The whole time, dulled senses and erect egos floated on the wind, and the energy of drunks gradually seeped out from inside the bars and onto the streets as they began to open back up. We crossed the littered pavement, and I could already basically smell it through all the differing dispositions. Enhanced affability coming from the ones who were able to hold their liquor and a macho temperament from those who couldn't. Most had a physical alter ego to match their intoxicated one, and I saw that those who didn't mostly just stood on the sides and watched as it all passed by. This material fantasy.

We made our way past Southard Street and walked north, leaving the drag bars and most of the alternative lifestyles behind us. It was a place that had a lot of that, that which wasn't so bad as long as you were comfortable with yourself. Some weren't. And some were too comfortable. However, the further north we went, the more we were sucked into this grayer area of mingling minds, the part of Duval Street that was essentially one big strip of shopping, restaurants and primarily heterosexual nightlife. A tourist trap to some and stomping grounds for others who preferred their time here was less delicately spent on exploration and more so on testing functional limits. The place we were headed to was about three blocks up in that general vicinity. Indifference told me I was merely along for the ride. Everything, meanwhile, was visceral.

Along the way, my navigator yelled something back to me, something to the extent that he had just gotten his picture taken by a Boy George look alike, and I smiled. Telling him lightly, I said in turn that he was going to be on Buffalo Bill's wall of photo collages now. Though, my smile faded as I saw someone wearing a Hannibal Lector mask just as I spoke the words. I raised my eyebrows at him and imagined that, through the mask concealed under its fake alloy, an inviting grin lied in waiting as he gracefully passed us by. Just some unnerving irony.

I looked away, and soon after, time stood still for me. It paused. In my mind at least it did, sat back as I rewound the clock. But I didn't wait for it to rewind as far back as I wanted before I was in another place. Another time far from the present I resided in. A boy was there, one who needed no introduction to me.

"Turtle, go out and play."

I was there.

"No, Mom," the prepubescent said, replying back from his spot on the living room couch to a woman who had longed seen the rigors of pregnancy shape her body away from the beauty she had once been. Though, she was the law, and he knew that. And so with a sigh of reluctance, he took his G.I. Joes with him as he jumped up from his seat and got a swift hand through his dark shaggy hair as he passed by his soon to be only parent.

It was a quick play out of a long ago memory, this kid, marching out to a place of safe haven. A tree house. His sanctuary in heart and mind. It was where all good things happened, the many feral adventures, secret rendezvous', and sleepless nights that made a place special. Climbing the trunk with precision to the baseboards of the wide based oak, he threw his soldiers up onto the floor and then maneuvered his way in where he leaned over against the old bark. This was his space, the one thing to call his before the age of girlfriends and beat up cars. And it was the one place he could be alone, away from his siblings and free in his own security to all that might wish him harm or steal his lunch money. No Cujo or pot bellied bully would bother him here. Only business. The business of imagination. But that day fell short. Another came into his world. He would never let them in, though. Or at least try his best not to. For his strength lied in distance. And with that distance came security. An unfortunate habit beget at such a tender age.

"Honey, someone's here to see you. Looks like you got a new pal."

But looking down through a window of two by four, he saw that a new prospect was there waiting. A new friend willing to share in the last of journeys before childhood had said goodbye forever. Not a boy as he had thought, a neighbor, or a kid whom he sat next to in school. But a girl. A remote species he had rarely had encounters with in the past. And her eyes, they were narrowed but focused. Perceptive yet curious. Through the silence that ensued, an "Okay, you kids have fun," eventually lifted off the lips of his closest companion before she left them alone to fend for themselves. A long time then passed before either smile was exchanged. But eventually one of those smiles would foreshadow a weakness for a much more intriguing sex in the lifetime to come.

The sky spattered down beads from somewhere just above, and I watched the confetti make its gentle descent along with it as I felt the ribbon softly graze pass my shoulders. A subtle vibration, it had brought me back. My phone was going off, and I would have never have known otherwise through the heavy surge of obnoxious nightlife had my hip not told me so. As soon as I felt it, I pulled it off of its clip. My company, who had still been at my side, glanced over at me and then down at the small device in which its exterior screen I simply stared down upon. He asked me if it was `that girl' I had met, some random encounter of the recent past, and I nodded my head to substantiate the assumption. Then he asked if I was going to answer it, and I shook my head. Though, I don't know why I actually did.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from People of the Sunby Travis Outten Copyright © 2009 by Travis Outten. Excerpted by permission.
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