Thursday, December 14, 2006
Home invasion
My house is several stories tall.
The interior is a veritable maze of staircases, balconies, mezzanines and balustrades running along the walls of a massive hollow interior.
There are five of them.
There are five men coming out of a pale yellow van that has pulled up on the gravel exterior. They have crowbars, tire irons and clenched fists.
This is a home invasion.
S. stands next to me as they form a semi circle facing us. I must protect S. at all costs.
They argue loudly and don’t notice as I pick up a large Henkell kitchen knife with a yellow plastic handle from a nearby table. At the right moment I plunge the knife into the chest of one of the perpetrators. I am surprised as to how easily the blade sinks in. There is hardly any blood coming from the open wound and though he remains standing, he is very dead. I am certain of this because his eyes are closed. The other four men have gone suddenly quiet and very still. I proceed to stab them one at a time. I am perfectly calm as I do this. I take my time. I am deliberate, bordering on nonchalant.They hardly budge and I start to wonder if time might not be proceeding at a different rate for me than it does for them. They could simply be in shock. Killing them is easy. With five dead men just standing there it occurs to me that my home is one great theater.
A grand theater with an ersatz audience.
The interior is a veritable maze of staircases, balconies, mezzanines and balustrades running along the walls of a massive hollow interior.
There are five of them.
There are five men coming out of a pale yellow van that has pulled up on the gravel exterior. They have crowbars, tire irons and clenched fists.
This is a home invasion.
S. stands next to me as they form a semi circle facing us. I must protect S. at all costs.
They argue loudly and don’t notice as I pick up a large Henkell kitchen knife with a yellow plastic handle from a nearby table. At the right moment I plunge the knife into the chest of one of the perpetrators. I am surprised as to how easily the blade sinks in. There is hardly any blood coming from the open wound and though he remains standing, he is very dead. I am certain of this because his eyes are closed. The other four men have gone suddenly quiet and very still. I proceed to stab them one at a time. I am perfectly calm as I do this. I take my time. I am deliberate, bordering on nonchalant.They hardly budge and I start to wonder if time might not be proceeding at a different rate for me than it does for them. They could simply be in shock. Killing them is easy. With five dead men just standing there it occurs to me that my home is one great theater.
A grand theater with an ersatz audience.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Sunday, December 3, 2006
Busride
I' m Calling the powers that be at the border to tell them of the people they should be expecting. I hold large black and white photographs of every member of the group. Each photograph is tightly rolled and I have difficulty keeping them flat while I try to hold the phone with my other hand. The woman on the other end tells me she is bored talking to me . I am insulted by her ill manner as I 'm only trying to do as I was told.
At the border office we are greeted by the tiniest man dressed in red sitting behind a cheap office desk. " You are very short" he says to me. He's one to talk, he must be all of three feet in height. "It's your short neck that makes you look short" he adds.
My father, mother, sister and i are in the desolate parking lot of the bus depot looking for the 139 to the states. All the doors of the depot are padlocked and our bus is nowhere to be seen. We decide to walk around a huge wall that separates us from the buses. My mother says we are going to be late. My father starts running very energetically but I grab him by the sleeve, "your heart" I tell him. My sister and I will do the running. My sister becomes a tiny cartoon mouse in a dress and zooms away clouds of dust at her heels but my legs are heavy and I can barely move.
My sister reaches a section of the wall and tries to climb it but it is made of packed sand and crumbles beneath her feet. We catch up to her, I form a stirrup with my hands allowing my mother a boost as she places my sister on top of the wall. My sister points to the direction of the 139. We are going to the states and I don't have a valid passport.
At the border office we are greeted by the tiniest man dressed in red sitting behind a cheap office desk. " You are very short" he says to me. He's one to talk, he must be all of three feet in height. "It's your short neck that makes you look short" he adds.
My father, mother, sister and i are in the desolate parking lot of the bus depot looking for the 139 to the states. All the doors of the depot are padlocked and our bus is nowhere to be seen. We decide to walk around a huge wall that separates us from the buses. My mother says we are going to be late. My father starts running very energetically but I grab him by the sleeve, "your heart" I tell him. My sister and I will do the running. My sister becomes a tiny cartoon mouse in a dress and zooms away clouds of dust at her heels but my legs are heavy and I can barely move.
My sister reaches a section of the wall and tries to climb it but it is made of packed sand and crumbles beneath her feet. We catch up to her, I form a stirrup with my hands allowing my mother a boost as she places my sister on top of the wall. My sister points to the direction of the 139. We are going to the states and I don't have a valid passport.
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