dark night of vengeance, part 4: falling leaves

by horace p aternwall

illustrated by roy dismas

part four of four

for part three, click here

to begin at the beginning, click here

phil still existed and the universe insisted that he get up every day with his role to play he had no excuse his head was in the noose but something impelled him to his destiny, however dim phil went down to the street despite the fact that his brain was beat another day of desperation beckoned then something happened on which he had not reckoned for the second time in 24 hours a stranger felt empowered to approach phil without prelude or asking if he was in the mood for direct interrogation as to his existence and station in this mysterious world of flux and flow in which things come and go the newcomer had eyes dark and bright in a face quite wrinkled and white that stirred a faint recollection in part of phil’s brain - the section triggering primal fear - my friend, it would appear the stranger began with confidence that by fate you have been sent to close a book that has been open too long to bring an end to a sad song to bid a weary traveler drop his pack to tell the prodigal he can come back to end a farce playing to an empty house to bid the panther make friends with the mouse to make a long story short, forthwith phil - you see before you bill smith! the insanity of youth has cooled by that nasty bitch emily brown we were both fooled by even demons of lust we were ruled let us no longer be their tools phil could not believe what he heard inside his brain a strange motor purred was he a ship that had never sailed? he gaped as bill resumed his tale i ran into whitey black last night he had seen you with his own sight when his words a message to my brain did send i knew my quest had come to an end they say revenge is best served cold but even better left to shrivel and mold we have only one race to run beneath a single fading sun why waste our lives in silly contests when time is a river that never rests and the sky is an empty page that never records our joy, despair or rage with these and similar remarks bill regaled phil - a few sparks landed on phil’s befuddled brain but he would never be the same again come, said bill, let me buy you a drink let us nor care what anyone thinks whether our so-called honor was lost or won how is that the business of anyone? phil followed bill in a daze no bystanders were amazed or made of them any mention their reconciliation attracted no attention bill and phil became great buds and sat on park benches watching the floods of embattled humans roll on by as leaves and raindrops fell from the sky in passing, we should mention that in another dimension emily brown in time’s web was caught but never gave bill or phil a thought i hope you found this poem uplifting but now my brain is drifting down a river on a cloudy day i have nothing more to say

dark night of vengeance, part 3: the smiling stranger

by horace p aternwall

illustrated by roy dismas

part three of four

for part two, click here

to begin at the beginning, click here

phil tried to pull himself together and asked if it mattered whether at this point if he lived or died he was almost at the end of his ride how much worse off had he been than other children of sin who had dreamed and loved and lost and on the scrap heap been tossed phil sucked in his gut if bill found him, so what? all bill could could do was kill him and his existence was already dim o so easy to say! but one more, one more day! one more day without a prayer - but on your skin the living air phil stopped and looked around silence was all he found the dark streets neither friendly nor cold had heard every story ever told his panic was suddenly gone it was almost dawn he had run through the streets for hours ignored by all cosmic powers on the corner was a little cafe with a sign - open all night and day phil went in and took a seat he was suddenly totally beat he ordered a cup of joe as the world around him spun slow and a slice of blueberry pie which tasted a little dry phil had totally given up staring into his coffee cup with a dull eternal shame when someone called his name who could it be ? he was lost but he was free though his guilt had been substantially accrued he could enjoy it in solitude phil turned and saw a face in which there was no trace of anything but good cheer brought on by oceans of whiskey and beer aren’t you phil, phil jones? asked the bum who used to play steel drums in a vacant lot behind kaiser park at night, when it got dark? that is not i, said phil smiling with a desperate will my name is neither phil nor jones and i walk the earth alone the bum responded with a shrug peace descended on his scarlet mug his response to phil was muffled as away into the night he shuffled phil was in a state of shock he felt like a pool in which a rock had been dropped from a great height as ripples expanded in the light of an exploding full moon phil’s brain played a screaming tune who was that stranger so affable with his implications so terrible? phil had been recognized he thought he had been so wise drifting faceless beneath the tide had he ever been able to hide? time goes by, phil told himself everything gets dust on a shelf the bitterest memories finally blow away in the breeze was bill still alive? and if he was did he thrive? had he forgotten emily brown? was he the mayor of his town? phil asked himself these things he knew the night would bring dark and twisted dreams unlit by moonlight beams part 4