disjointed

devils in different shapes and sizes whirl around in the early morning hour never leaving her alone for one minute...spirits from the past dance through the mist singing haunting melodies...she sits gazing through shades of gray looking out the window watching images flee through the tunnel of time...days run into each other...Sunday...Monday...Tuesday...weeks vanish...months are nonexistent...years close in on her as she searches for drops of joy in shattered glass always seeking the nearest exit to happiness as she listens to the music in her mind perceiving its lyrical lines as they push people to plunge through their fragile dreams and crash at the foot of reality...

Aisha stands in the doorway solemnly staring at her mother. Her mother has been sitting in that same chair since yesterday. Aisha is hungry. She turns and starts slowly down the hall towards the kitchen letting her bare feet slap against the hard tile floor in a heel slap fashion. Heel-toe slap heel-toe slap heel-toe slap. Aisha opens the refrigerator and takes out the milk. She then turns around and heel-toe slaps her way to the table where the cereal is already out. Placing the carton of milk on the table, she then pushes a chair over to the cabinets, climbs on the chair, and reaches for a clean bowl. She takes the last one. A roach falls from the shelf. Ignoring it she jumps down, and hops on one foot over to the kitchen sink. It’s filled with dirty dishes. She retrieves a spoon from the pile of dishes in the sink, rinses it off and returns to the table. She opens the box of cereal and pours it into the bowl, accidentally spilling some over the edges. Taking the milk carefully into both of her hands, she lifts it off the table, tilts the carton, and lets it flow into her bowl. Gently, she puts it back on the table. Pulling the sugar bowl to her, she can feel granules of previously spilled sugar sticking to her bare arm. The table is cluttered and dirty. Digging into the sugar bowl with her spoon, she manages to scrape up enough to sprinkle on her cereal. She really doesn’t like plain corn flakes but that’s all there is.

Early morning sounds float through the window. The excited voices of chattering children remind Aisha that it’s time to go to school. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t like school but she likes watching cartoons and it’s cartoon time now. She’s glad that there’s a television in the kitchen. She twirls towards it. She stops suddenly, jumps up into the air and turns, landing in her best karate stance. She then proceeds to hand chop her way to the television, hacking away at invisible enemies. She turns it on and flicks the dial to the first cartoon she comes to. With a few jump-turns, and some graceful karate kicks she makes her way back to the table, sits down and starts munching away at her cereal.

The road out the window is long and narrow...she has gone that way before...past impressions stand ready to strangle her...she tries to run..she wants to hide...she can only go one way...she must chase the glimmering lights flashing in the dimness of the future...they always elude her...lead her into wild flights of fantasy dangling her over the edge of emotion and then let her fall into space...the walls never stop moving...technicolor ripples traveling up and down...alive...seething and hissing at her...trying to separate her from her essence and suck what’s left into their moving mass...the floors buckle and wave...she feels sick...vomit sits in the pit of her stomach ready to erupt and fill the void around her....a chorus of voices whisper in her ear telling her that truth lay in the depths of darkness...they beckon for her to follow their sound...her feet are make of cement blocks...her legs to rubbery to sustain her weight...she falls into her mind tumbling and whirling...disjointed arms and legs reach out grabbing and kicking at her...she manages to stay just out of reach making herself small...shrinking...then sliding through space...the air crackles around her...sharply syncopated brass sounds blast in her ears..

Aisha is now in the living room. She’s tired of watching television. Nothing but boring stories are on. Aisha is glad that they have two televisions. The one in the kitchen is little and this one in the living room has a big screen. With the remote she turns off the television. Silence surrounds her. She hears the baby crying in the apartment next door. She rolls off the sofa onto the floor and lays spread eagle on her back. The floor feels cool. She attempts a backward somersault but only ends up banging her legs against the coffee table. She sits there and rubs them for awhile. She decides to check on her mother. She stretches out and lies flat on her stomach. She begins pulling herself along the floor with her elbows. Slowly she inches towards the bedroom. She has to be careful. The enemy is on all sides. She wishes she had brought the machete with her. Her mother might need her protection. Quietly she reaches the doorway and peeks in at her mother who is still sitting in that same chair staring out the window. It’s those dee-mons again. Mama has told her before that dee-mons are after her. Mama says that she’s the only one that can see them. Sometimes Aisha wishes she that she could see them so she could help Mama but other times she’s glad she can’t. It’s too scary. She shouldn’t be a scaredy cat though. She can beat up the children at school so why should she be afraid of dee-mons?. She continues to lie on the floor in deep thought. She decides to get the machete from the closet, come back and chop those dee-mons up. She creeps back to the living room to the rhythm of her thoughts. Nearing the closet, she stealthily glances around, gets to her knees, reaches her hand up to the doorknob and quickly opens it. Looking up she realizes that she will not be able to touch,let alone grab the machete. She gets to her feet, bends over and scurries across the living room , down the hall to the kitchen and hurriedly ducks behind a chair making sure no one has spotted her. She then begins slowly pushing the chair across the floor to make sure she is not being observed. She has to keep stopping because she is sure the dee-mons can hear the chair scraping against the floor as she pushes it, but she’s determined to go ahead with her plan. Reaching the open closet she shoves the chair into the closet. Absolutely satisfied that she is alone she climbs on the chair, stands on her tippy toes and grabs the machete. Leaping back to the floor, she drops to her stomach and starts wriggling back along the floor to the bedroom. Arriving at the doorway, she slides the machete out of its sheathe then from a crouching position she springs into the bedroom with her most ferocious yell....ahhhhhhhhhhhh...ahhhhhhhhhhhh...ahhhhhhhhhhhhh...slashing away at the air she begins slaying the dee-mons...kill the dee-mons...kill the dee-mons...kill the dee-mons...

She can hear distant screams...her avengers...kill the demons echoing through her isolation...sounding in the distance...drawing her whizzing and whirling through stratospheric layers...showering sparks of fire on basement bargains...long lines waiting for a word from big daddy...hours of bench sitting..inhaling poverty acid smells...hallucinating a la realism...trip...trip...trip...kill the demons invades her cosmic aura getting closer and closer...squeezing at her perceptions...forcing her awareness...marching across her vision...a small figure dances wildly on a bed waving a sword...screaming at her...exploding on her horizon...kill the demons...

Mama I’m killing them...mama I’m killing the dee-mons!
Aisha...Aisha...baby...I’m so sorry...I’m so sorry...
See mama...I killed them...I killed them!
Yes baby...Yes baby...
Mama...you gotta buy some more cereal!