Solution Series: The Dark

I find it hard to say that everything is all right.
Don’t look at me that way, like everything is all right.
Cause my own eyes can see through all your false pretenses,
But what you fail to see is all the consequences.
You think our lives are cheap and easy to be wasted,
As history repeats so foul that you can taste it.
And, while the people sleep too comfortable to face it.
Your lives’ are so incomplete and nothing can replace it.
...hard to say…everything is alright…while the people sleep…you think our lives are
cheap…while the people sleep…easy to be wasted...while the people sleep...nothing can replace it…while the people sleep….the people sleep…people sleep….sleep…the people…


“Hey mama, I finally made it in town.”
“I should be home in about 15 minutes.”
“Ha! Yea, I know it’s past your bedtime, but you told me to call you once I made it in.”
“Yea, you’re glad alright! You’ll be glad once I hang this phone up, and you can back to sleep.”
“I know, I know, I’m just joking, mama.”
“Well, I’m back now. “
“So you can get some rest.”
“See you in a few.”
“Ok. I love you too.”
“Bye.” BT hung up his cell phone and placed it back in the cup holder that sat between him and the passenger side—the gateway between the controller and the controlled.

It was less than a week after BT had taken his final exams. Moreover, it was around two o’clock in the morning, and BT had finally made it back to his home—Alexandria. Alexandria was a mid-sized suburban city with rural tendencies. It had a slow pace, and not much ever changed there. If something did change, it happened slowly. It was met with distaste and cynicism, or it happened so quickly that no one could control it. So, the Alexandrians did the one thing they do best—judge.

By the time of BT’s summer visit, Alexandria was two generations removed from the movement. BT was far too young to be able to witness what took place, but he could still hear the screams echoing off the old City Hall building at night. You could still see the shadows of young men and women thrusting through the air, as the fire hoses faithfully did their masters’ work. It made BT remember when the kids from that old college were heroes—a retro Justice League with the power to save the day from the city’s arch foe. This is the Alexandria that BT saw at night. Well, except for that other part.

BT called it “Hell”, but only in one of the closets tucked neatly inside the back of his mind. It wasn’t a specific district or block, but BT would sometimes drive through the flames. And, that night he had to in order to get home. Undoubtedly, he would see them again—the fallen angels—dancing to the beat of Satan’s drum. They were all under a spell—hypnotized by sips taken of the Devil’s brew.

BT wanted to judge them, but he couldn’t. I guess because when the Sun swapped places with the Moon the people did it for him. Then, he found himself wanting to defend the creatures of the night. For some strange reason, BT understood them. In actuality, he was almost one of them. The only thing that kept him from becoming them was the heat; he couldn’t take it nor could he dish it out. He heard stories of men dying with their hands on burners underneath dark skies that blazed only for the single moments that would usher the dead into eternity. Forever called them, she came knocking at their doors. With her plodding around the dark, there was no need for BT to judge.

So, since he could not judge, he figured he would come to the rescue. There goes that name again, giving a young man messianic thoughts about himself. He figured that, if he could catch the angels before they fell to the ground, they might just have a chance; maybe then they wouldn’t feel the wrath of the flames and get addicted to the stimulated rush of the inferno. If he could only get them to realize that they are why the people shot us with hoses in the first place—this is what they hoped we’d become. BT figured they could change all that and rewrite their own destinies, if they would just read.

Fifteen minutes had past. BT pulled into the driveway of his house, just as he told his mother he would. He went inside the house, dashed straight to his room, and splashed onto his bed. He didn’t bother to take in his bags. He would do that when the Sun swapped places with the Moon again. For now, it was still dark, and he had his first meeting of the summer with his group scheduled for that day. He needed to figure out what he could say to get his peers to realize why his literacy program was so important. He needed them to have the strength of the ones who marched, protested, took beatings, and fought through the water hoses.

BT stayed up a few more hours that night wondering, envisioning, and thinking, while the people were asleep.

OxyJon