excerpt from the novel

HEAVEN aka 

N*****'S HEAVEN

I am dead. I know this, just as surely as I know the day, Tuesday. I am dead. I know this, 'cause when I walk down the street, the old men and the old women smile politely and say hello. I don't answer back. Some of them even try to shake my hand.

Sometimes I am struck by the fact that life has buffered their skin but not their hearts. Their skin is soft, loose, like a favorite leather jacket. Like the one I wanted when I was sixteen. Never did get it. I could never save up enough bread. Funny, how I remember things I should forget and forget things I should remember. I hate all these motherf... every last one of 'em. Living, breathing. Constantly reminding me that they are alive.

Sometimes, I stop and stare into their faces. These night people, the eternal image of what might have been. Staring at 'em, the muscles in my face tighten, my thick lips curl upward, and my eyes narrow their gaze. The coils in my back, ready to spring. I wanna smash in their faces. Sometimes I do. That is, when the junk runs out and my habit comes down.

I am dead. Dying... I know this is true. Can't stop it from happening. Maybe once upon a time I could have, when I was living, breathing, but that was forever and tomorrow's a long time ago. 

SWALLOW

A Novel

(work-in-progress) 

The thought of summer had come early this year. When in fact, it was only the middle part of spring. The last few weeks had seen the temperature rise higher and higher. Until one no longer thought of the cool pleasures of springtime but of the long hot dry dog days that would most surely lay ahead. The weathermen, busy, repeatedly predicting, no rain, nor comfort for weeks to come.

The only time one really remembered it still being spring, was in the early hours of the morning. That wonderful time between 5 and 9 am, when the air was pleasantly cool and filled with the slight scent of lavender or honeysuckle or myrtle, growing in the trees; the fragrances of which crept in silently through the open windows. The lush shadowy greenness of the dogwood's and their pungent aroma, adding comfort from the rising sun's rays.

It was moments like these, that caused Moses to be reminded of childhood and the innocence of his youth. He would be turning forty in just a few days. But it was the simplest of pleasures that occupied his mind as of late. The smell of freshly cut grass or watching the steam as it rose from the sun baked sidewalks, during the afternoon showers.