Daniel

[Worm of Despite]

My father told me to write these words in the darkest place. I remember fixing his dinner; the carrots and potatoes mashed together, getting the cheese under the macaroni and the forks and spoon right, then putting it on his TV tray as he softly said, ‘Fuck you,’ then he took me on the balcony to look at the other balcony across the street where men danced and drank and ate and he said: ‘You don’t need that, because you know what it is. Without being there you feel it,’ and I heard the men laugh but not truly, a streetlamp casting grey light, grey smoke from a grill; no laughter; later the washer running so fast it moved and I pulled the clothes out, folding as the ceiling fan whirred, wind letting a low exhale, snapping past the shuttered windows, father’s snore rising like a fluorescent light from the recliner; I pushed the food on his lap; Fuck you, he said.

I lay in the corner as he read poetry by John Donne and I dreamt of ants covering me and then I was in the book of Elijah eating fire.

‘Fuck you,’ said father; the Outer Limits played. A fog twisted under the streetlamp and feet echoed; a fire blazed from a grill, men dancing on the balcony; I watched their pattern around the fire as if a new star forming, dimming; my father’s hand struck my head and I closed the curtain; Only when I say, he said, and later we sat on the balcony and watcher their balcony, and still they danced and danced and danced, capering beside their grill; See the tall one, father said; he is the leader, he said. Can you say “leader” in Spanish? No, I said. Fucker, he replied, chasing me off. The wind howled, rattling the shutters, dancing around the grill to blow the fire out.

Men howled in the morning. Day never came. I put a new tray in the microwave. Then I put it in father’s lap. Fuck you. He snored like fluorescent lights and he called me bendejo in his sleep. I washed the whites and put the socks in; the washer turned; I folded them; he took me to the balcony. The men dancing, the fire snapping at the night stars, higher than ever; sun slowly rose and the embers glowed and their figures were blurred forms of branches in the summer trees; Fucker, said father, striking me and I laid the TV dinner on his tray, forming a cross with the spoon and fork. What the fuck is that! He asked, horrified. May the devil take you! I said and bowed and he chased me off.

Later three men came in white shirts. They sat in the den around me and I did tricks, whatever they asked. Here said father and threw chewed gum on the carpet and I ate it. Later he gave me a nickel and had to pat my back to get it out. The men laughed. They asked how much and father said 30 was fair, so they put a collar on my neck and led me to their house. They gave me a poem to read:

I am no longer human; or Daniel
I am a forgotten dog: woof woof woof woof

I read this and they held a mirror to my face and I saw a dog’s eyes.

I nodded and they taught me how to clean and where the rooms were and how to make coffee just right. Later they built an Internet café and men with yellow skin came in to use the computers; they jibber-jabbered when they spoke and I brought them coffee, and when I did tricks they jabbered faster and laughed. They took me up to the balcony and I sat by the flaming grill and watched them dance; the sun rose and the branches formed to leaves.

They taught me to sleep on a bed of leaves behind the house. They said the cool dawn air was best for a dog’s mind. And I woof woofed and they agreed. One night I heard a terrible sound and I ran to the fence and began barking; I saw a silhouette smash half a cinderblock through a car-door window; the men ran out to the car and the shadow stole away, and they exclaimed but I did not understand human speech. The grill’s fire rose and I saw them up on the balcony conversing but did not understand; later I saw the silhouette again in the yard, and I barked and it left. One night I woke from the cool dirt and heard struggling and breaking glass, then a series of dull pops; a man flew through a window and landed softly on the dirt by me; NO, he said and his throat opened with gunshot; a second man leapt out the window and tried to run, a red hole appearing over his shoulder; he slumped against the fence and did not fall or breathe; I saw the door to the kitchen open and a man walked up to me. He looked at me and it was father; He said, where is my son, where; Dog! Where is my son? Where is my son? He got angrier and I looked up and barked and he kicked me. Where did they take him? Where is my son!? I wagged my tail.

[StevieG]

That is seriously scary. (I love it!)

[Worm of Despite]

Thanks. It's very much in the spirit of my Rooster story, which is somewhere in this forum. Except this one is even more like a fever dream and an exercise in neosurrealism (which is, yep, dreams invading reality). I wrote most of it (aside from the last two paragraphs) on a notebook while laying in bed around 1 AM.

[StevieG]

Does it continue (dare I ask)?

[Worm of Despite]

Nah. Arty pieces tend to end abruptly or on a bold/memorable sentence, and I thought "I wagged my tail" a good place to cut it all off. The boy is obviously transformed into a dog, and the father can't reunite with him anymore, so I see no need for a sequel (unless someone wants to read 2 more pages about the dog escaping into the woods ).

[StevieG]

Yeah, good point! I always feel uneasy though with that sort of story - actually it freaks me out! The fate of all.. :shudder: - looks like you've hit my "fear spot"

[Worm of Despite]

The Transient Check that out, if you want to bite your nails over someone's fate.