I'm Cassie. My mommy says I talk too loud for too long, even for a seven year old. I'm not sure what she means by that. I don't think I talk too much. And I always try to use my inside voice, even when I'm outdoors.

I'm supposed to be going to sleep, but I like watching the fireworks. If you look hard enough, you can see the orange through the trees. I used to be scared of it, because it was always really loud, but now I know it's just fireworks. There's nothing to be scared of. Though, I don't like all the smoke they make. It drifts up from beyond the trees.

Mommy says stuff about moving away to my brother Lucas after she tucks me in. She says she doesn't want to because Daddy isn't here. I don't know where he went, but Mommy says he wants to come home. I asked her why he can't just come home if he really wants to, and she started crying. She said he's being brave and protecting us with a bunch of other little girls' dads. I don't know why he has to go away to do that.

The ground is shaking again, and the orange is closer than usual. I can hear shouts and yells. Whoever is setting the fireworks off must be really happy. I just wish I could see the fireworks better. Maybe I should ask Mommy if we go and see the people who are having the party.

Indulge 

in the deluge

of delight

dig in with

drama and

respite...

dogs bark 

and we don't

stop the ace

of spades

marks the spot

of a lost card

shark buckling

down beneath

green glass

lamp lights...

he's feeling 

kinda lucky

all right...

in the dawn

drowning 

sorrows...

downing 

all our 

sorrows..

pen to paper

pen to paper

pen to paper

there'll be a

a poem dug

tonight...

scratched from

from the green

of a late early

mourning scene

...a procession

of words to sing

#SeeminglyHappy #Challenge

Some nights Mommy goes to work. She packs her big bag with her strings and a few triangles of fabric, and she leaves. She comes back at 3, but usually I am asleep. She also has a lot of one dollar bills. Sometimes she has lipstick on her face. She is cranky those nights. I always like the day after she goes to work because we go to McDonalds and get I get chicken nuggets. Even when she is angry, I still like it when Mommy works.

Mom and Dad came home that night,

all smiles as they turned off the light.

Their love shined bright,

illuminating the halls white.

My eyes wouldn’t shut,

so I ran into Mom and Dad’s room, fearful of being caught

by monsters that lay in plot.

Turns out, the demons were not what I thought.

Where was Dad?

I thought they both had come in glad.

And when I asked Mom, she became sad.

Where was Dad?

She wouldn't tell me,

and all I could do was plea.

Tell me, tell me.

But really, I could see.

I could see that her heart was tired,

that her smiles were wired

by a love that I had admired,

but in fact, had expired.

Dad was not coming back

to this once-lively shack.

Dad had chosen this track

and now he can never come back.

You and I,

held hands

and danced perfectly to the rhythm of your favorite song.

I tilted my head slightly

giving you the permission to kiss me,

as you came closer,

my breath quickened.

I woke up.

It was a dream,

just another beautiful dream.

"Daddy do you promise?"

"Yes of course. I promise."

"Say it again Daddy."

"Okay. I'll say it again and I'll say it five hundred more times if you want me to, because you've got to believe me. I promise you that someday everything is going to be okay. I promise you that some day we will be a happy family with nothing to fear. No pain. No rage. Only peace and love, rainbows and laughter. Now be a good girl and go back to bed, I've got to go back to work. Sweet dreams. I'll see you tomorrow. Love you."

She held onto his words like a skilled trapeze artist, yearning for him to promise one more time as she watched his slumped shoulders walk out her bedroom door. She swam in the promise. No. He would not lie. She drank it in, as she listened to his car pull away from the curb, all the while knowing the monster lurked downstairs. No one, not daddy, not even God could protect her from the monster, except the empty promise she would soon hold between her bloody hands.

The footsteps coming up the stairs didn't break the promise, because the promise was for someday, but that was not today. No. He wouldn't lie. The doorknob turned slowly, the door opened, and the monster appeared where Daddy stood moments ago. Mother.

“Oh hey look, shitbrick is here.”

“Hehehe.....you are so funny.”

Hello dear bullies,

Do you hear me?

Or has your fucked personality finally started affecting your brain too?

Everyday I walked past you.

Everyday I gave you a chance to apologize, or just ignore me .

Yet every time you gave me those degrading ,nonsense comments.

Every laugh from you and your critters burned another invisible scar right onto skin ,as I hugged my sweater even tighter around me.

Every “little” jest of yours brought me one step closer to the edge.

And I know you said it was only for laughs, but laughs are a dangerous thing.

When it is you who is laughing ,it is always “just for fun”.

But when you are the one being laughed at, it’s like the world around starts closing in on you. Every harsh glare seems to look right through. Because it as though I am naked. Naked because you have hurt me, punctured me and all my secrets are spilling out and I am desperately trying to numb the pain.

Each little snort keeps me up at night, it’s guttural sound echoing through the silence and I just keep thinking, what did I do wrong?

Where did I go wrong?

So people, laugh.

Laugh till your jaw falls off for all I care.

But remember, every little snortle at someone ,brings them closer to death.

Because somebody’s innocent little laugh ,tipped me off the edge.

8/15/18

Usually after a long day’s work, I head straight home from work. But, on this particular day I decided to go to a nearby café once I got out of Bart off at 24th and Mission. I went into the first cafe I saw, Café La Bohème. It sounded like a nice place to relax while enjoying a nice coffee brew. I settled down to the table adjacent to the window watching passerbyers. After a while, I felt that someone was watching me. I examined the room and spotted a man looking directly at me. I look away hoping that he would stop. The man comes up to me and pulls out a scarf. “I believe this is yours. I saw it fall while you were in line,” says the man.

“Oh, thank you! That’s so sweet of you,” I say smiling.

“I’m sorry for staring at you, but I believe you went to Mission High.”

I paused to analyze the man to see if I can recognize him. He had a lean body, greasy black hair, and there was a light scent of cologne. Overall, he was handsome. “Yes. I think you were in my English class. You’re Gaby- Gabriel!”

He nods. Once we get acquainted again. He sits next to me and we talk about high school memories and update one another of our lives. Gabriel tells me that since high school he has been moving from job to job. Right now he got a job as a mortician at the nearby funeral home. He says although it’s strange and eerie seeing dead bodies all day long, he’s guaranteed a job in a crazy city like San Francisco. After some time talking, we exchange numbers and he invites me to his place for some dinner in the next few days.

He lives in one of the typical victorian style houses, but it was converted into an apartment. It was on the corner of 24th and South Van Ness. I walked up the stairs toward his apartment and knocked on the door. He welcomes me in and the fresh scent of lysol hits me. There were several pieces of carpets laid out across the hardwood floor as if he was hiding something. He led me to the kitchen, I saw everything neatly laid out on the countertop, and they were all ingredients to make burgers.

“So, we’re making burgers?” I assumed.

“Correct. It took me years to perfect this recipe, but now I have it.” He added two pounds of ground meat that were laid out to thaw. He placed the bags in two seperate bags, and not in any ordinary grocery packet. There were pre-cut onions set in a smaller bowl that he added into the larger bowl. From the cabinet above the counter he gathered all the spices and sauces. He added in the right amount of turmeric, cumin, salt, and pepper. Then, he added in a generous amount of Worcestershire sauce. He said this is what will make it extra juicy. With his hands he mixed the ingredients together. I felt guilty he was doing all the cooking so, I asked if I could help. I assisted in turning the mix meat into round patties. He set the patties down on the preheated pan on the stove. Once the patties were laid on the pan, the sound of the sizzle rose and the beefy smell of the burgers filled the kitchen. While the meat cooked, he toasted the buns over a separate pan. He served me my patty and bun first, and added mustard, mayo, lettuce, tomato, and onions. It was as if I was a guest at a restaurant being treated with the top of the line service and being served their specialty. Gabriel serves me the burger that looks like it would be pictured in one of those food magazine, and not served from this very kitchen. I held the burger with both hands as the juice squeezed out of the patty. I took the first bite as the juice dripped onto the plate. My eye widen from that first bite as it encapsulated all the flavor from the ingredients. I take another bite and another. I n minutes the burger was destroyed. I make myself another burger, but this time I eat slowly to admire it’s deliciousness.

I saw that there were still a lot of burgers leftover enough to feed a Mexican family. He packs the remaining in tin foil, and puts them in a plastic bag. “I usually give the leftovers to my neighbors. This time I’ll even pack you some to take home.” I smile and thank him for the warm offering.

The next few days, I come home and start to flip through the channels eager to find something amusing to satisfy my boredom. There was nothing on, so I stop on the evening news. The anchor man declares breaking news. The TV shifts to a crime scene at a residence home with yellow caution tape around the complex and police lights shining off and on. The camera scopes in on the apartment door inside of a familiar house. “As you can see here folks, residence of this apartment complex have experienced suspicious activity around their home. Officials have confirmed reports of cannibalism taken place at the home of Gabriel Muñoz. Neighbors have reported being served suspicious dinners from Munoz for quite some time.”

I pause from watching the news and look over to the kitchen counter where the burger laid untouched wrapped in tin foil.

#burgers #hamburgers #immoral #SanFrancisco #BayArea