Synapse/Relapse

CH1 Hello

Chemicals introduce a loving bubble

Here you’ll find me.

I was on vacation at a bar.

His eyes were hazy and more-or-less glazed. Jacob…

And so our introduction began.

Relationships, never-never land.

Breathe!

I woke up on an operating table. No one was besides me but I

could hear everyone. They hissed in sequence. Venomous pit lords crowned with

shit. Dictating fearless freedoms. Almost like a vicious insurgent stopped to

peddle wares.

Grief. Never-ending.

Sedated, I began my introduction.

Operative escapades, Comrade X or Agent 12. Or maybe I was a

color, surrounded by thousands of colors?

Nevertheless, your grotesque appearance is nothing but trifle.

I met with a man, David, on Tuesdays and Susan, or was her

name Sharron?

Pop.

Relapse.

Explode!

Clearly, her name was Susan. I met with her on Wednesdays.

We didn’t talk about much, trivial things. Things such as;

the diminished approach on Satanism, personal views on abortion, rape, and

racism. Mostly the mundane but anything for a laugh.

It was Friday, Susan and I are having an unexpected meeting.

It was dusk.

I was at Olive Garden about to sample some red wine.

Suddenly, the entrance doors exploded, sending the sun-set through finger-print

smeared windows like a thousand land mines collapsing at once.

It was Susan!

Startled, I dropped my glass.

I began to laugh…

Hysterically.

None of the other patrons found my exacerbated laughter

amusing so I decided to leave. I departed with my bread sticks.

Surely the reality of scene-setting has begun.

You’re possibly intrigued with the unorthodox build-up and

shut-down each sentence conveys. No matter.

It was a ..Burgundy.. kind of

afternoon. Senseless utterances but ever so smooth.

I graduated first in my class. Valedictorian.

A private facility, the school I attended. Lakewater High School.

There was no lake and no water.

The reminder of soiled linens and stool softener embedded in

my mind.

Renovations.

Retirement home.

Rupture!

I can’t explain how I felt, smashing that glass of sample

wine. Or how I felt seconds thereafter, slashing away at Carriee, with two e’s,

using a shard from my broken glass. But I recall breathing.

I could feel the fibers woven into the cheap apron she had

been wearing.

I could taste the excess on the back of her sticker name

tag.

Feverish – I could smell the knock-off perfume she had

applied in her car to mask the scent of stale cigarettes.

Elated, I called Susan.

I had made a friend.

CH 2

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