"It's only when the city sleeps"

"It's only when the city sleeps"

"It's only when the city sleeps!"

Exclaimed an aged man sitting in the darkest corner of a well lit room. Turning to the orderly, i hand him paperwork explaining the reason of my presence. I couldn't help but to glance back to the man at the window. Sitting there repeating the same thing over and over again.

"It's only when the city sleeps"

Struck for a moment, trying to conjur any thought as to why he would sit there, muttering over and over. I remind myself where i am, pushing away the thought.

" Alright Mr. Lincoln, everything checks out. You're clear to see Mr. Shu, good luck getting him to say anything different." As he points to the man in the dark corner.

Retrieving the papers from the orderly and putting them in my jacket pocket, i proceed towards Mr. Shu. Drawing near, he sits there repeating himself as i come into his peripherals.

" It's only when the..." he pauses as he turns his head to look me over. He speaks softly. " I've sat here a long time waiting for you!" Speaking a bit louder "Took your sweet ass time getting here didn't ya?" Off put i start to say the reason of my being there, " My name is...." The old man quickly interjects.

" I know who you are! Alex Abraham Lincoln, born June first nineteen eightynine to mother Caroline Anne Carter and father Richard Micheal Lincoln. You grew up in southern California with your mother while your father was over seas in the military blah blah " he says looking at me with a hint of disgust on his face. " Do you honestly think i would sit here all this time if i didn't have any inclination of who you were?" Unsure of what to make of a man i dont even know, knowing enough about me to give me a chill. His eyes lean towards a chair a foot or so away from him, "Sit down, there isn't much time" Taking my place beside him he glances down at old style pocket watch he retrieved from a pocket. " How is it you know who i am?" I ask as i think over what i came to question him about. His eyes glued to the hands of his time piece, " All questions can be answered in the right time, now take my hand so you aren't lost in the void." he demanded.

Confused. I ask,"What the hell are you talking about? What void?" Just then he grabs my wrist, muttering what sounds like an alien language. Slowly at first, then speaking faster each time.

"Speels ytic eht nehw ylno s'ti"

"Speels ytic eht nehw ylno s'ti"

"Speels ytic eht nehw ylno s'ti"

A bright blue flash blinds me. I try to cover my eyes with my hands yet only one is free, for the old man still clings to one.

"Speels ytic eht nehw ylno s'ti" he continues as the light gets brighter. Hearing nothing but ringing in my ears, as my eyes can feel the relief of darkness. No longer touched by the warmth of the mans grasp.

Furious, i open my eyes to see we are no longer at the psych ward. A strange calm rushes over me like cold wave splashing onto sunburnt skin. Amazed at the sight that my eyes gaze upon, i gasp, with no sound to escape from my lips. Mr. Shu places his hands upon my shoulders, turning me to face him. " Now we can talk but don't try to interrupt, your questions are irrelevant! Just listen!" He said rather assertivly. " What you see before you isn't a dream or a figment of your imagination. It is my past and your future" Standing atop a mountain peak, gazing across miles of treeless charred battle torn valleys and canyons of coral that seem to plummet deeper and deeper into a dark abyss. "This is where you grew up, once a vast city surrounded by natural resources, now a wasteland no longer inhabitable...." he explains. I look at his grief stricken face, trying to utter my thoughts.

" You're wondering how this all came to be.....Greed! The people of the worlds hunger for more; faster, better. Neglecting the fact that our mother earth provided all we could ever need. Yet we selfishly took what we didn't need and failed to give enough back until our earth became what you see before you." He sighed as his chin came to rest on his chest. Tears roll down my face, dripping onto the burnt ground beneath my feet. Finally able to mutter a sound. "What can we do to stop this from happening?" I ask him.

His eyes meet mine. Begining to explain

" Learn to not take what you don't need, teach what has to be saved and what can be reused and most importantly treat every life on this planet like its your own. Most value their own life, it being the only one they have. Treat each and every living thing like it has a purpose"

He grabs my hand holding tightly " Now close your eyes!

Speels ytic eht nehw ylno s'ti"

Bright blue flashes and we are back in the well lit room at the ward, both sitting in our chairs.

He looks at his time piece and sighs, " People just think im crazy but i know what's real." He says as he ganders out the window once again. "One last thing before you go..."

"Now you know what our planet will become if you and the rest of the people of this world don't do the right things, cause in this day and age, the only time where our mother earth gets to rest;

It's only when the city sleeps!

It's only when the city sleeps...

IT'S ONLY WHEN THE CITY SLEEPS!

The morning sun begins beaming through the front window, as the bell above the door is heard. A gentlemen in his sixties, suited to booted with a black feathered fedora enters, closing the door behind him. He looks around observing the sports decor of the shop to which he sees no one.         

He spoke, " Hello, the sign on the door says open, i was hoping for a shave" his voice resonating off the tile floor.   

" I'll be right with you" came a voice from the back room. The gentleman rests his arms behind his back turning to gaze upon the wall opposite of the mirrors and chairs. Hanging in various wooden frames were the pictures of famous actors and athletes, some signed some not. 

 A few moments later a man steps out from the dim lit back room, straight razor in his right hand. His left hand held one side of a two foot long brown leather strap, the other end connected to his belt. Looking over the gentlemen, " A shave was it?" he asks. Closing the razor, setting it on his work station,  also letting the strap fall next to his left leg. "Allow me to get your coat sir, please sit and make yourself comfortable." he said as he helped slide the coat off the mans shoulders, turning around to hang it upon the rack.

The gentleman plops into the older style red cusioned metal polished barber chair, slouching into a relaxed position. 

The barber lines the mans neck with sanex tape, before covering his front with the white cape. His foot poses on a lever behind the chair, pressing it down a few times to lean the gentlemen back. The barber then pauses looming at the back room for a few moments then continues.  In front of the mirror he grabs a hot towel out of the steam box, wrapping it around the stubble of the gentlemens face. He then leans towards the chestnut box which house his razors, he picks up the one he had set on the counter. Grabbing  the strap hanging from his waist, he stretches it out and begins to sharpen the blade. Gazing down, the barber speaks "You arrived at the perfect time sir, i had just finished prepping for my day and my first appointment isnt for an hour or so." Removing the towel from his face the gentlemen recalls "While visiting a good friend of mine George Démere, he passed on fine words that Gideon Smyth gives the closest, smoothest shave in this here county; so here i am!"

Smiling Gideon responds "Well then i shall let you be the judge of that, it will be my absolute pleasure." Ten minutes pass by Gideon has finished, placing a cold compress against the mans face. 

"Now then my good sir which cologne will complement you?" asked Gideon. Opening a frosted glass cabinet where many evenly spaced bottles are shelved. The glass bottles read

 Bois Du Portugal, 

Tribu, Zizanie, Mitsouko, Crown Fougere and Caswell-Massey Number Six. All early 1900s classics. The gentleman picks Number Six, dabs it on his wrists then applies it to his neck and collar. "Closest and smoothest indeed" cheers the gentlemen as he lifts his coat from the rack putting it on and buttoning the front. The man then turns to Gideon asking "By the way my name is Walter Snow; what's the charge for this fine work Mr Smyth?" " The cost is $10 Dollars, but since Ol George sent you its only five Dollars today" remarked Gideon. Walter hands him a five, he thanks the barber again and proceeds out the door. Seeing Walter out the door he waits a moment looking out the glass door, left and then right. Gideon locks the door, flipping the sign to closed before drawing down the blinds on the door and front window. Letting out a grunt of annoyance he walks to his station lifting the razor from the counter, he proceeds back to the room in the rear. Striding through the doorway, closing and locking the door behind him. Gideon walks to a curtain hanging from the ceiling encircling the middle of the room. Drawing it back and stepping in he is waist height next a metal surgical table with a lip that has a four inch depth. He puts on a pair of gloves from a box on the table.  A coma sedated woman in her mid twenties lay there stripped bare only covered by a white sheet. Her head freshly cut down to a stubble, Autumn colored hair sealed in a mason jar by her shoulder. Gideons fingers stroke her left cheek, his voice changes  into a deep baritone as he speaks to her unconscious body. "You thought that daddy would make it all better didn't you?" Gideon chuckles. He continues " You, your family, and your friends are all  the roots of the hell that terrorized many peoples youth ." He pauses pulling the sheet down past the curve of her thighs, trailing his finger tips down and around her warm  skin. 

" Your friends and you teasing and taunting with your bodies using every boy who'd chase you around. I know what you're thinking Amelia Snow, why just you? Rest easy your friends and family will have there turn on this table. Best part is im not gonna let you rot away and go to waste in some woods. As well as being a very skilled barber, there are some leisures of also owning a pig farm." 

Disappointment a wound that has No ointment. Stacked tall and towered, emotions wet like you showered.  Fully clothed dripping wet, fragile state when your upset. A day in disappointment is a week in sorrow, searching for happiness that you can borrow. Tomorrow, will it be a better day, or are you stagnant where you lay? 

A whispering tune of a mission that plays if you listen,

to the dream skies in your eyes, upon looking up, will glisten. 

Breathing is more than what nostrils are smelling, a breath even greater, than lungs repeatedly swelling.

A true breath, the one that bends your mind, expanding  ones comfort til confusions refined.

″ They say dead men tell no tales" he mutters in a deep weathered accent, as he lifts himself out of the old wooden chair. He rum walks to the window on the port stern of his tattered old ship. Pushing open the window he turns back at you, resting his back against the sil. ” Tad old sayin be fer da fools not yet met old Hob, or worst ta dark abyss dat neva let ya see light of day” his voice pained as he returns to look out over the sea. "What ya see before ya, me ship, sails, keel every ting dat let a man be free."Lowering his head, his face fades underneath

his large black leather tricorn hat with a sleek silver feather falling to the back. A red glow begins to illuminate from his face behind the hat. You close your eyes, hoping when you open them you’ll be gone. He whips your head back against the chair, your eyes bursting open to see him inches from your face, his eyes burning with blood red fire. His voice rattles you with a demonic roar, " m I borin ya der ya bilge rat? den we shall make damn sure ye eyes be opened now.” Suddenly your both on the deck, his hands on the wheel, you frozen in your place. A blinding orange light radiates from under the ship, as you feel the ship plunge into weightless free fall. You try to scream, releasing your lips but not a sound is heard. Instead you hear him hooting and hollering, like a cowboy in the west. Whipping around his head towards he’s beside you in a flash. Putting an arm around you his eyes still burning. " I know yer tots, I be tryin to tell ya dat dis ship may have all it need. Ya tink tis me dat be bound by to da ship?” He bellows the  laugh of a hundred men " Dis ship be bound to me.....jus like da souls I bring aboard” His hand erupts in size and wraps around your chest ripping you from where you stood. Yanking you in the air he screeches in a deafening yell "Your life be gone and your soul be mine” Slamming your body to the deck, you awake to a thunderous boom, and a clash of lighting flashing through your bedroom window from the storm outside. Gasping for air, feeling around to be sure your home safe in your bed. Looking up at your tv it’s a static white fuzz, (Dead men tell no tales) Gasping you ponder if it was a dream; chuckling into a laugh cause you nodded off to the Pirates marathon playing on the screen. 

The neighborhood kids, always, avoid that tree, it's on an empty lot yet they walk across the street.

Whispering to each other as they gaze at the bark, stories about the old treehouse all equally dark.

Truth about this tree lot is a common story to be told, a young teen's emotions he was forced to withhold.

Tormented since young, he's bigger than most in his school, relentlessly cast out by the ones who are " Cool".

Everyday was the same bruises and name calling to be dealt; not even his parents would listen to the pain he always felt.

One night he decided he would no longer be beat, so he climbed into that treehouse and cried himself to sleep.

The next morning the neighborhood went about their day, as he sat in that tree deciding his stay.

Pulling a pistol out his bag feeling that no one will care, pressing it to his brain with a crying stare, knowing not a person was even aware.

A pop sound rings through the neighborhood street, people gazing about and scrambling to their feet.

Chatting about who would shoot a gun and be dumb; when it was the chilling reality that left them all numb.

A death so gripping most couldn't concede, until the cops found the note he left to read.

His shadowed perspective of life he felt forced to leave, because in other and himself he did not believe...

If you can be a voice or have an ear to be lent, then grab them close and lend your heart for a vent.

The dead walk out of the sea, boots planted hands saluting faithfully. Presenting themselves not to bring gore to the shore, yet to show the actual casualties of war. All branched forces lost to the deep, while families everywhere silently weep.  All services members drop their hands to their side, and heel toe around to show their backside. "Forward March" shouted by the souls as they all disappear back to the shouls.  

Walking one morning watching the earth as it awakes, thinking about the past, lie and mistakes. Knowing you can't go back though wondering what if, gazing at the scenery as your mind begins to drift. Now sitting on the grass under a green leafy tree, smelling the morning air and thanking God for what you see.  The sun begins to peak in the beautiful orange sky, while the fluffy white clouds gently roll by. Getting up wiping off your clothes, as a lovely fragrance begins to fill your nose. Looking in a circle not sure what you'll find, walking towards the smell that puts your mind in a bind. Jogging through the bushes plotting your course, into view comes a girl in running shorts. Easing your jog almost coming to a stop, calming your breathing so your heart rate will drop. Knowing where the fragrance csme from a perfume so sweet, one that sweeped you off your feet.  Looking at her as you come near, a tremble in her eyes the look of fear. Thinking to herself " who is this fellow?" As you approach her with a calming "hello" Asking about her morning as you both begin to walk, getting to know eachother as you cheerfully talk. Starting to humor her filling the air with laughter, she asked "if you'd have coffee with me soon there" You say" that would be nice" as she gets in your car, i bet you never though your nose would tske you this far! 

Most nights i lay  awake, in a reality that feels so fake. Wondering if i my brain made a mistake, to project an illusion for its own sake. Most days feel like leaves floating in a lake, wasted opportunities just laying in the wake. New beginnings simply daybreak, will it be mine to take, or will the day just bake. For in these times life's not always cake, but it's here for us and what we could make.