Children of the Night

Leaves barely crunched as she joined me at my side as we walked swiftly away from the target house.
"Beautiful." I muttered. She reached her gloved hand over and grasped mine affectionately.

"I knew it would be...I pick the best houses..." Her voice rose slightly, the volume almost yellow. Jami had a
habit of getting excited after a target. She had a horrible habit of getting cocky...not arrogance, but rather a kind of emanating certainty.

And that kind of presumptious confidence, that false security upset me terribly. I was well aware that hubris was alone
capable of destroying the greatest of heros.

"You were right honey, but come now, let us make flight into this night and leave this place. That house was small and tight.
Such close quarters is like removing one grape from the stem, its impossible to do so without shaking the other grapes."
I let her hand drop back to her side, and quickend my pace to show her that i wasn't fucking around.

"No one saw you though..you gave the 'relax signal'. We conquered another one...what's this?" She had caught up to me, and her
hand had fallen to my cargo pocket.

"A souvenier, baby." I said quietly, as we crossed the street. We had parked the car a good half mile away on the
side of a back road, discreetly out of view from any main streets or residential homes.

"A souvenier? You took something? What the fuck! You know I hate it when you do that shit...we're not thieves.." Her voice
was approaching yellow volume. Not loud, but close enough to unacceptable that I was uncomfortable.

"Lower your voice, babe. I know we're not thieves, we're fucking professionals. This is nothing of value, only--what's it
called? It has emotional value to me?" I turned to Jami as our car came into view, obscurred by looming trees and darkness.

"Sentimental value?" Jami suggested.

"Yes, yes, yes! Sentimental value...this is my trophy, of the conquered beasts I- we- slayed together,
on this night, in this foul year of America." I rambled, and was getting close to yellow volume. "The taking of trophies
from the battlefield has been practiced through out human history, demonstrating the dominance over the defeated. The Ottomans cut fifteen thousand ears off the Famagustans." We reached the car. We quietly pulled open the doors, and then slowly let them shut, as we had practiced hundreds of times before. I looked into the mirrors, then started the car and quickly went into drive.

*****************************


Mornings, to me, are always such an apocalyptic time. I've been an insomniac since my teenage years, when I'd lay awake, terrified mostly of everything. The origin and destination of the universe was a troubling notion. Then it became the preoccupation with other people, and how they would view me, how they would interpret myself. Vanity. But I learned not to hate the inevitable.

I haven't learned how to sleep more than 5 hours a night though.

And it would bother me so much, laying awoke as Jami slept peacefully beside me, when early morning light would pour through my blinds, and the cars and trucks would roar down the lonely road loudly in the morning. Heading to work, or whatever it is normal people do early in the morning. Whatever it is they do to justify their existence.

Jami awoke and saw me sitting wide eyed awake in the chair by the window. The shades were half drawn, so I could watch the traffic move below. I didn't know what time it was, but cars were zooming in both directions, although it was still early enough for the sun to be split in a red haze across the summer sky.

"Babe?" She asked, sleep stuck in her throat.

"..I'm here, honey..."

"Can't sleep?" She asked me like the sugar on my cereal.

"No,i just...can't understand this." Struggling for the words. Gasping for them like a swimmer's breath. My leg was shaking nervously, and I felt as though I was definitely yellow.

"What... hon?" Sitting up a little, her hair flows like a gold river in the early morning light. Her soft skin looks so dark in the early morning, she looks so naked, like a child, from her sleep that i feel truly connected with her. Our innocent nakedness joins us at the hip, like the two original youths in the garden of eden.

"Is this what the real world does? Do they do this every morning? Even when i'm not looking--they do this each morning. Why do they bother? Whey do they squander their time, their resources, their being, on stupid shit like this? They shuffle back and forth everyday, huh?"

She's stopped listening a little now, as she sometimes does when I ramble at inconvenient times. The connection is broken, the plug is pulled. Someone has flicked a switch somewhere, and the divinity is gone. She's just a naked blonde girl laying in my expensive bamboo sheets, and I'm just a half crazed lunatic looking out a window during rush hour morning traffic.

"..s'alright, hun. They're not hurting anyone." Her eyes are closed, and after a while she's breathing in a slow, steady rhythm of sleep. Unguarded and unaware in her slumber, i slowly walk over to her. I stand above her, watching her peacefully rest. I envy her ability to leave it all behind to those of us in the world of the waking. I'm jealous. I'm red.

She's wrong. They're hurting themselves. And by that extension, they're hurting me.

I can't help but feel angry and irrelevant. I wondered if I went and got myself a job some place near the city, if I went out and joined the rat race, would I feel better. What if I had to wake up at a certain time almost everyday, and shuffle out the door to the highways like an elephant to die, would I be able to sleep each night? Would I pass for normal?

I sat back down by the window and smoked a cigarette. Watching the traffic crawl by below, horns blasting and radios murmuring news about home invasions and a killer. I giggled a bit.

I wonder when the media would progress, and start calling him The Killer. Caps lock on.

I felt a little better, being able to laugh at the rat race. After a while I lay down next to my naked girl and smiled. I was feeling green.


*********************************

Jami smiled at me from her place in the shawdows. Her athletic legs were bent at the knees as she hugged the concrete wall, her breath coming out in slow mist in defiance of the chill of the night.

She was right about wearing long sleeves. Even so, we should've been cold. But adrenaline kept us going. Purpose kept us moving. I learned long ago that not everything has a reason. But everything has a purpose.

The still night air seemed to accentuate the cold stone of the church. I had no idea what branch, what denomination it was. Definitely Christian though, I was sure of that. It sat solemnly at the end of a large grassy lot, an empty parking lot rested behind the structure like a silent pool of water. We had driven past it many times on this side of town, and I couldn't help but think that it would look way better as an empty field.

I was sure it was locked. It had to be. Jami argued otherwise, saying that places of worship were always open. I had laughed at the notion, assuring her that that was an earmark of a time of tolerance long past. I pointed out that homeless people would be found sleeping and pissing and jerking off like monkeys in zoos within churches during the 1980's. The 80's had set to bed a lot of things for later generations.

Our generation seeked to hold a pillow over those relics, smothering it with excess frustration as a forsaken heir would to a twitching patriarch in his death bed.

I joined my girl in front of the massive structure. We embraced, and our tongues danced in the meeting of our lips. She tasted sweet and musty. Eager.

We turned around and pressed our backs against each other.
We began a slow descent to our knees in unison, then back up again towards the night sky. She raised her arms slowly above her head, then down in front of her and then back up in a kind of digging motion. I extended my hands, pushing the air in front of me, then slowly retracted them. As we both brought our arms back, we joined hands briefly then dropped them, just as our breathes exhaled in union.
We were absolutely green in the night.

Calming our hearts and clearing our minds, we were better prepared for the journey. We were better prepared to walk out the solemn stone steps and try to open the door to the church which I was cynically certain was locked.

We walked carefully to the front steps, as to not set off the motion sensored light which had gone off upon our initial arrival. We had layed frozen with our faces to the ground, waiting for the noxious waves and beams of light to shut off before continuing, hearts pounding us towards yellow.

At the top of the stairs now, Jami hesitated slightly. She turned back and stole a glance at me as she reached for the enormous handle of the door. Her small white hand folded around it and pulled. It creaked slightly, but made no movement. She moved to the second handle and pulled that one. No response returned.

Biting her lower lips in disappointment, she turned to me. I shrugged in the darkness, saying I told you so. We retreated down the steps and walked back through the field, staying close to the edges. Moisture had saturated the grass, and our steps were imprinted in the ground from the moisutre. My shoes shone, illuminated by the tears of the sky. Jami walked slowly behind in silent disappointment, as our night was still a virgin-- young and unfulfilled.

Suddenly, she reached out and grabbed my arm. Communicating with out words, she showed me a small side door. It was towards the back of the church, and looked like a fire exit or something. Above it a yellow light sickly shown. It wasn't motioned sensitive, just perpetually on through out each dark night. A vague metaphor for the light which benevolently shone within those who accepted the advertised god.

A couple hundred of feet away from the back door way, on the far side of the dark waters of the parking lot sat the priestly living quarters.

Jami and I turned to each other, our eyes confirming what we both already knew.

Approaching it from the southern side, we flanked the house's front door. Two large skitsch statues of virgins with their palms out stretch in mercy and/or forgiveness towered on each side of the path, eminating a sad blue. Patches of ivy ran through them, and creeped up the side of the brick walls far past the second story. The night groaned in anticipation before the solemn facade of the palace of the divine's own humble servent.

We stood in the shadows of the virgins, getting a feel for the situation. There was little light on this side of the property, so that was not an issue. Jami seemed concerned over the iron gate which swung over the door. Knowing doors like I did, I was not particularly concerned. The situation was contained, a greenish-yellow of placid anticipation.

Finally, settled that we were safe, we approached the entrance and I pulled gently on the cold iron handle. It swung inwards with ease, unlocked of course. It seemed peculiar that an empty church would be locked, yet a house of sleeping clergy would be open for whomever happened to stagger by. For whomever happened to creepy crawl on in.

Stepping inside was like entering a tomb. I went first, Jami not far behind me. As a child, I had spent some time in the homes of priests as my mother sought comfort from various religions as cancer was seeking her various organs. All the homes I had visited had smelled the same. Bleak, sterile, with slight undertones of shame not unlike constant, clandestine masturbation.

We climbed the stairs from the first landing up into the main space. Sparsely decorated, even in the darkness I noted the walls were a drab color. Portraits of various religious scenes and dogmatic trinkets were sometimes carefully feng shui'd. The parlor was furnished with a nice looking sofa and end tables. A fake looking marble rendition of the virgin and her young christ were placed in the center of the room whereas every other home in the country has their furniture revolving around the most common diety worshipped-- a television. A bleak message to the futuristic archeologists that would excavate our tombs.




-News reports of a The Killer terrorizing the city. Bludgeoning victims to death.
-Hear report on radio in early morning hours. Wonder if his name is in all caps. Glee at the killer existing, being on the loose. Warnings to stay inside. Happy, giggles, finally go to sleep.
-Fight ensues over whether or not to enter church. Go solo w/o Jami. Come out disappointed, find Jami sprawled in pile of dead leaves w/ head smashed. Bend over here in horror, heart thumping. She's still warm. Not a lot of blood yet. Hear noise behind , it's the killer. Head cracked. Things go read. Stagger to feet, to fight, but take another blow to temple and fall to grown, wondering if his name is spelled in capitols as everything is black.

Regards, Esortnom