Category: Literary Fiction Publisher: Create Space
ISBN-10: 1441423230
Type: Fiction
Pages: 240
Copyright: Dec 28, 2008
ISBN-13: 9781441423238
A series of murders, a rape, an interview, a break up, a homeless philosopher and the search for a public bathroom. How could all these things be connected? Enter the world of Listen... and discover.
Listen… Volume 1: death is the first in a series of illustrated novels that show the ways residents of New York make it breathe.Volume 1 explores the literal and metaphoric deaths that occur within the City daily with each chapter examining a night in the life of its characters: detective Sean Hogan suffers the death of his reality when he finds his mistress in bed with another man; A young couple, trapped by a Nor’Easter face the death of their relationship; Young Gabriel faces the death of his sexual identity; Sincere, a burgeoning journalist, witnesses the death of opportunity that leads to the current status of a young prostitute; A character, stranded in Queens faces the death of his dignity as he searches for a public restroom.
The stories are interconnected, with each chapter taking place in different boroughs and featuring unique artwork.Between chapters, Bubsy plays chorus, waxing poetic about the themes of the upcoming chapter and describing the boroughs.
Excerpt
Book III: UNDYING LOVE
Stratford Ave, The Bronx
April 3, 2003
1308 hrs
1545 hrs - 1530 hrs
The slug dislodges itself from the wooden support beams beneath the thick, coarse fabric of the beige couch. It carries with it a comet tail of DNA, remnants of its recent journey, gathered at the origin. Reversing through time and space, the cylinder withdraws from a dime-sized hole in the fabric. The material reseals itself as the projectile withdraws from its grip. The bloody left ear lifts off the couch as the body sits erect and a loaded 9 mm handgun returns to a bloody, calloused right peach palm. Brain matter, bone fragments and maroon blood stains retract from the fabric and recombine into the wound just behind the left ear. The bullet re-enters the opening, re-attaching the remaining tissue to the soft pallet and uvula, before re-entering the gun barrel. The shell casing backspins hypnotically along the floor before flipping through the air and into the chamber, recombining with the expelled bullet.
Pale pink lips rest against the gun barrel as tears retreat to their ducts. Lips recoil from the cold black surface as teeth tremble, the metal chattering to their rhythm. The gun tremors and shakes, withdrawing from the mouth, pausing. A swift, exhaled sigh reenters the lungs through pursed lips. The gun begins to shake violently, as the freckled left hand departs the trembling handle. The barrel oscillates before reddened eyes as the jittery right hand rests it on the floor.
Slivers of electric blue and slips of lustrous bronze streak through her curly, jet black locks like shooting stars in the black sky. Her hair fans over the floor as if suspended in water as the blood escapes the moistened ends and reconfigures into the moist, maroon stain on the carpet. Fatherly, he lifts her head from his lap, cradling it. Thickets of wooly thick hair entangle against the back of his thick fingers, en route to stroking her caramel temple before hovering in the air. A jagged, diagonal gash, wet with fresh blood, separates her left breast from her chest; her left arm, stomach, legs and thighs bathe in the crimson streams. He lifts her limp body like a sacrificial offering. His thin lips push through strands of the prickly gray mustache to kiss her full, frozen lips.
"…em evigrof doG"
1513 hrs - 1532 hrs
Gently shutting the wooden door behind him, he pauses. What have I done? Am I some kind of monster? Can't dwell on that… I have to think of something. The pressures of guilt, remorse and regret exerting their force on him, he resolves himself to continue on his quest; the neighbors had to hear something. He cannot waste these last few moments lamenting the sequence of events that have already transpired. No, there's a way to explain it all. Come on Sean, think rationally; this couldn't have been premeditated. You didn't know they would be home together… It's not like you knew the methylesterone would give you these unstoppable, violent urges.
Walking amidst the photos decorating the living room walls, he feels their eyes upon him, knowing what he has done, begging to understand why. I'll tell them I just switched since I can't afford the Anavar any more. Perfect! His eyes ricochet from the cocoa gaze of the young graduate; curly, jet-black hair draped over blue robe, almond shaped eyes bursting with unfulfilled promise. Focus Sean, she's already gone. Gotta concentrate, they'll get here soon. I have to get it right, I came home and saw them going at it and lost it. They land on the group of female figures, connected by similar facial features at different stages of the life cycle, gathered on the porch of a small, wooden house on a dirt road. The whole attack is still a haze. Even if I take a lie detector I won't be able to remember what I did. Their magnetic stares repel his own when his vision loiters upon their polarity. Fuck them. They don't know the cunt they fuckin' raised. She did this to herself. His eyes connect with a pair whose black pupils eclipse a golden bronze corona set against sky blue irises—features inherited from those housed within his own corneas—are a tractor beam of guilt, seizing his attention, locking his muscles. Unanswerable questions, unjustifiable justifications, unspeakable truths weigh heavily upon him in the stare of her innocent eyes. "ARGHHHHHHHHHHH!" he screams, the last remnants of his inner resolve escaping. But Leni, fuckin' Leni… The grief, remorse and sadness bear down more greatly upon his shoulders. His body collapses beneath the burden, preceded to the floor by a deluge of milky pink bile.
"God what have I done? What have I done? Wha… ARGHHHHHHHH!" He writhes in mute agony as fear, guilt and reason battle within. The winner determining the final course of his actions. I don't deserve forgiveness. The fierce pounding of his heart ignites a burning sensation in his chest, searing and scorching its way through his veins before the flames whip about his brain. I should call the precinct and confess. In the brain, the hot rush starts at the base before crawling to the frontal lobe and restarting its journey. His lungs' rapid expansion and contraction force a knot up his trachea; the entering oxygen and exiting carbon dioxide battle to a stalemate, suffocating him. Darkness drenches his vision, beginning at his periphery, and coating the entire room with a black static. He clutches his diaphragm, a stream of milky white bile diving into the existing puddle. I deserve to pay for what I have done.
But what about Sandra and the kids? His thick fingers pull at wispy salt and pepper follicle stretched across peach flesh and a patchwork of brown liver spots, trying to pull apart scalp and skull to douse the flames. I've put them through so much shit already; they deserve a better father than me. They need me to leave. Maybe I can still show them how to accept the consequences of their actions. His heart beat calms, reducing the intensity of the blaze. The darkness that covered his vision begins to dissipate, leaving only small packets suspended in his vision. But how do I explain to Abe that his daddy is a monster? That would destroy him. Sandra probably won't even let me see him anyway. How can I tell Sarah that daddy is going to jail? Jail… A rush of cold blows through him as muscles loosen, sweat forming cold against his brow. Fuck! The inmates… fuck… a dirty former cop… a monster in their midst… I can't get caught. His body is numb and bones become more rigid as he sits erect, arms wrapped about his knees for balance. I think my defense is air tight though; I'm not the type of person that does this… I was backed into a corner by this Lolita and her lover… and I couldn't afford the Avacor once they started investigating me … had to switch to this God awful shit… everyone would understand… Or, at least, a jury would … A smile ripples his lips. Why wouldn't I snap eventually? Elena proves it was insanity anyway. His heart again pounds the flint stone, igniting another fire. But what if they find out I knew found out about Joellis' deal? I didn't even come here to hurt her. I was gonna convince her to let me give her info to feed these pricks. They can't prove intent! But I'm not sympathetic as she is. Fuck! They'll say I did it because she was going to turn me in and was jealous of her lover. I used my phone to call her today. Fuck! I can't even roll on anyone. His eyes travel up the wooden railing of the staircase, leading him to the open bedroom door; its truths and justifications pouring through his eyes, dousing the flames with waters of righteous indignation. This bitch knew what she was doing… she deserved it… both of them did...
As deafness, illness, and demonic forces close in around him, Ludwig van Beethoven must summon his faith and genius to complete the Missa Solemnis—a sacred masterpiece he believes could bring divine light into a darkening world.
Dreamin’ Dreams is more than a collection of stories; it is a celebration of Irish life, adventure, and the unforgettable characters who make growing up in Ireland a journey worth remembering.
3 WAY MIRROR is about a lost identity as experienced by a twenty-eight-year old who thinks he's Charles Randall, until strange events suggest otherwise.
