Requiem PC - Benny Martinez
The rain keeps falling.
It's light, though, so it ain't no thing.
But I've been here so long I'm soaked.
Funny: when I was still breathing, I'd've never stayed out like this for this long. Let myself get this wet.
Wet to the point where my clothes stick to me and droplets of (no doubt dirty) water drip from the bill of my fitted.
Good thing I bought the damn thing. Funny shit is, I don't even -like- the Sox.
It's quiet.
I like that.
And everything's got that white-on-black "rain-halo" going on.
Everything.
The cars, trees, streetlights, buildings and people rushing to get into those buildings.
It's beautiful.
But it's not why I'm here tonight.
No.
The light is.
The all-too-bright yellow light that suddenly floods out the window of the little condo across the street from where I'm standing.
Or more accurately, the old woman with silver hair walking into the just-lit room, TV dinner in hand.
She's why I'm here tonight.
She's why I'm here every few nights, really.
The TV blinks on and she sits to watch. Most likely it's whatever novella is popular right now.
She laughs and sighs and eats. She looks bored at times - overly emotional at others.
The whole time.. alone.
Just like me.
Standing here. Soaked to the bone.
Something she would've never allowed.
I just keep watching her and I can't help but think how mad shed've been to see me like this.
How she would've yelled and cracked me upside the head, dragging my little "narrow behind" back into the house.
That's what she would've done.
Back in the day.
Back when I was still breathing.
Back when I was her son.
But I'm not anymore.
The thought sinks in as the show ends.
She gets up, gathers her plate and disappears into the kitchen.
I shouldn't be here. The dead shouldn't hang around the living.
It ain't right.
She comes back into the room and I'm still allright.
I'm still okay just watching.
The TV blinks off and she turn sto leave.
Her hand flutters over the light switch as she turns back and..
Damn me... God -damn- me! she stops to look around the room with such a gut-wrenchingly lonely look on her face that I swear woulda made me feel better had someone ripped out my heart and ate it infront of me.
I aughtta be cryin right now.
But the tears never come.
Time to go home.
My little one-room crib.
Danica's place.
Anywhere to get away and get that hauntingly beautiful face off my mind.
But nah, I know where I'm goin.
I know where "home" really is now.
Hunt's Point.
And my make-shift "fam".
Time to go.
The truth of that couldn't be any more apparrent, even as her face disappears into the darkness when she hits the lights and goes off to bed.
Leaving me here to myself in the rain.
I turn to go.
"Bendicion, Ma. .... Good night."
And the rain keeps falling.
Covering everyhing in it's halo.
It's light, though, so it ain't no thing.
But I've been here so long I'm soaked.
Funny: when I was still breathing, I'd've never stayed out like this for this long. Let myself get this wet.
Wet to the point where my clothes stick to me and droplets of (no doubt dirty) water drip from the bill of my fitted.
Good thing I bought the damn thing. Funny shit is, I don't even -like- the Sox.
It's quiet.
I like that.
And everything's got that white-on-black "rain-halo" going on.
Everything.
The cars, trees, streetlights, buildings and people rushing to get into those buildings.
It's beautiful.
But it's not why I'm here tonight.
No.
The light is.
The all-too-bright yellow light that suddenly floods out the window of the little condo across the street from where I'm standing.
Or more accurately, the old woman with silver hair walking into the just-lit room, TV dinner in hand.
She's why I'm here tonight.
She's why I'm here every few nights, really.
The TV blinks on and she sits to watch. Most likely it's whatever novella is popular right now.
She laughs and sighs and eats. She looks bored at times - overly emotional at others.
The whole time.. alone.
Just like me.
Standing here. Soaked to the bone.
Something she would've never allowed.
I just keep watching her and I can't help but think how mad shed've been to see me like this.
How she would've yelled and cracked me upside the head, dragging my little "narrow behind" back into the house.
That's what she would've done.
Back in the day.
Back when I was still breathing.
Back when I was her son.
But I'm not anymore.
The thought sinks in as the show ends.
She gets up, gathers her plate and disappears into the kitchen.
I shouldn't be here. The dead shouldn't hang around the living.
It ain't right.
She comes back into the room and I'm still allright.
I'm still okay just watching.
The TV blinks off and she turn sto leave.
Her hand flutters over the light switch as she turns back and..
Damn me... God -damn- me! she stops to look around the room with such a gut-wrenchingly lonely look on her face that I swear woulda made me feel better had someone ripped out my heart and ate it infront of me.
I aughtta be cryin right now.
But the tears never come.
Time to go home.
My little one-room crib.
Danica's place.
Anywhere to get away and get that hauntingly beautiful face off my mind.
But nah, I know where I'm goin.
I know where "home" really is now.
Hunt's Point.
And my make-shift "fam".
Time to go.
The truth of that couldn't be any more apparrent, even as her face disappears into the darkness when she hits the lights and goes off to bed.
Leaving me here to myself in the rain.
I turn to go.
"Bendicion, Ma. .... Good night."
And the rain keeps falling.
Covering everyhing in it's halo.