In the time it took Helen to consider the eyes of her lover, she had taken two Advil’s and gestured to the man who filled her heart with love to stay still. Eyes closed, he wondered about the mind of Helen, her brown eyes and brown hair were still vividly in his heart. They’d met two summers ago, at Jones Beach in Long Island. She was originally from the West Coast and didn’t like her one bit. Tonight, after an evening of a game called sheets. As the two, completely nude felt each other’s beating. Mr. Black, Helen’s boyfriend entered. All of her victims were found at the beach.
“Okay now, wrap yourself in the sheets.” Said Helen.
“Don’t you think this is silly Helen ? I feel like a goof.” Mister Black was smiling; he stood about 6’ 2” and was quite built. He had long hair, always tied in a ponytail.
“Go on, wrap yourself, or else you won’t see me again.” Said Helen, as the young man obeyed. He wrapped around, struggling to maintain his face together, he wanted to laugh.
Mr. Black placed his hand on Helen’s shoulder and smelled her hair; he was upset that another man took pleasure in her. The bedroom was small, the floor was wooden, and the walls exposed brick, a small picture hung on the wall, they had drawings, of animals and other abstract images. Mr. Black smiled; he knew what would come soon, as the victim played along with what he believed what a kinky game, the sheets, suddenly became violent. They wrapped his chest tightly, he hardly could breathe, eyes bulging, the young man saw Mr. Black now.
“What’s happening ?”
“Sugar, is this how you re-pay a lady ?” Asked Helen.
“What ?… What are you talking about ?” His voice cracking. As he saw Helen’s breast, just minutes ago he had her in his arms, she was warm and soft, her nails neatly cut, as she combed her fingers through his hair. He was mistaken, and un-sure of the world now, as he gasped for a final breath of air, Mr. Black whistled a tune, the sheets softened and relaxed.
“Why did you do that ?” Asked Helen.
“He’s your boyfriend Helen, don’t you have enough feathers ?” On a mahogany desk were dozens of large white feathers. All neatly spaced on the desk, a notebook with a sales receipt atop had the initials M.M. The sun was rising, and the wind was blowing leaves off the trees, and onto the windows.
“Kill him !” Said Helen, her voice icy, and her eyes firm, she twitched her lips, as the thought of all the others, who foolishly allowed themselves into her bed. At the moment her lips closed, the young man jumped and tried to escape, only to have the sheets reach for his wrist. As the white sheets wrapped themselves harder, the body completely covered, Mr. Black turned to Helen and begun kissing her delicately, her hands reaching his and the victim quietly vanishing. When Helen eagerly pulled away the sheets, she looked at her trap, her bed, and saw another feather.
“You’re building quite a collection Helen.”
“I’d like to be a writer some day Mister Black. I want to make my point, clearly and confidently.” Helen kneeled, reaching for a dress and a rose, which she placed on her hair. Reaching for the window, she whacked it open, and turned to the bed. The feather was larger than usual, and running her finger over it, she felt a chill run down her legs. An urge to let a tear drop was suppressed by turning the radio to a country station. Mr. Black begun shaking and nodding to the tunes in the room, Helen ran towards him, kissed him and whispered her plans for the next feather, as Mr. Black smelled the hair around her shoulders, he enjoyed kissing her neck and bite her ears.

The next morning, Mr. Black stopped on the corner of the street looking at squirrels racing along tree limbs. Some small children were playing near a playground, and an old man was attending to them. Waiting for the street sign to turn red, Mr. Black waited and begun to think of a clean introduction. He was out of place, Mr. Black would take details on a pad, which he records all his choices for Helen.

“Nice day huh ?” Asked Mr. Black.
“Sure is. Taking my grand-kids for a little fresh air.”
“Yes. Fresh air does brighten the spirit.” Mr. Black uttered, with his hand behind his back. The elderly gentleman had a glow on his face, a simplicity Mr. Black admired and resented inwardly with-out consciously admitting. It was fall and the leaves had begun falling. The children did not seem to notice their grand-father and his new friend. They played tag, and smiled whenever someone waved at them.
“How old are they ?” Asked Mr. Black.
“Um, the little one is six and the girl just turned ten.”
“Wow !” Said Mr. Black, masking his dislike for children.
“Me and my wife always wanted children, we’re thinking of adopting.”
“Really ? My daughter is thinking of adopting. I think she should but her husband doesn’t want more. He thinks they’re expensive.” As the two laughed, the two little ones finally looked and saw Mr. Black.
“My name’s Mr. Black !”
“I’m Edward. Retired.”
“Really ? Where from ?”
“Small business owner. Sold the business to my son-in-law.”
“Construction ? I only ask because your hands…”
“Oh no, close, furniture company. Been making furniture for forty-seven years. Had to give it up. Heart isn’t as strong as it used to.”
“I’m a salesman.” Said Mr. Black, sure the lie was believable.
“A salesman ? You must be good with your words. Like politicians and writers. Hate ‘em both I tell you.” As the wind gained speed, Mr. Black looked at the toupee. He had an urge to rip it, only to see which one of the small children would scream first.
“Well.” Said Mister Black. “I… I… am an honest salesman.” To which Edward chuckled. His rosy cheeks glowing and his double-chin juggling as Helen’s breast thought instantly Mr. Black.
“Furniture is a great business. I love using my hands. It’s humbling, building with your hands, you know ?” Mister Black nodded and scratched his face. One of the children stuck his tongue out at Mr. Black. As the water sprinklers near a fountain, a ball rolled along, turning to stone when it reached a stop. Edward looking at this, his eyebrows arched, then calling for the children, he accepted a feather from Mr. Black.

“What’s this for ?”
“Happiness ! You should see have a well winter. Many are happy to receive it.”
“A feather ?” Asked Edward, as he laughed.
“Take it, it’s a gift from your new neighbors.” Edward grabbed the hands of the children, he looked at the clouds. Their shapes, their tone, it had been years since Edward took the time. He needed to rest, this he told himself. It had been months, since the death of his wife.
“Thank you. I shall make good use of it.” Said Edward. Nodding and exiting the park. Mr. Black sat on a park bench, thinking of his own youth. He had been in love with Helen, even proposing to marry, and thinking, of all that had occurred in their past. Mr. Black wanted to be a writer, Helen was encouraging, she would hold his hand as he purchased paper from the stationary. Helen made him drunk, her legs, her arms, she had the qualities of a drunkard, the smell of shame. Little did they ever argue, she had all the control in the relationship, a way which was un-familiar to him.

The window of their apartment were not clean, and he could tell from the park. He looked at Helen’s face. She smiled and motioned for him to come back. Her breast were firm and examining his fingernails, he thought of hers. Helen’s fingers were long and delicate. She had two bracelets, she breathe softer around him, as a way, of enticing, of averting. Thought Mr. Black, though, as he rose and fixed his collar. The wind blew, and reaching for a Malboro, Mr. Black carried a single cigarette behind his ear.
“Hello !” Mr. Black, smiling and waving to a young lady, she had a college sweater on, and her eyes were still filled with hope.
“You know Edward ?”
“The grand-father ?”
“Yes ! He likes the weather ‘round here.”
“As do I.” He smiled, offering her his cigarette. Reaching onto his coat pocket, she licked her lips, soflty and with out conscious, before wrapping her lips on the filter. Looking both ways, she walked towards him, she extended her hand.
“Hi. I’m Theresa Sanchez.”
“Hello Theresa. As you also new to the neighborhood ?”
“Not too long, I moved here two years ago. I barely see it, busy with college and…”
“College ? Which one ?” Interrupted Mr. Black. Eagerly chirpy, he masked his displeasure easier now, as an enemy he thought.
“Columbia University, in Manhattan.”
“I know where it’s located. I used to walk in the winters around there. I loved the white snow in the night.”
“What was your name again ?”
“Forgive me, my name’s Mister Black. Please, don’t make fun of my last name.”
“Why would I do that ?” She asked, he invited her for coffee in a nearby restaurant. They sat opposite each other, and casually made eye contact. Theresa tired to speak with authority as Mr. Black would lean towards her, she isn’t used to large men, men with presence. This frightened and focused her mind. Mr. Black assured Theresa.
“I always had it hard, found it difficult to relax, men can be difficult to please. Pay no mind to me. “ Said her, softly and with slight remorse.
“I feel that about flying. I tend to pee on myself.”
“Really ?” Asked Theresa, with new brightness across her eyes.
“I’m lying. I’m a writer. Please don’t hold that against me.”
“A writer ? What do you write ?”
“Small articles here and there, I’m trying to build an audience.” She laughed, and drunk her first beer in months.
“An audience, an audience of what ? Magazine articles ? I’m sorry, but that seem just well, stupid !”
“Does it ?” Asked Mr. Black. Watching her freckles closely, accented by a small dimple. She had heavy eye liner on, and some lips gloss.
“I’m sorry. Don’t pay no mind to me.”
“No worries, I’ll be a big author some day, you’ll see.”
“What type of pen do you use ? Fountain ? Ball point ?”
“Neighter, I’m a romantic, I use feathers, it’s quite liberating you know ?”
Looking around the restaurant, she looked intently at Mr. Black. They talked of Edward, and the children, the changing neighborhood and the hearts of lovers and the creative.
“You know, you’re quite tall.”
“Six feet, two inches tall, that’s my height. Not my penis !” Blushing, she tried to look interested, and instead spit into a napkin.
“I’m sorry. I haven’t drank alcohol in some time.”
“Do you miss it ?”
“I miss the courage, I’m a bit of a coward. Most people don’t know that.”
“Perhaps, you should get a sweater. Advertise it.” She laughed.
“Do you ever worry, about your soul Mr. Black ?”
“I don’t understand the question !”
“Sure you do, don’t…”
Mr. Black stood, paid the bill and left immediately.

On the first floor of the building was a statue of a bird, which species, eluded Mr. Black, nor did he care to know. He often stared at it, as he passed it on his way home. Today, Mr. Black didn’t bother to look at the bird and continued directly to the door, as he fished thought his pockets, a far crying fell, and before he reached his keys, the bird was flapping over Mr. Black’s head.

“Get off me, Helen, help me… Help me Helen.”
“Is that you ?” Mr. Black heard her voice echoed though the steel door. He knew she was looking at him through the peep-hole.
“Damn it Helen, open the goddamn door.” She laughed, and pretended to have difficulty un-locking the dead-bolt.
“Do you ever worry about your soul ?” Asked Helen, making Mr. Black’s heart cold. The bird turned to stone, falling and crack a wing. The door opened now, and he saw Helen’s mischievous eyes.
“I could have been killed Helen.” Said Mr. Black, as she stared at the statue on the welcome mat.
“Are you going to clean this mess ?”
“Are you insane ?” She smiled, rolling up one sleeve of her shirt and slapping his face. She had wanted to kiss him, and she yet, she held his eye, feeling, searching for a new emotion, only to have it fleed.
Inside, Mr. Black locked the door. Kicking his boots off, hanging his jacket, and missing the hook. The jacket, a present from a college friend. The apartment smelled of fresh pine and the tables were sparkling. The dishes were clean and the spider webs missing. Mr. Black’s mouth was open, sticking his tongue out, he wanted to yell at Helen, instead he ran behind her, wrapping his arms around her, whispering in her ears.
“You smell magnificent.”
“Who was that old man ?”
“Our new neighbor. Find him attractive ?”
“Yes. I wanted him, why didn’t you bring him over ?” Mr. Black let the comment go, he was looking at her neck, and the hickey fading. Walking around, he sat and thought of last night’s soup. Creamy onions and carrots, he had felt better afterwards, even rested. Believing his eating habits were improving.
“Pizza tonight ?”
“No, I’d like some more soup.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry dear.” Opening the refrigerator, she looked at and took out a can of Coca-Cola. Mr. Black focused his sight on a framed photograph on the wall, a picture of their first date.
“Why did you frame that ? It’s not a very good photo.”
“I thought you looked so handsome.” Said Helen, firmly, and rubbing her lobe. Crushing the soda can against her forehead, she smiled coyly at him.
“You should be a tad more lady-like.” Said Mr. Black, rising and looking at the sink window. The wind blowing, and the feather on the table. The hand-written letter intrigued him, he leaned over it as Helen rushed, pulling it away and folding it. Swallowing it lastly.
“Why’d you do that ?”
“I like the taste of ink, besides, when I say I hear voices, I’m justified.”
“Voices ?” To which an immediate chuckle of a response he emitted.
“C’on Mr. Black, don’t you think I’m a bit colorful ?”
“I enjoy the sight of your new eye liner and lipstick.”
“Well then, no sex for you tonight mister.” Her smile was broad, always eager to match his shoulder’s length.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me at least ? Before I go to bed, I’d like to feel you.”
“BRING, BRING MORE !!” She said, Mr. Black knew the meaning, he looked down, and noticed his toes, neatly trimmed toe-nails, he turned the lights off.

Deep into the night, Helen left some candles, then, the candles lit themselves, and begun dancing to a rhythm un-known, nor seen. From the bedroom, Helen opened her eyes, knowing and expecting the fire and the dancing. Six flames jumped and skipped around, entertaining Helen, as she quietly gushed. She tried to wake Mr. Black, whose snoring irked her instantly. Lipstick smudged on his neck and shoulders, Helen prefers kissing him while he sleeps. A fact Mr. Black isn’t aware of in the mornings, he fears mirrors, and avoids them at all cost. Helen left a feather on the floor, waiting for the one of the flames to engulf it.
“Mr. Black, wake up Mr. Black !” The telephone rang, startling the flames, as they extinguished themselves. Mr. Black tusstled in place. Helen stared at the telephone, strangely un-sure if she should answer it. Looking at the framed photos on the wall, she notices the images missing.

“Hello ?”
“Is this Mrs. Black ?”
“I’m sorry, you have the wrong number !”
“I doubt that Helen. Do you recognize my voice ?” Helen looked at the digital clock, squinting and un-sure if she’s now dreaming or demented.
“Is this ?”
“Yes, yes, this is I Helen. Did you miss me ?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Helen slammed the phone. The flames on the candles awaken again, and cautiously approached the bedroom.

“I’m really, really sorry. Some people are just…” Whispered Helen now. “Awful !” Mr. Black turned, feeling for her, she looked at him, his breathing was soft, and gentle, she looked up and shadows were laughing at her. Wild trees were swaying along to a violent breeze, behind a tree trunk was a little girl, giggling initially and pointing at Helen. As she Helen looked at the portraits on the wall, she saw lines of thick blood crawling down. Then, the pig-tailed girl quietly sobbed, a gorilla hunched behind the child with a dagger in it’s teeth and reached for the small head, cutting the innocence which tearfully Helen begun to plead for silently.
“NO-o-o-o-o-o !” Yelled Helen, as the knife popped out of her imagination, and onto the bedroom floor. Whose blankets would stain in streak of red. Helen’s foot land on the cool floor, the flames in fear extinguished instantaneously.

As the alarm clock rang, Edward’s large, hairy knuckles slammed onto the snooze button. Yawning, stretching, he rubbed his eyes and looked at the feather, Mr. Black’s gift. After breakfast and a small jog, Edward took out some loose sheets of printing paper and tried to write a poem he had heard whispering itself through the jog, as rain splashed against his face. The feather would be dipped in blue ink, yet, as Edward pressed the tip onto the page, the words wrote in red.

Help… Help me… I am trapped.
Call the last of the stained mailmen…

Edward sat back, looked at the words, aware of his error, the poem in his soul couldn’t birth itself. Looking at a small mirror, he tried to remember the color of Mr. Black’s eyes. They struck him as intricate, and in a small way, intimidating. Edward didn’t like the feeling stirred up inside himself, Mr. Black reminded him of someone from his youth, a man who died in an automobile accident. He had the same eyes, but couldn’t recall their color. Edward thought they might be red, but this color only appeared in film photographs.
Help… I am six years old, a small
Girl, I see a knife, a big monkey took
My life

Writing on the next page, Edward could not believe these words were written, he had tried to force, to see the poem clearly. Yet, his hands disobeyed him, causing him to curse, and reach for a small flask under the table.
“Goddamn feather !” Snapped Edward, as he tried to bend it and break the feather in two. His back gave out, falling to the floor in agony. Looking up with disbelief, he saw the framed picture of his family on the walls, all were laughing at him. Edward rubbed his eyes, believing this were some dream.
“What the hell is this ?” Screamed and asked Edward, the telephone rang, quickly picking it.
“Hello ? H-E-L-L-O ??”
“Edward, hi ! It’s me, Mr. Black. Are you enjoying the feather ?”
“Who the fuck are you ?”
“Is me, Mr. Black, we met in the children’s park yesterday afternoon. I met, I met your grand-children too Ed !”
“My family, they’re all laughing at me. They think I’m stupid !”
“They don’t think you’re stupid Edward !”
“Then why…”
“You believe something’s wrong. You need to believe in something right !”
“Mr. Black ?”
“Yes ?” Asked Mr. Black, as Edward looked at a small clock on the desk. Time stopped moving, he reached for it and examined it closer. Slapping it and wishing it would work.
“Am I dreaming ?” Asked Edward, almost whispering with slight shame. Mr. Black laughed a bit, and then whistled a children’s nursery rhryme.
“What are you doing ? STOP THAT !!” Said Edward.
“I’m sorry !”
“How did you get my telephone number ? It’s un-listed !!”
“I didn’t, I just dialed some numbers at random as I thought, as I believe in you. This is how faith works Edward. You have to believe !!”
“I had a dream last night. A nightmare rather.”
“Tell me about it !” Said Mr. Black, his voice growing more pleasant to Edward.
“I saw a child, a girl, of I don’t know, six years old. She was murdered, murdered by some, giant gorilla.”
“Wow ! Some story you got there. Maybe you should write it down, use the feather I gave you.” Silence ensured the phone line, the clock begun moving. Feeling dizzy, Edward nervously at the age of 76 couldn’t believe he’d feel this ill. Having fought in World War 2 and after two heart attacks, Edward could now feel the sweat beads rolling down his forehead.
“Am I crazy ? Is this… Is this real ?” Nearly in tears, Edward asked.
“How old did you say you were Edward ?”
“Seventy-six, I’m seventy-six years old. I’m an ex-Marine, I served my country.”
“And how old is your grand-daughter ?” Asked Mr. Black, Edward looked up, saw the photographs on the wall, his family, no longer laughing at him, he decided to hang up the telephone. Taking another swing at his flask, he opened an iron safety box and took out a .38 caliber hand-gun, checking the magazine, and putting the safety off, he placed the gun in his backside and covered it with his leather jacket. Turning on the balls of his bare feet, Edward gasped and shuttered at the sight of his grand-daughter’s corpse. She laid over a small pool of blood, her frail body, her hair messy and covering much of her face. Edward recognized her by the large birthmark on her shoulder. Falling to his knees, he took a handkerchief, wiped tears off and bowed in sorrow, suffering an sharpened pain in this his chest. The Smith & Wesson was pulled from behind, and aimed the barrel directly at his temple, pressing firmly, drool falling on his designer shirt. As the shaking intensified, the gun fell out his hand, landing near the child’s cold blood.

Thuds on the door shook Edward, the banging continued, intensifying with each new blow.

“POLICE ! OPEN THIS DOOR, EDWARD S. SMITHSON, OPEN THIS DOOR, WE HAVE A WARRANT FOR YOUR ARREST !!” Edward, shaking, reached for the .38, un-sure of his fears, struggling to form thoughts, he imagined other mornings in his life, how different they had been, how calm and soothing was boredom. The telephone rang once again, before looking at it, he wiped his salty tears, licking them off.
“Hello ?”
“Still there ?” The voice, rich, silky, it was Mr. Black.
“My grand-child is dead ! The police are at my fucking door. What the fuck is happening to me ??”
“Try and relax Edward ! I’ll explain everything soon enough. You have to escape, meet me on the corner, disguise yourself well. I’ll solve all of your issues.”
“All of my issues ?”
“We haven’t got enough time Ed. The police are…”
“How do you know all this Mr. Black ?” A small silence cut through Edward’s heart.
“You want your life back, don’t you Ed ?”
“YES !!”
“Then follow my instructions !”

Helen’s hand reached for the deadbolt, un-locked the door and Mr. Black entered, followed by Edward. Edward notices Helen’s breast, she’s in nude except for black panties, her pierced nipples and a small rose tattooed to the small of her back.
“I’ll need the gun !” Said Mr. Black.
“W-H-A-T ??” Snapped Edward.
“You heard me, the gun, now, don’t even lie to me. I know you’re carrying.” Looking at the kitchenette, Edward tried to get a sense of the characters in his presence, the tastes and beliefs of his hosts. Removing the gun, he un-loaded it’s magazine, and handed it to Helen instead of the gun.
“The gun stays with me at all times, there’s a single round in the chamber. One lie from either one of you two, and you’re…”
“Shut up Edward, take off your clothes. Go lay on the bed.” Said Helen, as she wiped her prints off the magazine. Dropping it on a wastebasket.
“I’m sorry about your grand-daughter.” Mr. Black said.
“This apartment, it looks very much like my own.” Edward said. Things do change in life, this thought incensed Edward, he wasn’t expecting such new failures. Examining the rest of the place, he saw a blooded knife on the floor of the bedroom.
“The knife.” Said Edward.
“Yes. The knife, I witnessed the murder last night.”
“What am I doing here ? Huh ? Tell me anything, something…”
“Why are the police after you ? Have you noticed Mr. Black’s eyes Edward ?” Asked Helen. Nodding, he looked at Mr. Black’s eye closer than ever, they were completely black. Never noticing this, Edward felt chills run through his body.
“Am I, am I under some spell ?”
“Would you actually feel conscious of that Edward ? If indeed you were ?” Asked Helen. They all sat down. Mr. Black did most of the talking, Helen only smiled. Looking occasionally at the blood running along the blade of the knife. Edward stood calm, and listened pensively. Crying, apologizing, and crying more after, he hated his faith in war, how little strength he failed to gain from it. Mr. Black glanced at his girlfriend, deciding to proceed.

“Tell us about that night in France in 1940 ?”
“Children were killed, murdered savagely, the official version, as always differed in scope, like all soldiers, I obeyed my orders !”
“Orders, orders are…” Said Helen, before being silenced by Mr. Black. Taking a black hanckechief, Mr. Black thought of the two children, wishing he had some of his own. Perhaps if he had their innocence. Perhaps it was their laughter, now that young child is gone. It is different to see one another. This echo of a voice told him, as he folded the cloth back into his pocket. Edward was told the truth, he had been seen in a dream by Helen, and she choosed him because his hands were beautiful. Edward was told of the hands of time, of how they seize you, change you and create the callous courage, so stubbornly refused by men.
“Why me ?” Asked Edward, softly, as he thumbed his thumbs.
“Because, we already told you. You were a professional killer.”
“I was a soldier, I did my duty !”
Edward was instructed to enter the bedroom. Refusing to take his clothes off, he laid on the bed, and thought of his grand-daughter. The wind entered through the open window. Edward was sure these people would change him forever, he had the sensation, the blankets begun flapping, growing violently and covering him from head to toe. Edward shock and his strength weakened the legs of the bed.

“How long, how much longer ?” Mr. Black asked. Watching the police officers removing Edward’s SUV from his drive-way two blocks away.
“Are you getting soft Mr. Black ? You want me, don’t you ? I’ve become your weakness, and you my strength.”
“Stop with this mind shit. I don’t want to do this, that little girl Helen, she was just a child.”
She looked at him, smiled and extended her hand. She hoped he would reach it, and nodding in acknowledgement. Slamming the door shut, she took the feather, placing it against the red on the table.
“I’m going to write you a letter Mr. Black. I think it’s time to learn a new dance darling !” Helen’s words echoed through-out the apartment.
“I want out.” Said Mr. Black, as Helen laughed. Mr. Black was still standing on the hall, when the knife’s tip smashed through on his end.
“The end is always in sight isn’t Mr. Black ? How will this story, our story end Mister ? Huh ? Tell me, tell me mister Black ?”

Walking by the crime scene, Mr. Black begun thinking of the knife. Thinking of the blood on the floor. A team was removing the small body and all he could do was look away.
“Excuse me ?” Yelled an officer.
“Me ?” Asked Mr. Black.
“Yeah, you, did you know the man who lived here ?”
“No, never met ‘em. Is everything okay ?” The officers could not see the black eyes on Mr. Black. He wore shades.
“Thanks !” Said the officer, turning away, nodding to his colleague. Mr. Black entered the children’s park stood exactly on the same spot as yesterday. Revenge was the final emotion in his head, looking at his window, he secretly hoped Helen would change. She was an orphan, walking the streets of San Francisco. In their first date, Helen showed her slip tongue tip, she found Mr. Black, his ideas rather odd. Once Helen told him of a feather, they given to her by her father. Up towards the clouds, Mr. Black glanced at the skies, wanting to see an image, an image of a different future across the blue innonce.

THE END

By Frederick Pina Eating the last rock on the ground. Audience after audience member was simply astonished at the Juggler. He was tall, but lately everyone’s been whispering about his shrinking height. His teeth are fake. He lost them in a juggling accident years ago, yet, the smile is never off. He was in a bit of a bad mood today, but performed to the public park crowd as usual. After peeling his equipment, he seemed tense and did a bit of stretching. A little girl laughed near by. The Juggler, feeling playful, removed his fake teeth’s, horrified, the little girl ran away, and soon, tears begun to flow in the juggler. He didn’t make a dime today. Walking towards the bus stop, the true “identity” of the “the clown” as he is known is Taylor Tom. He was much in the juggler’s mind. People had been changing the features faster around his shows. Many fears had risen at childhood in the performances, and yet, he smiles, no one knew of his fake teeth, except for the small girl now. Tear after tear, feel and the juggler begged to be let on the last bus. The bus-driver didn’t like the juggler; he had a fear of men with painted masks.

“I had a nightmare about a man wearing a mask last night.”

“Really ?” Responded, with slight concern.

“Yes. I believed it, it felt so real.”

“What was the dream if I may ask ?” But the bus-driver seemed dismayed enough the other passengers, quiet up.

“I’ll tell you some other time.” But he continued driving. Letting out the last passenger, the Juggler kept to himself, but the driver asked he how long he would stay on. The last stop was fast approaching. Letting out a belch, the juggler begun scratching himself and singing unknown tunes to himself.

“Hey buddy, last stop is coming.”

The Juggler held himself, and let out a fart. After this he laughed and begun boxing. Dancing like a champ, he mimicked an audience of women, but deep down his heart was elsewhere. Tossing his small bag, the driver screamed, and the Juggler reached the front of the bus. Striking the bus-driver with his left hand, he choked him with his right hand and begun demanding for the wallet. The driver squelched and pleaded away with obscenities, Juggler didn’t like bus-drivers, and this man would be his eleventh victim.

“Hey ! Mr. Juggler, why don’t you ever smile ? I know your teeth are fake.” And the Juggler smiled, he had on a different color custom today. He had a pink one; today it’s red with small mirrors attached around his buttocks.

“Have you kids seen my new butt yet ?” The children became grossed, and the smile of the Juggler widened.

“Why did you do that mister Juggler ? Why ? We’re kids and we’re not very much like this.”

“Soon you will grow, and all the lies won’t matter, your mommies and daddies lied and now I’m here. Watch the Juggler. Watch the juggler.” He had four glass vases in the air, they were filled with liquids and the children were all transfixed. One of the children never spoke. This was the one Juggler kept his eye on. Once, he stopped by window in the second floor of his house. The Juggler simply smoked. This was his signature. This was how he controlled them, by the smile.

“Mr. Juggler, will you juggle us ? All of us if the boys, you can do it I bet. Tell us you can mister Juggler, tell us you can.” Their excitement embarrassed Juggler; she was a little black girl. And Juggler likes her very much. She had beautiful hair, and colored nails, which in his heart, he felt little girls should look, resemble adult women. Once he tried to approach her, but she shied away. Everyone laughed when Juggler pretended to drop one of the vases, catching it with his foot; he winked his left eye like a true entertainer. Juggler loved the stage, he cried by the sight of children’s joy. He once had a child too. Six years ago, Juggler was just a lawyer in Queens. After fixing some breakfast to be taken to school, the simple father of Thomas, has the nightmare all parents dread, standing and crying, Juggler stood in the front door as the yellow school-bus ran over his seven year old son. He, the son, could not hear in either side, he was born deaf. He was angry of course, at the school district, at the intoxicated driver of the bus, who pleaded his innocence, claiming an epileptic episode had fallen on him. He lied in court. Even Thomas estranged wife showed-up, she wanted part of the civil judgment. There was more money than both knew what do to with, and she, the boy’s mother tried to care and cried crocodile tears. Juggler accepted the prison term, and drifted off into the alleys of New York. Sleeping amidst beggars and bums, the strange headlines amused Juggler. He was a serial killer, and he wanted to stop. Sending photographs, after photograph to detectives all around the police department. Juggler emerged as his answer to his un-barable pain.

“Juggler, will eat some rock again ?”

“Only if you spit them first.” All along the park, children cringed and twisted into knots of horror. All along the park, children dragged their mothers and fathers, even the littliest ones begun applauding the elegance, and skill exhibited. Babies would smile as Juggler smiled back.

Juggler could hear them whispering amongst themselves. Juggler really eats rocks. All the kids at school would say so. Juggler eats the BIGGEST rocks and the Juggler would simply pretend to continue on entertaining. Many of the children who watched Juggler, would awaken in the middle of the night. Screaming and kicking, they would tell their stories of seeing him again and again. That boy, on the middle of the street, they would say, and say they did. Parents begun calling one another, the fear had spread. Children were told not to give Juggler any money, Juggler was bad.

“I’m sorry children, but every time I eat a rock, I become an inch shorter. Soon, I’ll be smaller than Sam.”

Sam was the dog of the quiet black girl. The was blind, and the little girl like him that way, she felt more towards that dog than all her friends combined. This was the word amongst the fourth graders. Gossip wasn’t nice the Juggler would caution, yet, it continued and kicking rocks against the trees was how he best released his anger. He didn’t want to kill around the kids.

“Come on mister Juggler, just one rock. I never seem to a clown eat one before, please.”

Fat Nicky, always the fattest, but pretty as a skunk, this the Juggler said, all the kids would laugh. But Nicky did not, ever, as the smile on Juggler grew.

“If I eat a rock, I’ll become shorter, I’ll put myself back in school and I hate school.” The children begun to throw rocks near him, Juggler disappointed them now, they left, and we didn’t make a dime.

The wind blew softly, the leaves fell, it was fall. The season of lost love, or tears, depending on whom you ask would often Juggler tell strangers, sitting next to him on the bus. It arrived late today, and everyone’s lips were on the murdered driver. Chuckling at their tones in their voices, Juggler would try to entertain the adults, all while the bus moved. Driving at a slow speed, the driver would look through the rear view repeatedly.

“Hey ! Sit down, now !” Would echo across the empty spaces.

“I like him. That mister Juggler, sure is funky.” Said 86-year old Bernaldine Bennards. She wore the pink shoes with the same black dress. Her hair was fleshly combed, never a strand out of place. Her nails were cut neatly, and all her teeths were bleached.

“You are one radiating magnificence Ms. Bennards.” Gushed the Juggler, he chomps on his joints at her playfully and makes some cat claws. He was thinking of making a full of himself. He wanted to make her laugh a bit.

“My grand-son’s said he’s seen your show in the park.”

“Really ? I think I have. He’s the one with the pink Afro ?”

They did laugh indeed. The pink Afro was a choice of the clown. But the boy confusses clown with Juggler.

“Your son wants to be a clown. A real Juggler only juggles so, I would suggest to him that he raises Andy the drunk. He tried to be a clown for eleven years but never made money than t pity in the eyes of his audience.”

“Oh, don’t be so silly Juggler.” Laughing at the speed of drool. She laughed and slapped his thigh as if she was his mother. He attempted to be gleeful yet infuriated he became inside. No matter. This he thought, hidden did not make the strange the out day. .

“Juggles, why don’t you come on over and give the poor boy some private lessons huh ?”

Juggles, the word continued to repeat itself in his mind. Juggles. Just why did she have to do that. Juggler could feel his pulse quickening.

“You know Mrs. Bennards, I have the feeling somebody on twinc is the wold is becoming, fast. I say, never get angry to someone near that person. Does what I say makes any sense ?” She nodded and looked at the pink shoes for the remainder of the journey. Chomping his teeth, Juggler thought of how he would best kill the driver of the bus. He thought of wrapping his head with a plastic bag. Yet, he felt the muffled screams wouldn’t satisfy his death lust.

“Have you been hearing the news Juggles ? There’s a serial killer on the loose ?”

“Oh, really ? I’ve just been living in the darkness. I suppose, my vision and my doctor told me not to read newspapers in the dark, it’s injuring my eyes.”

“Really ? Your eyes are going bad ? Maybe you should eat more cabage. I think cabbages solve all of our problem Juggles.”

“Please, don’t call me Juggles, it reminds me of some nightmares I had as a child.”

“Really ? Nightmares ? Perhaps some cabbage would help that. I mean, even children should cabbages, I feel life is so much better with a refrigerator full of the greenest, freshest cabbages.”

The Juggler keep averting his eyes, thinking of wrapping his fingers around the neck of the driver, he didn’t like the driver and his lips begun to curl. Making two fists, Juggler was drooling a bit, on purpose, so the lady sitting would leave the topic.

“So, this Mr. Serial Killer guy, what is his like ?”

“I thought you didn’t want to speak to me Juggles.”

“Well, the reason I haven’t broken all of your teeth is…”

“Excuse me ?” Asks the 86-year old. Eyes quite astonished. Somewhere along the lines of wrinkles, she had sweat beads, Juggler thought of licking the sweat and make-up off. Stranger thoughts have invaded the mind of the Juggler. He had pain in his ankles and believed that this bus-driver should be spared to avoid any detection, suspicion or delaly his hunger.

“I’m sorry ma’am. I had a rough day at work. I was thinking of my boy. He’s been gone for so long. I do miss him.”

Her face softened, she could see something in his eyes.

“I know you’re a good man mister Juggles. I just need to make some life. I’m a Christian woman, and old woman will you never know who’s who anymore.”

Juggler laughed, a hump on the road and everyone bounced with the rhythm of a fork. A fork thought Juggler. Removing, this fork from his pocket, he told Mrs.______ to give this to her daughter and wish really hard before sleep.

“And why would I have my child do this ?”

“She said she’s been having nightmares.”

“Mr. Juggles, I have my words. I need to say to you. Now, it is not the time. I need to find the energy for it. I work as a seamtress, did you know that ?”

“No, I did not.”

“Well, my stop is approaching. Let’s continue this another time.” She left the bus, and the eyes of the bus-driver were firmly on the Juggler. Driving with seemingly an eye on the road and another on the rearview. Juggler stuck his tongue repeatedly. Knowing full well he rode for free.

“Don’t come here freak. Everyone knows about you.” Were the parting words of the driver. Juggler flipped the finger. Somewhere along the alley, Juggler stopped to look at the bus leaving. He could not help to think of his son. All the blood his little body left on the streets and side-walk. At night, behind the dumpster and grey rats. The snoring of the seamen and Vietman-vets would remind Juggler oddly of his married life. He met his wife on a bookstore in Brookyn. He was a law student and she a nurse, but she hated her job. She made these statements so often, he just teased her with his grin. Sitting in coffee houses, they lean into each other. She was abused by her mother and she cried in front of him. She was an inch taller and had nightmares she would say, and as a little girl dream of marrying a handsome husband, and he, would shrink with the years. Reaching for a glass, Thomas only nodded and sipped beer. Stella was his favorite, and so were her eyes, they were brown, and the way she smiled, he knew he was in love. Dreams, secret promises along with fears were said, Thomas had wanted to be a painter, his parents objected and had him thrown out they would tell her, holding his hand about all the emotions he could not express. He disliked law, it limited his dreams, handicapped the mood exchanged yet they still kept their eyes on each other. He felt ashamed of being a bit of a square, she was the life of a party, she even wore jeans without underwear, a topic which lighted his eyes. She wanted to see Israel, and he did not. She had a long tongue. Over the candles, by his eyes, he’d whisper. “Now it’s time for silence, now we listen to our hearts.” Tears would roll down his eyes. She take them off, her fingers were there, always, to clasp his.

“I want to be someone else Thomas, I want to vanish away.”

“I don’t understand. I don’t understand.” Echoing into her mind. She feared growing old. She never told him these fears. In the end, he walks by the pound, the singing and roses given weren’t much. She walked out of his eyes, he did not see her after giving birth. Crying alone, by the screams of his child, Patrick held himself, he was afraid, he was un-able to see himself in the mirror. Feeling like a failure, he imagined her moving, she didn’t leave a note, she didn’t say a word, whispers withered and so it scarred this man, how life dimmed. Being a soldier was an option, yet he did not intent on abandoning the heart of his son. The absence of each other’s lives, the absence of all that once were, how is it that people fall so easily asked secretly. This is your father, whose studies, whose papers yet written sit by the lamp, whose bulb is as broken, shattered and dark as his soul. Heaven to smile a voice said, learn it well, spread the grin around. Anger didn’t enter, anger didn’t register, for he did not wish it to be seen, by his child, by his eyes that were much like his mothers. At night, under the covers, Thomas would think of her, her hair and the smell it left in his nose. Writing love notes was his passion, he head no intended in his dream, and he would roll from the discomfort, trapped, the miniture pain, screaming to grow, again, he would cry.

“What would you like for breakfast ?” Asked Thomas, he was proud to be there, early mornings, preparing his son’s favorite, waffles and strawberries cut like lips.

“Can I have more syrup dad ?” Energetic, and all brightness, glowing on his face, Thomas loved seeing the eyes of his son, seeing a bit of her, in them. He was a gentle boy.

“Yes, which one, chocolate or butter-scotch ?” Smiling, he winked his eyes, at the boy, sitting like a pelican, he was careful to listen.

“Ok, don’t be a silly bugger dad-o. You’re teasing, there’s no such thing as butter-scotch syrup dad.” It’s voice pleaded, him, was the delight. The energy released which Thomas believed, goes, life isn’t personal. So that he was soon.

“Where’s my mommie daddy ?” Asked the child. His eyes were fixed on his father. Awaiting an explanation, he averted the child for the very first time, he tried to not think of the question. Holding his skin, goose bumps rippled through-out the forearms and neck of Thomas.

“WAKE UP BOY, WAKE UP !!” Screamed Plastic Panic, an old drunk with blood stained hair, he was kicking the Juggler, and wiping the spit from his beard.

“What, um, what time is it ?” Juggler demanded, in a void which echoed his hunger, he had no make-up and had no teeth. He teeth were stolen, as she slept. Beggar after beggar Juggler asked, kicking and yelling. He demanded his teeth back.

“You’re nothing but a waste Juggler. I don’t like you.” Snapped Barry the bowler.

“Tell me where you’d put my teeth. I can’t smile without them.” And everyone around did. They’re smiles were terrorizing.

“Why ? Why did you do this to me ? Tell me why would you steal another man’s false teeth ?”

“They were fakes Juggler, you conned us. We thought that your smile was genuine, you know ? You conned us. We don’t take deception lightly.”

“I WANT MY TEETH BACK !” His face reddening.

“We loved you Juggler, we let you eat with us and even use our toothpaste and toothbushes.” Many chuckled at the remark. Some even flat out laughed. Juggler’s legs begun to tremble. His knees were weak by all the large bulbs. Usually his anger is never publicly shown. These were how he live has passed them, wall hopes and dreams evaporated, all enemies died from age. They were after fresh blood, it was evident in their eyes. Knuckling up, Juggler reached for his bag, a kid to his oil cage and they al dashed for him, he did not fear death. Juggler did not screamed, reached for a blade, he started slashing the ankles of four men, he fell, and then remained, he wrabed the crotch of one of them, he yelled, it’s echoes reached all thought out the neighborhood, dogs barked and windows were opened, a few men stuck their heads to see, the sun was barely out.

“You’re a dead clown Juggler. You hear ? We don’t want you around here anylonger.”

“Kill him ! Kill the Juggler !” Spitting on his face, missing it immediately, Juggler wished to bite them, this bum bleed, and this, spitted in return. The thieves who now plummeted him. A police cruiser rolled by, the cheeky officers looked at the Juggler.

“Help me !” Yelled Juggler again, blood splattering, his clothes were soaked in sweat and red. The man above from the window watched, and listened.

“HELP ME… HELP ME !!” No one came. This destroyed Juggler. After the fight was over. Juggler thought of his victims, the bus-drivers killed and their families in more of a similar hand. Passing a Roman Catholic church, he thought of the funerals of the dead. He felt remourceful, yet, these emotions wouldn’t change the evidence against him. Looking at the door, the door handle, Juggler decided to skip his performance today, he walked up the steps and listened to his heart. Listening to the rhythm of the beats, waiting for the heart to speed up. One of his attackers had a broken jaw, in the midst of so much, he felt the sting of satisfaction. He came close to killing one of the, having had his head firmly between his hand, he was close to snapping his neck. Yet, he did not. As the door was now before him, it opened, and a priest exited.

“Good morning sir, how may I help you ?” The priest had blue eyes and black skin, he was African he said in an accent laced-speech.

“I need help. I need to see myself again. I can’t help myself pastor.”

“What is you name sir ?”

“Juggler, they call me the Juggler.”

“I’ve heard of a juggler. The children’s entertainer ?”

“Yes, that’s me. I love children very much. But I hate everyone else.”

“Everyone was a child once Juggler.”

“Everyone was a child, I just hate adults. They’re selfish and careless.” Ushering him in, Juggler noticed the church was empty. They were empty candles lit near windows, yet in all the gothic atsmphere. Juggler did not see the statue of Jesus. Walking to a back entrance the priest begun looking closely at his guest.

“What happened to your teeth ?”

“They were stolen. Don’t laugh.” The priest did laugh indeed.

“You’re not supposed to laugh at me. You’re supposed to be good.” Said Juggler, his voice cracking and his eyes on the sandal on the priests.

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“I wasn’t frightened of your laughter. I just didn’t like it.”

“You strike me, if I may, as a man who doesn’t notices enough of his surroundings.”

“Excuse me ?” Snapped Juggler, his eyebrows arched and lips trembling from the pain of the beauty. Trees were all over the backyard of the church, yet, Juggler could not spot the look of the Lord.

“May we sit ?”

“Yes, certainly so Juggler. By the way, my name is Father Michael. I noticed you need some stiches. One of our nuns is a nurse, a former nurse to be exact.”

“No, no, I won’t need any medical assistance. I heal rather quickly. I am truly a bit of a dull man. I just suffer from a more astronomical side once dust settles.

“Ah, an adulterer. May I suggest a pink condom ?” Oddly, Juggler did not find the comment strange, he simply absent-mindely looked at the frogs hopping around the grass. There were seven frogs, all jumping and seemingly dancing to some invisible tune, for Juggler server a number if times, a tune, chimes of sorts. These were the thoughts, he looked at the patterns on the frogs back, changing slowly as the clouds covered the sun.

“Father Michael, I have committed many sins.”

“Before we enter these topics, I need you to ask me as question first.”

“A question ? On what ? The frogs ?”

The wind blew, and the frogs seemed angrier, they danced and jumped with greater energy.

“No. We’ll discuss them later, now I need you to ask me, how did I know you would be standing by the door ?” Juggler chuckled nervously. He sensed some heat beneath his ear lobes.

“How’d you know I would be standing, at the door ?” Smiling, Father Michael glanced at the jumping frogs. All of them stood still now.

“Juggler, I saw you in my dream last night. As I opened the window, I saw a smile, in my mind, and I laid down. During the hours which I rested, you entered my un-consciousness, I saw you smiling. I saw you singing by the middle of a forrest, every plant had died after you finished and I opened, in this dream a mysterious echo traveled, and told you would need my assistance.” Juggler saw the frogs, their eyes closed and fell slowly to sleep. They had one solid color on their bodies, pink.

“You dreamed about me ?” Demanded Father Michaels. “Yet, we’ve never met in the past.”

“I don’t know father, my life has been very strange lately. I can’t explain myself fully.”

“I think you are a great man Juggler. God has revealed you to me, you are to become a great leader. You will need me in your journey. You are a good good man Jugger.”

Juggler had murdered six bus-drivers, and had a city of police officer after him. Every night, the news on television is of the clown with the smile. The frogs looked peaceful, and as the Juggler looked towards the heavens, the clouds were shaped by faces of.

“You must be mistaken Father Michaels, I am a sinner, I’ve have seen tears all my life.”

“Jesus is all around us.”

Tears rolled down the face of Father Michaels, placing his hand on the shoulder of Juggler, Juggler thought of his teeth and how ridiculous he must appear without them.

“Father, I don’t understand what you speaking about. I came here to seek clarity, instead I feel more lost. I just needed some company I guess. I never believed much in religion.”

“I was once an African bullfighter in Sudan Mr. Juggler. I killed God’s creatures as a job. I got paid well to entertain my audience. We all have audiences Mr. Juggler. Wether you are aware of this or not.”

“You’re a spiritual man, how you say these things to a man you barely just met ? You don’t’ know me, you don’t know my background, you don’t even know if I am a dangerous man.”

“You have kind eyes, and a gentle soul. I am never wrong. I am usually, almost to be exact, always correct.” Laughing like a drunkard, Father Michael’s face seem to have the glow of a new sun. His teeth were bright, and had broad shoulders. Next, father Michael bestowed seven kisses on each side of the check of Juggler.

“Why aren’t they any statues in the church ?” Asked Juggler.

“You ask so many questions Juggler. Do you think I don’t know who you really are ?”

“Father, I have been many things in my life. In other for me to maintain my sanity, I need to change.”

Inside the church, they walked back to the entrance. They looked into each other’s eyes and simply waited, then smiled. Father Michael took off his cross and reached for the Juggler’s hands.

“Juggler, I understand you’re good with your hands. Hold this for some time. They’ve brought this poor soul a great deal of luck.”

“Thank you Father Michael.”

“Come back soon, will see how it transpires.”

As the wooden door shut behind Juggler, Father Michael turned to sand, and laid there. A custodian and a maintance amn entered the church, and saw the mess. Cleaning the sand took several hours. The weight was more than sand weights.

Walking into Washington Square Park, Juggler sat by the fountain and decided to take the day off. No more entertaining.

“Hi Juggler. Are you going to juggle today ?” Nodding no, the Juggler was in low spirits, he did not lift his eyes, he just nodded and nodded again. It was his favorite child, the black girl.

“It’s me Juggler, it’s me.” She snapped her fingers. Juggler didn’t notice, nor hear her, she tried to smile, she was hurt. Examining his face, she demanded answers, but Juggler did not suffice.

“Juggler, it’s me. I’m your favorite. You told me so yourself.” Repeately this, several other followed. She felt defeated and walked away. Her mother looked at the Juggler, head hung, and shoulders slouched, it was easy to see how broken the man was.

“What’s wrong with him mommie ? What’s wrong with mister Juggler ?” Asked the black child.

“I don’t know Karreena, the Juggler just isn’t feeling like his old self.”

“But I’m his favorite, every kid on the park knows that.”

“Every kid ?”

“Yes.” She answered, full with enthuasiams. “Yes mommie, Juggler always, always looks at me when he juggles the dragon poison.”

Karreena’s mother had earrings, and nails painted pink. She had a joyous smile, and some light make-up. Think of what her daughter just mentioned, she continued to wash the little one’s hair. The bathroom was small, but Karreena loved bath time, many secrets have been exchanged there. She told Karreena many family secrets, and fears which haven’t been heard or completed.

“What is this dragon poison ?”

“Is what’s inside the jugs, the vases he catches with his feet.”

“Really ? Are you sure it’s dragon poison ?”

“I know so, he even takes it in front of all of us.”

“Juggler drinks dragon poison ? Honey, they aren’t dragons anymore. Sugar, they never were ever dragons in the world.”

“But mom.” Said the black girl, with the horror and disgust of a 40-year old.

“Listen to me, okay ? Listen to me now. I don’t want to hear anything about this Juggler and dragon poison. It’s all lies. He tells you kids nothing but lies.”

She begun tearing up, she didn’t enjoy seeing her daughter cry in the shower, or for that matter in the nude. She found it insulting for a female to cry in the nude.

“Mommie, he spits out gold rocks. The juggler, he makes us kids rich. Really, look under my bed.” Mother ran towards the child’s bedroom. They glowed like small suns. Shielding her eyes, mother screamed, and all the shine vanished immediately. The little black girl entered the room, fully nude with bubbles and lather, her hair had changed colors also.

“Honey, what happned to your hair ?” Asked the panicked mother.

“You washed it mom, don’t you remember ?”

“I didn’t. Who ? What’s happening here ? Why is all this happening ?”

“What ? What is happening ?” Raising her pitch, asked quite sincerely the daughter. Mother had fallen.. She held her head and begun shaking in denial, something wrong had just occurred, she needed composure.

“What’s the matter mommie ? What’s the matter mommie ?”

“Tell me who gave you all this gold ? Answer my questions ?”

“The Juggler gave it to me, he visits me every night mom. He says I’m a good girl and then he hiccups a gold stone.”

“Who’s been in this room ?”

“The juggler. He visits me every night. He goes by the window and he smiles at me mommie. He smiles.”

The bus arrived late today again, the driver was a woman name Tiara. She had black ahir and black nails, painted with some glitter on the surface. She was heavy-set, yet spoked softly.

“Good evening, the fare is two dollars.”

“I know what the fare is. Thank you very much.”

“Well, pay up them. I have to be at the station on time, and I’m late already.”

“Yes ma’am.” Said Juggler. Holding a brown paper bag, he looked through the trash and found some half-eaten donuts.

“What you have there ? Diner ?”

“A little something for the mrs.” Juggler smiled and sat like a little sailor boy. Hands firmly on his lap, palms flat.

“Did I ever tell you about how I wanted to be an athlete when I was young, maniacal with children and having a really, really terrible yeast infectioni ?” Juggler looks out the window, sighs and nodded reluctantly no. He was ill, but made a promise inside his heart he wouldn’t kill anymore bus-drivers.

“Well, I always wanted to become a professional runner. I think running is fabulous for the soul. My period wanted nothing of it, I would hear all these positive thoughts.”

“The name is Juggler.”

“Juggler ? What kind of name is that ? Sounds like a rapist or something. You need a normal…” Juggler interrupted her by belching six times back to back.

“I’m trying to tell you my story.”

“No. You’re trying to keep on the merits of my name changing. I don’t appreciate it.” There was silence, the muscle of the motor was something to Juggler’s feet. He smiled softly, to himself and the bus-driver looked at him closer, she noticed his absence of teeth. Pressing the breaks, the bus came to a halt. Two passengers fell off their seats.

“Why are you stopping ? I thought you were late.” The engine was still running. The had had begun to drizzle.

Beating her daughter, the black child begun to scream out for daddy. She yelled his name, Henry. Echoing all through the apartment, she looked at her daughter and begun shaking her violently.

“Juggler help me, help me Juggler. Please.”

“Juggler isn’t your father, you hear ? He is not allowed to see you. You are grounded young lady.” Yanking the little girl’s hair, she dragged about one foot before lightning struck.

“Why are you hitting me mommie, why ?”

“I love you, I need you to learn, to obey me and to just, just…” A second strike of lightning was heard, mother was afraid of lightning, she became nervous, dropping her belt she locked the little girl inside her room. She banged on the door, she screamed, and said a curse word out loud. Mother was stressed, and she didn’t know how to display her weakeness. She usually ran away, the key to the door was still on the lock, the little black girl knew this soon. She expected mother to fall alone, these were those times one just got drunk.

“Mommie, I see the juggler. In my mind, I see him. He tells me things, it’s not a lie. I’m telling you the truth.”

Reachinig into the liquor cabinet. She grabbed a bottle of black label Johnny Walker and did her best to ignore her daughter. Punkling down on the sofa, she heard images of her own mother, she died in a fire in Atlanta, and had never been the same since. She got pregnant three years later.

“Mommie, Juggler said it’s not your fault. The wasn’t your fault. He’s telling me to tell you this mommie. Please listen to me. I need you to hear me mommie.”

Mother had set the cap down, and could smell the aroma. The bitter taste, the front on the table which she placed beneath her tongue. She love couldn’t a secret passion, a secret shame.

Urinating in public, Juggler had lost all sense of up and down. Life seemed like a series of blurs. Children in strollers would be quickly rushed by their parents, noticing the man who just gave the joy and laughter fall to pieces. Juggler was rambling some songs, an African folk tune, and he clapped his hands, he had his penis still out, and he danced like a loon.

“You should be ashamed of yourself.” Snapped an elderly woman.

“How dare you ? What do you want me to do witht that ?” Other teenagers, girls mostly laughed at the Juggler’s size and puzzled face.

“Hey Juggles, why don’t you juggle that sausage of yours.” Drooling and slapping the wind, Juggler had lost it. He looked away at the trees, and begun spitting at the trunk, leaves and flipped the finger to the chirping birds.

“Sir, you’re going to have to stop this maniacal behavior.” An elderly man, on his walker and barely standing. His hunch on his back, has bird droppings all over it.

“Sir, you need to put that penis of yours away. Women and children use this public park.”

Juggler turned twice, did a circle and break-danced. The old man on his walker just smiled dryly, he shock his head, a police officer just arrived.

“Excuse me sir, you are exposing yourself, please…” Juggler spit landed on the officer’s chin. The officer pushed Juggler against the tree, wiped his chin and removed his cuffs.

THE END

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