| UNTITLED "Mister, do dreams come true?" It all came rushing back to him. The way the clouds would smile over his mother's house in Vienna on a dull summer day: rushing in quickly over the lake as the infant version of himself waited in a maternal warmth while his father's overall-armored figure trudged home over a hill. The way the smells of pig blood from the butcher rushed out to sting young noses as he and his childhood freinds rushed away from the clutches of his headmaster. The Herr Otts and the Fraou Prodellas. The way a strapping young man who stole his attention and stuffed it into a bedsheet next to a pair of shoes stained with his mother's tears rushed across a moonlight harbor to sneak onto a steel giant that cut the sea in the direction of a foreign land where skyscrapers tore holes in the soul of a man who couldn't read, married his neighbor, and lost his best freind when the subway tunnel they were building collapsed. The way his four children rushed between the cracks in his clenched fists, coming and going, each never able to understand why their father wept softly everytime the statue of liberty crept over the horizon. But this tim the rising sun got lost in the deep cracks of his face, along with the memories of his late wife, as he waited at bus stop for a bus he wasn't going to catch with a child he didn't know and never would because...because...because... "Mister?" The boy took a step closer as the life faded from the old man's eyes. |