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drummer |
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The father, asleep on the first floor, dreamed the nightmare that was his reality. That fateful night when he stumbled from the vehicle, drunk and unmarked, searching for his only son. The innocent boy, neck broken, lay beneath the unforgiving Oak tree that wouldn't yield to his catapulted body. No amount of intoxication performed the father's wish of euthanasia. And the radio in the room played. |
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"Faith is cold as ice.
Why are little ones born only to suffer,
For the want of immunity,
Or a bowl of rice?
Well, who would hold a price,
On the heads of the innocent children,
If there's some immortal power,
To control the dice?
We go out and take our chances.
Fate is just the weight of circumstances.
That's the way that lady luck dances." |
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And the radio continued to play in the empty room where I write, and where I created the boy and his father and the children below the window: |
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"I feel angry, I feel helpless.
I want to change the world.
I feel violent, I feel alone.
Don't try to change my mind." |
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Without invitation, I created the father and I created the boy. I had finally realized the overwhelming responsibility to put right what I had created. I did what the father's alcohol couldn't do. I erased from his mind the memories of his existence. I did what the boy's God didn't do. I allowed the boy to stand from his chair in the empty room. I handed the boy a lollipop and a dog and the puzzle that is life. I had the children invite the boy outside. I placed a smile on the boy's face. I watched from the window in the empty room as the boy laughed and screamed and ran with the children below. And I had the radio disappear into the abyss that was the empty room as it played for the last time: |
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"Because I'm losing my sight,
Losing my mind,
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine.
Nothing's alright.
Nothing is fine.
I'm running and I'm crying." |
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Written by Dave |
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HOME |
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