One Bright Day In the Middle of the Night

By Dwayne Alistair Thomas

Most of us are born into the world by ourselves.
Yet there are a select few who enter this plane of existence with a companion.
Someone who grew with you as you grew.
You felt each others first heartbeat,
comforted one another in the dark of the womb.
But what happens when the world you enter imposes its influence upon you both?
Do you stay bonded? Do you react the same? Do you still comfort each other?

Or do you do something else altogether?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329298729

Book preview

One Bright Day In the Middle of the Night

one bright day in the middle of the night

by

Dwayne Alistair Thomas

ISBN# 978-1-329-29872-2

Published by Dwayne Alistair Thomas for MSW Productions

Copyright 2015 Dwayne Alistair Thomas for MSW Productions

Prolouge

dream dream oh endless night

my confidant

my saviour

Bless me with thy velvety embrace

soothe my aching desires

...constant wants

born of original sin, whiskey & wild vagina

...the fun stuff

Touch me

Feel my burn burn burning breast

this hammer that pounds in place of a heart

Taste my sweet sweat that pours,

sticky with my stink,

& lust

Take me inside you,

the entire length of me

dare to stare into the dark swirling pools of mine eyes,

mine windows into your souls,

piercing through the bullshit

that falls from your lipsticked mouth

that still reeks of my seed,

my love to you,

my gift

I swirl and swim deep within you

even when i'm not near you

I am privy to secrets even you know not of yourself

I have swam the path of your esophagus,

the twist turns of your bowels,

the fertile garden that is your womb

touch,

kiss,

fuck,

say you love me

Say it again and again,

so's i can hurt you once more

Just the way you want me to baby

CHAPTER 1

The fresh mountain air blasted Dallas in the face. She drank it in, her mind fooling her into thinking that she could taste where the wind had travelled. She could smell the curries of india, fresh grapes of tuscany, ripe tropical fruits hinted with the spice of ganja from the Caribbean. Or was it South America? Her brother Austin was right behind her. His poofy red hair dancing in the breeze

do you smell that? She asked him

He didn't answer, he was too busy trying to light a blunt in the whipping wind. She turned to look at him

are you serious?

when am i going to get another chance to get high on a mountain? He answered in his patient deep baritone. His voice still disturbed dallas. Her brother was a slight pale boyish young man, yet his voice rumbled out of him like an approaching storm. The combination never fit in her mind. They both walked to the edge, looking down at heart lake beneath them. The Adirondacks in the midst of fall. To them, there was no better place on earth; memories of their father camping with them out here, not with their mother however. She was born in the bronx, a city girl through and through. Their father loved the outdoors, especially in the fall. He called it

witnessing the beauty of death through the changing colors of the leaves

The fire on the end of austin's blunt was struggling to stay alive. Dallas had not even noticed he managed to get it lit, and how. He pulled deep from the tightly wound stick, the smoke from the exhale tickling her senses. He offered it to her, she politely refused. Not like she was against smoking, she just didn't feel like getting high right now

you know what's funny? He asked

what's that?

i listen to these intellectuals, these people who use big over complicated words to explain the simplest things. Large words to insulate themselves from others, to make themselves seem special, and i wonder why?

Dallas knew better than to offer an answer. Her brother was about to be on a roll, to which he continued...

mostly i think it's ego. i see it everywhere, especially in the theatre. I had one person tell me 'i have a phd so i have to use big words'. Weird.

He took another long pull, exhaled with the breeze at his back, continued...

if people don't understand what you're saying then what's the point of talking? I'm still on my journey of cleansing; my mind body relationships my life really. In my true heart [which should be the only heart Dallas thought to herself] i still fear...well at the moment...only money. Right now it seems the only way not to worry about money is to have a lot of it. Is there another way? just ignore it? Doesn't seem like i can since in this world it's more valuable than life itself. I must fulfill my senses; keep tasting keep listening keep feeling keep smelling keep seeing. Above all, i must keep my breath deep and constant. This is where my truth lies

well damn she said that was an impressive rant. What brought that on?

pot clarity

*****

It was not the mound of bear shit plopped against the tree that caught Dallas' eye, it was the little american flag sticking out of it that did the trick

i think this person is trying to say something said Austin

what's that?

that this nation is built on a pile of shit

nice

Part of the joy of the adirondacks are the very clear trails back down the mountain. It's more like an exaggerated hike than climbing a mountain. No ropes, anchors or other nonsenses like that. In the distance Dallas saw a few lean-tos, triggering a memory of one night here with her father when she swore she was going to freeze her brand new budding adolescent tits off. It was also the first night that she had ever had whiskey. Her father took pity on his shivering little girl having a conniption in the corner of the rickety enclosure and told her to take a swig from his hip flask. The fire water seemed to have scalded every membrane it touched on the way down. It's aroma scorching her sinuses. But after a few coughs and spittle she felt the warmth spread throughout her body like a sun had just set in her stomach. Then she passed out.  

Apparently, she was a lightweight

The memory immediately dissipated when she caught the scent of the bear. Austin, a few paces ahead had picked it up as well. No one panicked, just a heightened sense of urgency

jesus christ i wish i wasn't high for this whispered austin

be quiet rasped dallas as she continued to pad through the forest. There is no true quiet in the wilderness. Everything makes a noise; critters, the wind, streams. Everything but the predators. The only noise they make is the last one you are likely to hear. The scent came from the direction that they had to travel back down to camp. Dallas thought for a moment that maybe they should just stay...

no, we're not staying here the night whispered Austin

fine, then we take the wide way down

works for me

*****

Morning has a different sound these days. The early pitter patter of humans risen before dawn armed with their personalized caffeinated shot, evidence of their lack of sufficient sleep & addiction, buzzing to their working hive, their honeycombed cubicles and offices

But the birds still sing

Sing sweetly in the ears of the hopeful

Who still hear it's music through the din of productivity

And if the birds are singing...

...the predators are most likely not about

Still, the twins were on a mild edge as they traversed through the growing dark forest

it seems like a really mean thing to do. Telling people they're going to die within a guessed amount of time extrapolated from data derived from inherently flawed beings. Which is why many times these professional death soothsayers are wrong in their estimations. We're all terminal, what's the point in putting a date to it?

Austin obviously felt there was no cause to fear as he was still talking

you sound like grandpa

thank you, here

He handed her his bottle of water as soon as the parchness hit her throat. His neck craned upwards peering past the lush tree tops as he took a moment to himself to take a healthy swig of his own

you want to go out tonite? he asked

yes, there's a bar that serves pretty good food downtown

live music?

yes

sounds good, we better get moving then

*****

On August 11, 1979, Solomon Jacob Jerome and Consuela Arancha Mendoza Bellisandre became the parents of twins at 8pm standard eastern time. There were many births that day at Downstate in Brooklyn, even two other sets of twins. But this birth was the only one that got the president of the hospital off his fat ass and into the maternity ward to witness what was slowly disseminating throughout the hospital as

Sweet trees & collard greens ya'll gotta see this shit right here!

The girl was born first, olive skinned with a blood drenched mop of black hair like her mother's. Once she opened them, one could see she shared the sweet honey hazel eyes of her father. 11 minutes later the second child was born, this one a boy. This was not the initial shock, which should have been since all tests precluding the births predicted that during the early stages of pregnancy the fertilized egg had split into two identical beings. The parents had refused to know the sex of the twins, thinking it better to be surprised

Mission accomplished

The boy was a bloodless ghost. Skin devoid of the melanin both his parents shared. He was the color of fresh snow on a brisk winter day

The boy was white

caucasian if you want to be p.c. about it

As soon as he exited the birth canal he opened his slate pale green eyes to stare back at the faces staring at him with mouths agape. He didn't cry, just calmly took in the room with a look that suggested that the people staring at him were the strange ones. The nurse placed him into the understandably shocked arms of his father. His sister was already nursing at their mother's breast. He looked at his father with serious intent, Solomon already lost in his eyes. Daddy looked at mommy with a face hinting at an accusation. Mommy stated

seriously? to which daddy replied

just checking

Later on that magical day, dna testing would prove that not only were the twins daddy's (just checking) but that they were also legit twins, at least on a genetic level. They shared the same markers, blood type what have you except for the sex, eye color, hair and..well...race.

*****

The eyes open

Morning...early morning after a healthy drinking binge. The head pounds & the vision is blurry but the spirit is hopeful

The plan was simple; masturbate, get high, play video games

but none of that was going to be possible for I...he was not at home

First thought?

where am i?

Second thought

what the hell happened last night?

Third thought

where are my pants and underwear?

Was that two thoughts?

There's a dog at the end of the bed, some sort of mutt that resembles a pointy eared hyena. Par for the course because it seems to be smiling at me, amused by my plight. The memory is fractured; there was a plane, a distinct lack of sleep, a futile ploy to dream whilst flying because of the fear of it, a jovial greeting, 1, maybe 2 40's of fine malt liquor, a band, shots...lots & lots & lots & lots...and lots of shots (lots of shots), very very large breasts, then vomit, so much vomit, and by the smells of things just a splish splash of urine

No wonder the dog is smiling

At least there wasn't any caca, thank jeebus for tiny miracles (must always look at the upside of any situation)

*****

The early air before the storm. The weather gods had prophesied a 66.6% chance of heavy rain coming down in many inches and feats. The journey to various corporate hives was assured to be marred with danger, but the precious work must needs be done or massuh will whip you with pink slips and severance packages.

Fuck your safety

Dallas was training on the roof, the adirondack mountains hours behind her, practicing moves that had no history. She would close her eyes at times, an effort in trying to delve deeper into herself; find that majic she kept believing resided in her, if only she would look for it. Katas never made sense to her so she had developed her own practise where she would just move; the rhythm of her heart setting the pace, the flow of the wind guiding her movements as she soundlessly padded across the graveltop, using the gift her uncle gave her & Austin when he trained them in Tae kwon do; jumping, whipping kicks in the air, landing with the weight of a feather. Sounds pushing the inspiration all the time deep breathing to fill her body with all of it before she released, burst forth the waves that rippled out of her into the ether, like heat off of the barren desert floor.

The shower cleansed the sweat from her toned body. Breakfast consisted of a single orange, not feeling the ravenous hunger necessary for an elaborate morning meal. Mornings were never consistent for her. She found early on in life that routines bothered her, caused needless tension if she didn't complete the task set. Most times she didn't want to do it. She operated better when she felt & let's be honest, feelings change all the time. Her moods fluctuated from dawn til dusk. In daylight she wanted to be clean, spiritual. Nights she wanted to get sinful & dirty, allow the devil inside to frolic which almost always disturbed the morning angel. Overall she knew she was making everything entirely too hard on herself. So she began ignoring the claims of others that she was getting old and began to coast through her 30's knowing that when she became an actual old woman she will gaze upon these current days thinking about how young she was.

There's a line from a Garbage song she held on to

the trick is to keep breathing

All she needed to do was let go, it simply was not that serious

*****

The daylight is aggressive. The eyes not ready for the raw truth of the morning. Each step is one step out of oblivion. Inside of our mouth is course sandpaper mixed with the heat of the sahara, prickly cacti and all. The nagging taste of iron lodged in the back of our throat

maybe you should stop drinking says the midget in our head as he pounds out an aggressive rock opera against the walls of our skull with a pick axe

water, greasy gook food

The remedy of our forefathers to cure this current ailment

maybe a wee bit o' the hair o' the dawg chimes the midget

Balls itch and the bladder fills, demanding to be emptied.

We step up to the first clean urinal at this merciful gas station. The head of the flusher thingy has Penelope etched on the top and causes a giggle

This is the point where we notice the blood on our sky blue cotton draws. Resembles a Rorschach test. The conquest must have had her monthly visitor

well that's just ducky

Hands wash away the sin as the eyes view in the dusky mirror the dried blood at the corners of our mouth. A macabre harlequin mask

well, at least that explains the irony taste

*****

Dallas loved the tastes of foods that no one would want to kiss you after you ate them; hot peppers, pickles, pesto (she friggin' loved pesto), fresh onion, garlic and anchovies. Her period was heavy today and the cravings for such orally offensive delights were at their peak. She often wondered how her species thought themselves the dominant half when they used their menstrual cycle as an excuse to act the damn fool. Yes, she could feel the unease inside her, blood quite literally boiling within her churning womb. But it was just pain, and pain was something all living things had to contend with. From the moment she first flowered she decided her flow was not going to control her, at least when she got past the initial shock of it all. I mean seriously...how often do you wake up in a pool of your own blood? She chuckled a bit at the memory. She remembered that the first time she bled she was in the midst of an epic dream, battling an army of Blood Mages and Warlocks. In her dreams she could always use magic. With sword in hand (it's name was ShadowLancer) she would twist and turn this way and that, slashing expertly with the bastard sword she wielded one handed with speed and grace while blasts of fire and ice leapt from her fingertips slaying foe after foe in a majestic dance of death. But then a vile Werebeast catches her unawares and before she can recover it rips at her insides, her bowels dripping from the creature's bloody maw as she thrusts her blade defiantly into the monster's bulging neck. It was her silent scream that woke her and when she felt the wetness beneath, saw the blood on her fingers, she thought the beast of her dreams had finished her. The cool sensation of reality settling into her mind calmed her nerves though.

In a past life Dallas attempted to utilize her hyperactive imagination as an actress, And by all accounts, she was a pretty damn good one as well. She found it easy to emote characters she related to personally. In a way, she never acted; just acted out. What drove her away was ironically the fake camaraderie of the 'business'. She got tired of being in an industry where it seemed you only existed if you were 'working'. Outside of that no one really wanted anything to do with you

...much like death

Emotional mercenaries. People feigning interest in her doings and whereabouts. She just couldn't trust anything anyone said. It pissed her off really. She knew she was in the business of playing make believe but seriously...couldn't people just be honest and real? Why care if you really don't? So she began to write about her true life experiences. Her peaks and valleys, sorrows and happinesses. But mostly her truth

The 'business' used to be about art. The evolution of humanity through expression and honesty with not just ourselves but others. Hearing a fire breathing gospel singer scream her soul out, a classical guitarist losing time and space between delicate finger plucks and the silence in between, a sculptor who reveals the underlying beauty of ugly stone through sheer force and pressure. all in all, she just lost her passion for it. Not for all of it, but she hated doing/auditioning for shows that theatres were just doing to make money. Might as well have a 'real' job if we're going to be money whores instead of believing in the audacity of original thought

She turned onto the street of her favorite deli. Passing by the store window she saw Linda the bakery lady's sad face through the colorful arrangement of pretty pink & fluffy pastries on display. An interesting picture in dichotomy.

The deli was not packed today and 'lex, Dallas' ever friendly deli guy, was cheerful and all smiles and already making her usual. She got her order, sat down and was quickly into two bites of her roast beef, pastrami, prosciutto, horseradish cheddar, pesto, mayo, black olives, lettuce (she disliked tomato), pickles, red onions, garlic, anchovy, roasted red peppers, basil, parsley sage rosemary and thyme with oregano on wheat large submarine sandwich. 'lex was an artist behind a deli apron and no one...NO ONE...in the city made a sandwich with such delicate care and affection (or maybe he just did for her because she knew he wanted to sleep with her, which she didn't mind because she shared the same sensation. She never minded that men lusted after her from time to time. That's what they do and she never begrudged them their natural behavior. Besides, she loved the attention, though she would never let it show). Regardless, it was harmless, she knew she was never going to have sex with him

Maybe

His sandwich making abilities were too much to risk. Yes...it was that serious

It's the little things in life you have to dig around for and seek out. Like the pomegranate, where only the seeds are juicy and sweet, while the meat is sour and bitter

CRACK!!

The sound of bat to ball snapped Dallas back to the present. There was an afternoon game on the television in the deli. The hitter was making a manic dash to first while the outfielder dug around in the corner for the errant ball. Alex came from behind the counter and sat at Dallas' table saying

Baseball is weird. If you do something well only 30% of the time in anything else in life you're considered a divine failure. But in baseball you just might be a hall of famer if you do it your entire career.

With a mouthful of sandwich goodness Dallas replied

Sometimes that's what life is all about; even if you know that there's a high likelihood of failing you still have to get up there & try because there's a small chance you can do something amazing

that was insightful

you're sandwiches increase my intelligence tenfold

i thought the anchovies and prosciutto would have sent you into sodium shock

it just might, but the horseradish cheddar offsets the flavor quite nicely

you can cook can't you?

absolutely

you've never made me anything

stop, you stop right there

okay

I like your instincts though. You need to act before your brain has the chance to react & talk some sense into you

like resisting the urge to buy a baby platypus

say what now?

I've been fascinated with them since I was a kid. Always thought that the duck billed platypus is proof positive that the creator has a sense of humor

don't you just mean God?

I'm agnostic, but I believe in a creator, anyways, have you seen a baby platypus? It's like the cutest thing ever

a baby anything is like the cutest thing ever

ok true, but a baby platypus is especially cute. I saw a video of one a few days ago online. Give me your phone, I'll try to find it

I can look it up myself thank you very much

ah, naughty pictures?

no

yes. One tends to have naughty pictures on their phone when they work at a maliciously depraved sports bar on raucous weekends. Alex said

"search for baby platypus"

"no need for duck billed?"

do you know another kind of platypus?

Dallas did as she was told while giving him the thanks smartass stare. The first video that popped up was one of a baby platypus in a pool. She tapped the image, up came the ever present hypnotic circular loading animation, feeling as if it were trying to bore a hole into her mind

what popped on screen was the creature gliding in a pool, swimming over to open hands with food, nibbling ravenously. Another set of curious fingers tickles it's willing belly as it's leg twitches with frenetic joy.

Alex was right, it was like the cutest thing ever

She resigned herself then and there that at some point in her life she had to pet a baby platypus. This went along on the same list that contained train own dragon

*****

Although he was a city boy, Austin often thought of himself as a forest man. He had conditioned himself to eat wildly different foods in all different states; raw, cooked, passed their expiration. He knew his forefathers did not have such luxuries as preservatives, refrigeration and vacuum sealing and he strove to prepare his belly in case these niceties ever disappeared. He knew that he had the blood of the first men within him and oft wondered when did humanity become so soft, dainty and gluten free

This he thought of while devouring a box of crown kennedy king prince chicken deep fried in dinosaur tar with biscuits

This here is the true breakfast of champions, eaten with hands that shine with the sheen of a thousand calories and sinful delight

It is the culinary equivalent to smoking crack

You kn0w it's bad for you but..you know...fuck it

The world outside establishments such as these tended to be a little rough around the edges but was at the moment quiet. It was early morning, even hood rats have to sleep. Everything was going according to plan in Austin's world as he sipped on the cold syrupy ginger ale, washing down the amazing goodness of biscuits dipped in the jurassic grease. He'd given up trying to piece together last nite's events choosing rather to deal with the matter at hand. Getting home of course was a priority. His modest 1 bedroom apartment was located in Philadelphia [and was actually beginning to look as if grown folks were living there as a recent roommate had left his couches after he moved out, and his fish...shit, he had to feed that] and he was fairly certain that he was still in Raleigh. The impulsive decision to drive betwixt the cities with little sleep urged on by the prospect of spending time with some married friends of his, whom he considered loved ones, that praised the great god Dionysus as fervently as he did. Eating drinking and dancing as wild and fancy free as the spirit will allow, and usually without a cover charge. The couple would invite large groups of people into their home, lighting fires and playing thoughtful musiks hearkening back to times when the home was the social gathering point. Bernard, husband to Arét, was a fine chef in front of the wild fires of the barbeque pit he built from stones he gathered himself. His smoker in the distance produced charred maple wood smells as various meats slow cooked to succulent perfection. All of which was paired lovingly with the various spirits within Arét's control. The lady provided every flavor of stout, whiskey, red wines and mint juleps to all invited. The brew was homemade, concocted with intense colombian coffee berries and raw dutch chocolate as was the cheese that accompanied the petît syrah. And of course, football blared through the flat screen goodness hanging magically on the wall in the sea foam coloured living room that broadcasted the homoerotic hypnotic violence in colors and shades thought never before possible in real life with blessed surround sound bitches.

The Lady Arét a devout fan of the Wolf Pack

This was mildly hedonistic living at it's finest. Who wouldn't drive recklessly across states to become part of the bacchanal? Fragmented memories began to spill, the afternoon sun melding soothingly into the cool moonlight. Torches of tiki were lit as our ancestors did before us to