To the Guy I Pepper Sprayed

I hope you’re doing alright. I never used pepper spray before and didn’t know how it worked. But I saw your evil before you saw me standing there and you came rushing towards me. A black aura stands out to people that see them. I told you twice to stop but you wouldn’t listen. I was forced to protect a building you had no reason to be in. You saw me recognize you, that’s why you looked at me. Then it hit you directly into your eyes. I saw the stream of burning orange go into your opened evil eyes. You gasped and mumbled in the deep groan “oh, god” and you turned away from me while I emptied the small vile out on the back of your neck and ears. I was still on the phone with the police, she heard everything. I gave her the address again, the address you were told to never come back to last year. Remember that? You broke out a window. You were there to terrorize a woman. But while you were bent over in burning agonizing pain I asked you politely to leave the property and once again you ignored my order. Cursing me. So I kicked you across the parking lot into the bushes. I kept kicking you, unleashing the evil I’d dug up from the hidden depths of my memories. You couldn’t stand or even see where you were going. Would you have let up on the woman you were there to beat? You wouldn’t and neither was I.

I saw the fear in you as you tried to get away from me. I saw your face. I can’t get it out of my mind. You tried to find a path, a way out from the burning pepper spray and the sudden violent attack on you. You crawled out from the bushes you tried to escape through and grabbed handfuls of grass while you pulled yourself farther away from me up the embankment. For a while I felt bad for you, almost sorry I had to hurt another human being. But then I remembered why it happened. You were only there to beat up on a woman. The same woman who tried to hide the black eye you gave her. I saw it, I knew it was you no matter how hard she tried to say the door hit her. You returned several other times to attack her. No one had to tell me, you left something only a few can see. Something I can see. The entire building of retirees and handicapped are afraid you will do something to them. They moved here to get away from people like you. You kept coming back, only your luck ran out this time. The look I saw in your face as I kicked you across the parking lot, your burning eyes you couldn’t open, that must have been how the lady you kept beating felt. The one who hid from you, the one who lied about her black eye. She couldn’t get away, she was over powered just like you were. I don’t feel sorry for you anymore, or care about the fear I saw in your face as you tried to get away from me. I will do it again. I know you’re coming back. Except this time I will enjoy watching your fear. I will enjoy giving you the same beating she received from you. The only thing I might feel bad about is not ending you. I want you to endure the physical and mental pain the rest of your life. I’m going to escort you to your grave.


observational notice

I’m off work this week. I take a week off every year and do all my doctors stuff and lay around being a filthy lazy pig most of all. Sometimes you will always see the same number, or person, or color, etc. This week I’ve been out every day in traffic all over the city. Maroon mini vans are every where I go. They’re all different models but still, they’re maroon colored minivans. I had to fast for 12 hours to take blood tests this morning. I felt tired before arriving and thought it would just be a few minutes and I could go back home and go back to sleep. But no. The nurse kept filling up vial after vial of blood. I started getting cold inside when she said, “You’re all done”. I tried to speak but my mouth wouldn’t move, the divider curtain pattern started spinning and turned black and white.

I’m looking up and a lady I’ve never seen before is asking if I’m o.k. and I’m confused about where I’m at. Everything was really bright and shiny and unfocused as she lead me to an empty waiting room. I feel halfway numb and my feet and hands are tingling. She saw the large scar on my chest and asked me about my surgery then ordered an EKG. She was asking more questions, lots of questions I could answer in my mind but my mouth wouldn’t work to answer them. The last I remember was waking up and putting my shirt back on. It felt like nothing happened. I was wide awake. I opened the door and the receptionist saw me and gave me the “1 minute” finger gesture. Another nurse (I’m assuming they’re all nurses) came in and talked to me, I told her I’m fine and she agreed to let me go. The fifteen minute drive back home seemed like an hour. I get to the drive and as I turn in I saw in my rear view mirror a maroon minivan had followed behind me.


My Phone – The Farmhouse

The company I worked for bought up a lot of property to develop. They purchased it in the late 80’s and rented out the few remaining homes that were left on it. The section we went to is ready to start bulldozing and an old farmhouse sat back behind some woods that’s slated to be torn down. We skipped out of work and went to see if there was anything valuable we could salvage. It’s been empty so long we passed the driveway twice because it was so overgrown. The driveway looked like an access trail to the fields. Using the company vehicle, we drove through the brush and came up on the house. There was definitely something about this place that had my attention. There was life to it after being abandoned so long. I get my phone out to get some pictures. It’s dead! My phone is never dead, it’s never died since I’ve had it. With normal use I can go a day and a half, now I can’t even get the screen to come on. I plugged it into the car charger and it came on until the ignition was turned off.

There wasn’t anything to salvage like light fixtures or knobs or neat old things left behind that were meaningless at the time. I was too annoyed to about my phone not working, I couldn’t calm down enough to soak up the surroundings. We didn’t stay long. When we came out of the house the Sheriff was coming up the driveway. We walked over to his car as he got out. We showed him our I.D.’s and let him know we worked for the company that owned the property. What stuck out about him was it seemed like he was having trouble with his radio. Watercolor_#9rs2He wrote down our names and license plate number but just closed it back up and put it in his shirt pocket. He told us no one has ever been back there at that house in the 30 years he’s worked for the county. He’s never been back there and followed the fresh path coming in. We told him we were leaving and he made us pull out before him. Just down the road my phone vibrates. I dig it out of my pocket and its working. I type in my pass code and the home screen comes on. My battery shows it’s ¾’s charged…

Aura Fade

I met a quiet man a few years ago. He kept to himself much like I do. He spoke when he had to and nothing more. At first he would walk by me, not a glance or acknowledgment as we passed. My greetings went unanswered. His aura said he was content. A golden gleam. A color I see a lot around happy energetic and content people. He wore sunglasses everywhere, again just like I do. For a retiree he was active and healthy for his age. He kept a strict walking regimen, every day 1 hour non-stop. He carried himself with confidence.

One day “F” answered my greeting. “Wa-sup Mike” he said. I remember it. A victory won for me. I found out he had served in Vietnam. I didn’t ask questions, but accepted it.

I remember a bad thunderstorm came through one afternoon. “F” was out of his unit. He lived on the upper floors. He was panicked. His face, hidden behind the sunglasses, gave off sheer terror. He moved around too much, restless. His golden aura was empty and hollow, nothing was there. The lightning and clapping thunder intensified. There was no sign of him. The wind pushed the rain hard against the windows and water came in from under the doors. I found out later he was terrified by the sound of thunder and lightening. The storm gave up for that day. “F” appeared at the elevator. Smiling and refreshed. The look of relief and his gold colors returned around him.

For the last few weeks he came out less and less. The random time we passed he was quiet. No acknowledgment. He seemed tired, His aura turning a charcoal and yellow. He walked one day then disappeared. This morning I kept hearing in my twilight, between asleep and awake, “If I don’t see you again, it’s cool”. It sounded like it was spoken. The words stayed in my mind most of the morning. Arriving at work I found the lock box had been opened. My first thought was someone was locked out and the building’s after hours attendant  got them a key. I asked, when I saw her, what happened last night. She didn’t know and reminded me she would call if she ever went into the lock box.

They took “F” away in the emergency squad last night. The neighbor told me they spent a long time inside his unit. Sometimes I wonder how close I really am to people without realizing it.



The Lights Appear Again

Another time I’ve seen the lights was the night we were coming home and took the country roads. We came up to the traffic light at State Route 42. It was just getting dark, the light turned green for us to go. I was in the front passenger seat. I’m pretty sure my friend, Jack, who was driving, didn’t even look to see if there were any cars coming before he started to move. The lights came from my side vision, flashing and circling. I looked and bearing down on us was a semi-truck unable to stop for the red light. I reached over and slammed the gear shift up only making it to reverse. It was enough to stop us and make enough gear grinding noise for Jack to hit the brakes. The truck flew right in front of us. The lights then appeared in front of the windshield. It seemed they were making sure we were o.k. They moved around towards the drivers side and slowly faded out.


Sounds as Colors

I found this today while surfing the Internet. I’ve spoke of this before, now it has a name. But is it the same?

a neurological condition in which an individual experiences sensory inputs with the sensory processing centers of a different sense. The most common form of synesthesia is known as Grapheme Synesthesia and involves cross communication between auditory and visual centers such that those afflicted by it report associating sounds such as music, voices, and environmental noises with colors.