Three Names

I'm numb. It's the sum of all fears. Nothing's clear and the Grim Reaper's whispering in my ear. He said he's near.

My city's engulfed by the sea. People around the country watch helplessly as they wonder how many Katrina will seize before she destroys and leaves. It's my birthday. I'm turning 23. At 5:08, I'm awake just in time to escape from the back door of my home. Flashing waters. Floating bodies. Now I'm residing in the Super Dome.

They said we'll be sheltered but they're not obligated to feed us. The roof is falling. What's the difference? Inside or outside? Hunger or thunder? In some way, the storm's bound to defeat us. No money to get out so I guess they didn't need us.

I wish once more I could play my guitar. On my cell phone, I have one bar and I used it to call family back home. I heard through the grapevine that Celine Dion made an appearance on CNN. With sincere tears, she spoke for me when she said we need immediate help and prayers more than her ends. I feel like we're observed with blind eyes, sort of like Apartheid and the Rwandan Genocide. It's ironic. Not many nights ago, I dreamt I drowned in the most unlikely of places. Does that mean the washing away of phases? Or a revelation? My soon-to-be expiration.

I'm weak. And to look past this is like trying to sell cocaine. There's no gain. Like Spokane, slow rains wash hopes down drains. Rumors of murder. Blood stains grow like Rogaine. Intense pain goes untamed with no shame. Who's to blame? I can't give in. I'll continue to fight.

Who am I? My name is Mike.

I have to keep believing. Something has to give. I can't stop breathing. I want to live.

I'm packing my bags, ready to step into life all alone. I'm not worried about lonely nights. I just want to take flight and disappear into the night before he comes home. Heavy fists drop on my body cavity like gravity. If I tell them about Daddy, I'm scared they'll be mad at me. But I have a strategy. Because last night I woke up from my rest, holding my chest and trying to catch my breath. Because in my dream a man left a bloody mess on my doorstep. And it was me. Watch your step. You won't believe what you'll see in the corridors of my mind. I swear he'll kill me. I'm running out of time.

It's my birthday. I'm 16 years old. I've been raped since 10. I can't escape and people wonder why I don't feel comfortable around men. Sometimes I think it's my fault. Other times I just wonder why. This stings like cuts and salt. I pray but I don't know if God hears my cries.

He beats me in the chest so he can hide the evidence.

My name is Evelyn.

I have to keep believing. Something has to give. I can't stop breathing. I want to live.

So, I'm into big business. Of a company, I'm the owner. For a better life, I moved my family to California. Now it's stressing out my wife because our son is selling white on the corner. The mood's somber. My kid's a loner. I only thought this happened in the world of the poor. My son got a hold of the boy next door. He got him strung out. Now he's shooting up with the whores and stealing from his parents. It's that crack. He's wanting more. He had a bright future but it's wasted because his mind's gone. His parents just can't take it and they wish he'd simply come home. Now the only time they see him out is on the streets. Glossy eyes. Rotten teeth. Sporting coats in 103-degree heat.

And I'm blaming myself because quality time was not invested. Now my son is frustrated, feeling so rejected. Thinking he's neglected, he ran into that Vest kid who introduced him to the streets. And now his mind's infested. I didn't think this would happen. So how could I expect it? This game is a shame and I wish I could reset it.

Now I'm crying on my birthday. I'm turning 42. I'm thinking of my son. What's a father going to do? I thought this was fantasy but now I know it's true. If it's happening to me, pay heed, I can see you standing in my shoes. I saw the evidence but I didn't have a clue. I'm wondering how I'll make it through.

So, with no immunity I'm reaching out in my community. I stand next to other soldiers in the battlefield. I never want another to feel what I feel. I'm just another parent of a teen who got killed.

My name's Neil.

I have to keep believing. Something has to give. I can't stop breathing. I want to live.

---EOB.