Third Meeting

This is Mario's prologue for his work, The Chamber.

Prologue

"Alright, we're stepping off the craft." The astronaut announced, anxiously."This is a day that will be remembered forever." The commander said."Roger. Over." The astronaut got off the craft. "That's... One small step for man... One giant leap for... Mankind..." He looked at the camera and waved. People all over the globe were watching this. The U.S.S.R. watched in awe as their Sputnik launch was soon to be overshadowed by the Apollo. An English photographer captured the view in Leningrad as people stared at the moon. He noticed Chairman Mao was speaking with the Soviet president. He took a snapshot and then noticed some KGB agents looking at the moon with a telescope."They're there!" He exclaimed in Russian. The English photographer, John Sheridan, took advantage of this momentous occasion to take a picture of the moon. He took several shots of it, walking to different areas to get better lighting conditions.He took one more shot and looked at the developing picture. He put it in his bag after it had developed fully, but took a double-take, suddenly noticing something at the corner of his eye.“What in hell has done this!?” He asked, fearfully, as he looked at it. On television sets everywhere, the signal started to cut off. He looked up at the moon and saw nothing that had been on his picture. He opened his bag and let the other photos fall to the ground, then quickly examined them.His hands shook as he did so, and noticed three KGB agents walking in his direction. “Daspedanya comrades, I have some matters to attend to.” John said to them, trying as hard as possible to remain inconspicuous. He continued examining them closely until the agents were within conversation distance.“What are you doing?” One of them asked. “Are you a spy from the U.K.? Answer me!” He looked at John’s bag and quickly confiscated the pictures. He examined the first few, with Mao Zedong in it, and then some later few, with some of the people of Leningrad.“I have a feeling this man is not to be trusted. May I see your passport?” The second agent said. This agent was much taller than the other three, standing slightly taller than John’s height, and looking as if he had a strong build. Knowing he had to, John took out his passport nervously and showed them.“Uh-huh.” The first agent said. “English photographer? You were just let into Leningrad? Comrades, I think this to be unusual. A bit out of place. So, ‘John,’ what are you acting so strange about?”“This!” John replied, showing them the picture of the moon. The agents looked on in disbelief, until the tall one grabbed it and stared with a fearful expression. One looked up at the moon, then back at the picture.“Lies! These documents are false. How would this ever be possible?” The tall one said. “Who are you really?”“I’m an English photographer, and my name is John Sheridan. I have no business spying, and I won’t. So, if you can kindly just-“ He was interrupted when he realized the agents weren’t going to allow him to leave easily. “On second thought, I hope you have a wonderful Red Army parade, and I’ll see you another time. Goodbye!” John grabbed the picture, turned around, and ran. He didn’t care that the agents had confiscated most of the pictures, but the one picture of the moon was all that was important.“I’m going to be rewarded for this, and hopefully get paid a lot. This baby is my ticket out of this Communist dirt hole!” He muttered, running as guards came after him. “And these Soviet men are never going to catch me!” He jumped off of a hill and rolled down. When he thought he had escaped them, he got up and dusted himself.“Hope I can buy some new glasses for this.” He said. “The John Lennon look isn’t doing it for me.” He looked around his surroundings. The bottom of a hill, grassy, with a small river a few meters away. The only trees in sight were the one next to John on his side of the river, and the small forest on the other side.“I make my escape now.” John ran across the narrow river and into the small forest area. At the top of the hill, a few agents looked on in frustration while two guards climbed down to investigate.John made his way through a few trees, avoiding dense bushes and sliding past narrow tree gaps. He stopped at the parking lot that he had parked his car in. He pulled his keys out of his jacket pocket hurriedly, and walked to the car with small bursts of running movement. He stopped at the car running, inserted the keys, and opened the door.He stepped inside the car, placed the picture in a small compartment, and proceeded to power the car. He turned it on and drove out, trying to look inconspicuous to any guards and pedestrians.On a small notepad in the car, he wrote, using a pen near it, about his discovery. He drove as quickly as possible on the road back to the U.K. He drove along with seemingly no problems, and made his way out, driving for a couple of hours, stopping every now and then at a gas station.While on an interstate road in Germany, he pulled aside to finish writing his report. He opened a box of some food he bought while in Leningrad and began eating, then stepped outside to fill his tank with some gas. He grabbed a tank and began filling it up.He looked up at the moon, and noticed how remarkably normal it was. “Something is going on there, and I’m betting it’ll cause some problems in the future. Well, no use worrying, I’ll send my report and photo to some people in America and let them take care of it. It’s not my problem.” While nobody seemed to be looking, however, a small white flash that looked like lightning, spread around the moon’s orbit, then stopped and faded away. It looked as if there was some other form of life up there, not just Neil Armstrong.“I guess they weren’t the first on the moon.” John remarked in his report. “Something beat them to it.” He remembered what the picture is of, and always will. It's been burned into his very soul.The picture shows the moon. A bright moon, most definitely contrasting with the pure blackness of the sky, space, and beyond. No indication of human life seems to be on the photo, except for one thing. Hovering around the moon, invisible to the naked eye, caught by a poor man's camera, is a black cloud. A black, flashing cloud, with millions of red dots. They seem blurred, as if in motion.On this cloudless night, the first step was taken that could lead to a breakdown in the very thing holding the two together. It's otherworldly, not of our plane of reality.

I Rest for Peace

I look back upon my life, and then come to realize

Things have changed before my ancient eyes

They won't come back, I have no second chance

I should make the most of my time left

Not as a warrior, not as a heroI just want to live as a man

How my life had changed when I walked up that place

What started as a journey, had soon become a race

And though I had failed, I brought myself up again

To fight for their lives, whom I brought to an end

They were my only friends, they cared for me

I continued for them, knowing that they would have wanted it

My journey cut short, as did their lives thereI could not bear it,

I lived in despairI sought to continue, and in that

I realizeI learned what I fought for, and it was never too late

Second MovementI cared deeply so, yet she died to my blade

And to think, my own cause, my path did fade!

I never fully knew what it was like to love

But her final sacrifice turned out for me

She let herself die, to keep me safe

But I destroyed her in turn, and now my heart aches

I can not see, why it was me

And her words still echo, to let it be

I knew not what she meant back then

But I see that I look forward, not back

I sit here, a lonely old man, my youth full of misery

Had I not gone ended them all,

I might not be so mutilated

My journey cut short, as did her life there

I could not bear it,

I lived in despair

I sought to continue, and in that I realize

I learned what I fought for, and she had helped me learn

Final MovementI ended the dark that blocked out the light

Because I was wrong, yet he was not rightHis end lifted me up, but now is that

I seeThat revenge would not brighten my misery

I wandered, searching for the way, searching for my way

And remained lost, no answer, no change in sight

And so I learned the truth, I realized what is

That life is meant for living, not frowning back to his

I help out younger generation, cloaked in a lonely shadow

Now it does not haunt me, does not stop me, no hindrance

I now live to help, as they did so for me

Just help one young warrior, not to repeat my mistakes

They lived their lives not knowing their fate

I live it now the same, and I find that I am late

My schedule keeps me going, to remember what it was

They lived to help, their courage never died

My journey cut short, and so my life thereI could not bear it,

I lived in despairI sought to continue, and in that

I realized

I learned what I fought for, and now

I Rest for Peace

Second Meeting

We had a great meeting with excellent readings from Krystal, Natalie, Karen, David, Mario and Bayardo. All kinds of writing, including prose fiction, poetry and this memoir from Bayardo Lacayo. GREAT WRITING GUYS!!

Concealed Infinity

Solitude. Most people would forget to acknowledge Time and its solace. These moments in which nothing happens. We shrug it off, defining memoirs as a collection of events, and defining events as something that happens – an occurrence. And yet, during these times of solitude, we think. I cannot write of this as any specific “event”, seeing as nothing “happened”. I could write of my eyelids opening and closing, or my chest rising and falling, but it would be irrelevant. Instead, all I can think of is my thinking, appreciating Time and its solitude, but first, despising it.

I rose from my bed, paced back and forth, rearranged my desk supplies, turned off the television, made my bed, and jumped back in. 327 ticks. I remember that clearly. The saying “idle hands are the devil’s tools” comes to mind, but I firmly believe that we are our own devils. With free Time, we are given to opportunity to evaluate ourselves, and at times, we do not like what we see. So we long for anything to do.

Against my better judgment, I decided to think. My original thoughts were to find something to do. Anything. But I failed miserably. “Tick,” whispered the Clock. A little over five and a half minutes had passed, and I felt I had done nothing. The popcorn ceiling began to stare at me, taunting my very existence. It had a single purpose: it kept the elements from breaching into my home. Plenty more than I could say of myself.

Frustrated, I began to think of insignificant details, wondering how many dots there were on the ceiling in my room. “Tick,” murmured the Clock. But then something interesting happened: I began to think on a larger scale. First, the number of dots on the ceiling in my house, followed by the amount of dots in my apartment complex. “Tick,” pleaded the Clock. Eventually, I reached galactic proportions. The number of stars in the universe began to interest me. The number of stars, the number of galaxies, the number of numbers in the world. And still, the only number that truly mattered was the number of ticks that had passed by.

To be honest, all I remember is that my tiny blue Clock kept on ticking; the incessant ticking filling the role of an old man’s beating heart. “Tick”, yelled the Clock. But a part of me realized that I could use Time to learn, not to stagnate like I had been doing. Time was not the enemy. We are our own enemies, not taking advantage of Time’s presence. “Tick,” roared the Clock. The Clock was not mocking me, nor was it attacking me. Instead, it was reminding me of what I could do with Time. It was then and there that I realized that instead of hoping for Time to fly by, I should hope for it to (forgive the pun), “take its sweet time.” And yet, I still think to myself: Will somebody shut up that damn Clock?

David Dominguez

Suffering

It is the thumping in my head

It is the droop in my eyes

It is the ringing in my ears

It is the flare in my nose

It is the distaste in my mouth

It is the stiffness in my neck

It is the throb in my chest