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Authors: Lester Suggs
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less pronounced. He was tall and his arms were mantis-like in appearance. Griffin drew upon the insect qualities in his mind. The eyes were blue, glowing blue, ridiculously blue. The being wore a thickly woven shirt of heavy white linen embroidered with what looked like pure gold strands.
"Who are you?" Griffin asked.
"You already know,” the other said.
"You are Gabriel, the Herald of God, the Archangel of Doom,” Griffin said, trance-like.
"And you are the vessel of wisdom, Griffin,” Gabriel replied matter-of-factly. "Through you I seek the messenger of God.”
Griffin came back to Ninth Avenue in a thunder crack of sound and sensation.
He found himself seated, palms cooling on the granite bench. Griffin's mouth, like his mind, was dry and cottony. He stood and turned left and looked across Penn Avenue, right and looked south to Liberty Avenue.
“What?” bounced around in Griffin's head. So did, “I’m losing my mind.” “What?” “Why?” “Alone?” “What is happening?"
Turning back towards the bench, Griffin saw the pear core on the sidewalk in front of where he had been seated.
“I was here,” Griffin said to the bench. The bench didn't reply. However, Griffin thought if it did, bench conversation would not have frightened him now.
“I was here,” thought Griffin. "Was I there?"
Griffin sat back down upon the bench.
“I can't do this. I can't fall apart like this,” Griffin tried to reason. He put his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands and did his very best to hold onto this reality. Gathering up the paper sack and pear core, torn between reality and somewhere else, Griffin carried his numbness to his office tower. After gathering his personal belongings from his desk, Griffin took the stairs down to the fifteenth floor, so he wouldn’t run into any of his peers. The request for PTO nearly broke Griffin. The short ten minutes made him feel less than worthless. He felt broken. Griffin imagined the strange looks he got were normal from the counselor in Human Resources. But for Griffin, the looks only darkened his spirit.
Two weeks alone to get his shit together.
As Griffin took the elevator down to the garage floors, he tried to hold himself together until he could get home. He held himself back from crying out for help. Did he have a chemical imbalance? Was he exposed to a harmful chemical? Griffin searched his limited memory of his family's mental history. He couldn’t recall any comments about or meetings with of relatives who were complete whackos. He walked up to his car and clicked the remote to unlock his driver’s door. Fear rushed over Griffin's scalp. Could he drive home? What if he hallucinated again? He leaned against his car and blew out a ragged breath.
“Hold it together for a little longer, buddy.” Griffin said.
Moments later Griffin turned left onto Penn Avenue.
Broken Hearts
Mala heard the front door buzzer and wondered why no one else in her family ever answered the door. Despite the noise, food, guests, and general distractions on a typical Indian house party, Mala expected at least someone in her family to realize someone else was at the door. Making her way to the door Mala scanned the room for her children, especially the honoree, Itishree. Mala made a mental note to hunt for her eldest once the door was tended. She could use a hand with the last of the food trays in the kitchen.
Opening the door, Mala was surprised to find Suresh, the boy she and her husband had chosen for Itishree. Mala could easily recall how Suresh, then an early teen, had appeared: afraid and bewildered. In the years since the families met, Suresh had grown into a handsome young man. However, also throughout those nine years Itishree shunned Suresh each time the parents arranged visits.
And as sure as Shiva was the Destroyer, here Suresh stood, handsome as ever. "Good evening, Mrs. Aledar, How are you this evening?"
“Well, I am well, Suresh,” Mala replied with a
"Who are you?" Griffin asked.
"You already know,” the other said.
"You are Gabriel, the Herald of God, the Archangel of Doom,” Griffin said, trance-like.
"And you are the vessel of wisdom, Griffin,” Gabriel replied matter-of-factly. "Through you I seek the messenger of God.”
Griffin came back to Ninth Avenue in a thunder crack of sound and sensation.
He found himself seated, palms cooling on the granite bench. Griffin's mouth, like his mind, was dry and cottony. He stood and turned left and looked across Penn Avenue, right and looked south to Liberty Avenue.
“What?” bounced around in Griffin's head. So did, “I’m losing my mind.” “What?” “Why?” “Alone?” “What is happening?"
Turning back towards the bench, Griffin saw the pear core on the sidewalk in front of where he had been seated.
“I was here,” Griffin said to the bench. The bench didn't reply. However, Griffin thought if it did, bench conversation would not have frightened him now.
“I was here,” thought Griffin. "Was I there?"
Griffin sat back down upon the bench.
“I can't do this. I can't fall apart like this,” Griffin tried to reason. He put his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands and did his very best to hold onto this reality. Gathering up the paper sack and pear core, torn between reality and somewhere else, Griffin carried his numbness to his office tower. After gathering his personal belongings from his desk, Griffin took the stairs down to the fifteenth floor, so he wouldn’t run into any of his peers. The request for PTO nearly broke Griffin. The short ten minutes made him feel less than worthless. He felt broken. Griffin imagined the strange looks he got were normal from the counselor in Human Resources. But for Griffin, the looks only darkened his spirit.
Two weeks alone to get his shit together.
As Griffin took the elevator down to the garage floors, he tried to hold himself together until he could get home. He held himself back from crying out for help. Did he have a chemical imbalance? Was he exposed to a harmful chemical? Griffin searched his limited memory of his family's mental history. He couldn’t recall any comments about or meetings with of relatives who were complete whackos. He walked up to his car and clicked the remote to unlock his driver’s door. Fear rushed over Griffin's scalp. Could he drive home? What if he hallucinated again? He leaned against his car and blew out a ragged breath.
“Hold it together for a little longer, buddy.” Griffin said.
Moments later Griffin turned left onto Penn Avenue.
Broken Hearts
Mala heard the front door buzzer and wondered why no one else in her family ever answered the door. Despite the noise, food, guests, and general distractions on a typical Indian house party, Mala expected at least someone in her family to realize someone else was at the door. Making her way to the door Mala scanned the room for her children, especially the honoree, Itishree. Mala made a mental note to hunt for her eldest once the door was tended. She could use a hand with the last of the food trays in the kitchen.
Opening the door, Mala was surprised to find Suresh, the boy she and her husband had chosen for Itishree. Mala could easily recall how Suresh, then an early teen, had appeared: afraid and bewildered. In the years since the families met, Suresh had grown into a handsome young man. However, also throughout those nine years Itishree shunned Suresh each time the parents arranged visits.
And as sure as Shiva was the Destroyer, here Suresh stood, handsome as ever. "Good evening, Mrs. Aledar, How are you this evening?"
“Well, I am well, Suresh,” Mala replied with a
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