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Why Were You Screaming Last Night?
By Kevin Limiti

A pale moon shines down upon me.

-Was I screaming? I ask

-Yes. You woke everyone up.

I feel bad about it, but I donít remember screaming or being loud. I just remember sitting at my desk working. My book had just been published and Iím a very famous person now. J.K. Rowling knows this. Iíve got about a thousand more years of life; plenty of time to write the greatest story ever told.

The woman with the Jamaican accent herds us into the cafeteria but there is not enough room. Everyone is staring. I feel neither embarrassment nor exclusion. I take my meal of a ham sandwich, ginger ale, and little packets of mayonnaise and sit on a blue plastic chair and eat. The food is great. Itís revitalizing; especially the ginger ale. You need ginger ale to live. Itís like alcohol.

I am sitting there taking notes in my notebook. I am a writer and I have to understand this experience for what it is. It seems like Iíve stumbled upon something grand, and thatís how I feel in the pit of my stomach. I see an Asian girl reading ĎThe Perfect Blueí and I know that book. Iíve read it, and now I want to read it backwards. That way I know what itís really about. Just like the Giver. The Giver was good backwards, but forwards it is a mystery only some can discover. I am an inductee into itís mysteries that began with Plato shouting ĎEurekaĒ so many years ago. An agency dedicated to social good. Everywhere I go there are hints of peopleís involvement. My father is a member, but heís forgotten. His memory will awake now that Iíve ended up here of all places.

The hours are ticking away. I know I am dying, if I am not already dead. The Wayans Brotherís are on TV and it is genius and not a comedy. I weep as I realize how the whole thing is about me. These are all the mistakes Iíve made, all the lies Iíve been told, all the friends Iíve had, good or bad. In the end though, I get the thing that truly matters to me. I became the happiest person alive. The whole cross dressing angle was simply an elaborate metaphor of my attempts to discover who I am. Now I know.

I have to take a shower soon. If I am fearful and I hesitate even for an instant, I will die but if Iím strong and courageous I will pass and will become famous and wealthy. I feel my way along that stretch of hallway that is the green mile, as described in Stephen Kingís novel. I am Rocky Sullivan as I jump into the shower without even taking off my boxers. I am happy though because I know I am alive when that cold water pours all over my body. I take my time and scrub everywhere, then I go to my room. I donít sleep though. I cannot sleep. I try to write, but I want to get out of here. I donít want to stay here any longer. I hate this place.

The watchman is there blocking my exit. He is my son. I know this because he looks just like me. I stare at him. He tells me to go to sleep. He is Folk. He is a doctor or maybe a nurse; reading Mario Puzo. I know itís a good book and I really want to read it backwards, but he tells me he needs this book. He seems upset for some reason and I guess heís either happy for me, but maybe sad. He must know how tough it is for me. Maybe heís already gone through this. Maybe he is me. I want to go to sleep but I feel like I will die. I try to tell him this, but he just tells me to go to sleep.

Maybe I should just die then. I look under my bed. There are needles and syringes everywhere. There are white packets of heroin and cocaine. I can hear them calling. They want me. Theyíre coming after me. I see that guy again too, the big one with the goatee. He is injecting it into himself. Iím scared of him. I want to die. I want to go to sleep.

But I canít. Too much is at stake here. My mind races backwards and forwards without stopping. J.K. Rowling sits in the next room, she is the overlord of this facilty located somewhere in Canada.

Of course, it had to have been in Canada. There was too much at stake in America. Way too much at stake. The cycle was in full effect; everything was coming full circle. First it was the Lord of the Rings, then it was Star Wars, then it was Harry Potter, then it was Fight Club, and itís all me. All of it.

I knew for years that the government was becoming too oppressive, but it wasnít until the last few days that I really began to see just how much in danger we were. Without the overall power to start up a movement with greater political power then in the 60ís, We were a national security threat, and the hints have been dropped so that in some way we could carry out the mission, and in essence gain the happiness we so desired.


------
Insert amusing anecdote here.


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Comments

The following comments are for "Why Were You Screaming Last Night?"
by FinnMacCool

I've come back to this
a few times and been disorientated and bewildered again and again... also been amused, amused like reading Gogol's Diary of a Madman, amused in a way I know I shouldn't be... and vaguely recognising the bizarre but internally entirely logical thought-processes as in some way being my own... but only vaguely, of course. will return here. one of your best- blackly humorous- pieces, I think.

( Posted by: AuldMiseryGuts [Member] On: March 20, 2008 )

a
this piece was published in cause and effect magazine. Please read the whole thing!

( Posted by: FinnMacCool [Member] On: January 31, 2009 )





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