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I don’t know how it is for other writers but for me, the creative thoughts seem to start hitting me when the sun goes down. Before then, I suppose, my thoughts linger somewhere outside, probably in the garden. There always seems to be something outside that needs my attention.
The problem I haven’t been able to conquer is I seem to wake up around seven in the morning, no matter when I went to bed. If I stay up until one in the morning and get up at seven, that’s just not enough sleep. Usually around four in the afternoon my body starts objecting. The cure seems simple enough. Take a nap.
I realize there are those who will say why not just go to bed at a decent time and forget the nap. My answer to that is also simple. Why? I like staying up late. And besides, the more tired I am, the less likely I am to have one of the dreams that haunt my sleep.
My favorite place to nap is at my computer. Surrounding myself with all of my toys seems to help. I firmly believe in living in the past and stepping into my office points to that. My music is a reflection of the fifties and sixties. I have perhaps over a thousand 33 rpm vinyl records along with a few hundred CD’s and a good assortment of cassettes.
I have three computers (each does something different) and a pretty good stereo music system. As good as my speakers are, I usually use headphones. There is something about injecting the music directly into my head. My headphones are the style that completely cover the ear, which of course blanks out the world. All of these things are in an area I can say for sure is a space not intended for so much stuff.
The reason for telling all of this is to set the stage for the story I have to tell. This is actually the second installment in a story you’ll find hard to believe. The first part has already been posted in my blog.
Today was no different from any other. By four o’clock this afternoon my eyes started getting heavy. My body went on automatic pilot and found its way to my desk chair. I turned on the computer, slid in a CD, put on my headphones, and within one song was dead to this world.
That is, until something jarred me awake. Was I dreaming or did this actually happen? When I play a CD on my computer, the screen is half filled with the iTunes box. Not this time.
A man’s face was staring back at me. My mouth dropped open because I knew his name. Tony Moretti is the type of guy a girl just doesn’t forget. He’s obviously Italian. He’s also sexy. I think pure sex would be a better term to use here. He is really handsome. Perhaps the word handsome isn’t the one I’m looking for.
A scar on Moretti’s face started on the fore-head crosses the bridge of his nose, barely missing the right eye and then dropped down across his left cheek, stopping on his jaw to the side of his mouth. His body is that of a god. He’s fantastic in bed and I don’t know a woman who would kick him out for eating crackers. I know what ever inch of his body looks like.
How do I know these things, you might ask. Simple. I created Tony Moretti. He is a product of my lascivious mind. Moretti has been blessed by the gods and is capable of doing things mortals only dream about.
Your next question has to be, if he is a product of my mind, how is it that he’s in my computer looking at me? And, if he’s not real, how do I know it’s him? All very good questions.
I know it’s him because he is like no other man. We’ve all seen these guys on the cover of romance novels. They are a bunch of weenies next to Tony Moretti. And I don’t say that lightly because I know what hunks those guys can be.
“Hello Paidra,” he said.
I think there had to be steam coming out of my T-shirt because I was hot. “Hello, Tony,” I managed to say.
“I’m glad you’re dressed this time.” The last time he saw me I was naked. See the first part of this story for details.
“You saw me?”
“There’s nothing wrong with my eyes, ya know.” I’m not what one would consider an exhibitionists but what he was saying didn’t bother me for some reason. Okay, not too much of an exhibitionists.
“What do you want?” I asked him.
“The same thing as last time,” he answered. “I want you to come with me. Except this time it’s different.”
“Why should I go with you?”
“Because I need you.”
“You’ll have to do better then that,” I told him.
“You created me. I’m in a tight spot and I need you. You’re the only one who can help me.”
What’s a girl supposed to say to that? Here’s a guy who could have just about any woman he wants and he’s telling me he needs me. Not somebody else. Me. I can feel the steam rolling off my body.
“Where would we be going?” I asked, thinking of a few spots perfect for making love.
“San Bruno, California.”
“The National Cemetery.”
“Hot place for a first date,” I deadpanned, somewhat disappointed.
“Are you coming? Maybe I should rephrase that. You’re coming so let’s go.”
He had just issued my marching orders. I knew I had no choice but to go with him. “Exactly how do we accomplish this?”
“Put your hand on the screen and close your eyes. I’ll do the rest.”
“I need to change clothes,” I hastily told him.
“You look fine.”
“At least my top.”
I was wearing white pants so I grabbed the first thing I found, a soft green tunic.
“That’ll do,” I heard him call out. Here I was standing in front of the mirror in a different room and he could still see me. Weird. At least this time I had a bra on. I pulled the tunic over my head as I walked back into the office straightening my hair as best I could.
It’s hard to explain what happened next. I had just put my hands on the screen when I felt my body being pulled through a tube. Was I actually inside the wires of my computer? All of a sudden I broke free of the tube and was hurdling through space. Was this cyberspace?
It felt like just a few seconds when I crashed into something. I had the distinct feeling I was in a vice. Then I knew it was in his arms that surrounded me. Damn! This was even better then I imagined. I felt my body go limp. The love scenes I had written about Tony were nothing compared to this.
I couldn’t speak. Besides, what was there to say? Take me? That’s certainly what was on my mind.
Before I could say anything, I felt motion again. We were traveling faster than I thought possible. What was propelling our movement? Then I knew. It was by the sheer force of his will.
When we stopped, the mist we were in cleared. We were in a cemetery. There were rows and rows of white crosses and an occasional Jewish star. We had to be in San Bruno.
Tony set me down as if I were nothing more than a bag of feathers. Something told me to keep my mouth shut.
Moretti stretched out his hands and called out in a voice familiar to the gods. “Anittas, my brother, and Alalu, my master, hear my petition. The bones before me are those of fallen brothers. Cause these graves to open and let the bones come forth.
“Fill them with the need to destroy my enemies and cover them with a flesh impervious to the weapons of man.”
Moretti then turned to me and held out his hand. Anybody who knows me is aware that I am mute. I have not spoken a word in years. At this moment in time, there was nothing I could say, no matter how much I wanted to be heard. The fact that I could speak to Moretti is itself amazing. Was I actually speaking or just imagining that I was?
“What can I do?” I finally managed to ask.
“You must breath the breath of life into them,” he said with a gravity that even I had never imagined him capable of.
“You are a woman and from woman comes life.”
For a reason I cannot explain, I turned and faced north. A wind began blowing through the cemetery. I could feel it pressing my clothes to my body but I wasn’t cold. Where these words came from I do not know.
“Come to me from the four winds,” I called out. “Come from the north, the south, the east and the west. Enter my body and become the breath of life. Pass into these slain warriors and become their breath of life.”
I could actually see the breath leaving my body. It passed from me to each of the men standing before me. When it passed through the last man, I crumpled to the ground, unable to stand any longer.
Moretti again picked me up as if I were weightless. He held me over his head and again called out to Anittas.
“The woman gives life to all men, Anittas. Swift as an eagle see her home for I must leave.”
I felt myself being caught up by a force I could not see. I looked over at Moretti and he was again the Wolf, the warrior of the gods. There were at least one hundred men standing behind him, ready to obey his every command. They turned and left the cemetery.
The next thing I remember was waking up at my computer. The office chair I sit in isn’t intending for napping. The first thing I do when waking up is to reorganize my body into a functional unit. Today was no different, except I seemed to be a little stiffer then usual.
“Wow, what a dream,” I silently called out as I stretched. Then I looked down at my pants and saw the grass stains that weren’t there when I had sat down. Were these the stains of freshly cut grass that covered the graves of heroes?
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