Men in Black
Light tore through Jack’s window with the luminosity of a hundred suns. Jack uncoiled from this blankets as a butterfly from its cocoon, not knowing of his newly acquired ability. Feeling unusual, he took a hesitant step upon the floor. Abruptly standing up he experienced a dizzy sensation as his blood rushed from his head to his feet and then back again. After regathering himself, he threw on some tattered clothing, a plaid jacket, grabbed up his skiing equipment, and shot down the staircase. At the bottom he caught the unbearable smell of the grandma’s cooking.
“Grams I’ll be back later, I am going skiing with Don, love you”, Jack hastily spoke out with the intent of avoiding breakfast. Before Jack had even taken a step out the door, his grandma zipped around the corner, grabbed him by the ear, and nearly drug him to the dining table. “Your not going anywhere”, she said with a shrill Italian accent, “till you eat everything I’ve cooked for you!”. “But Grandma, I’m not hungry,” Jack said in one last desperate effort. When he saw the glare she threw at him, he knew there was no way out of it. After eating, Jack got ready and went over to Don’s house.
It was warm outside and the snow was pearly white and fluffy. Green plants and trees gleamed brilliantly in the snow. Along the way Jack came to pass a strange looking character. He stood in an open area where there was nothing but dead wet grass. He looked as if he were watching some people further down the slope anticipating something. He wore all black from his hat to his shoes, except for his gloves. They were a brilliant white, to the liking Jack had never seen before. His gloves clashed with everything to the point of unnaturalness. “Wow”, Jack spoke to himself, “would you take a look at this guy?”.
At that moment the man briskly spun himself around and stared straight at Jack. His eyes glowed red like melted steel. Jack could feel the blood in his veins suddenly burning at his insides, then just as quickly turned icy cold. He stopped, shrugged, and continued on his way to Don’s.
Don
and Jack were soon shooting down the mountainside upon their skies.
When they got to the bottom Jack spotted another man dressed up in
black. “Don”, Jack whispered, “do you see that man
in black over there?” “No”, said Don. “Over
there”, he pointed again trying not to attract the man’s
attention. “No”, he said again, “I don’t see
anyone in that direction.” “He’s right there, as
plain as day, dressed in black with white gloves and glowing red
eyes.” Said Jack. “Ahh, your just pulling my leg”,
Don said with a smile. With a shocked look on his face he said, “No
I’m not”. When Jack said this Don stood up and walked
around where Jack was pointing. “Where is this man in black?”,
Don shouted, “I don’t see anyone, so surely you can’t
either.”
The man heard Don speaking and looked to see to whom he was speaking. Then he fixed his eyes upon Jack. Jack felt his blood heat then chill as it did before, as the man advanced. “Look out”, Jack shouted but it was too late. He knocked Don out of his way like he wasn’t even there. Don surely flew in the air a minimum of six feet. When Jack saw this, he sprinted the other way. The man pursued behind him. As he ran, more men dressed in black came out from behind trees and began chasing him. He then began to slip and they kept coming. The harder he ran the faster they came till finally, light tore through Jack’s window. As Jack wake up from this reoccurring dream he begins to understand that his sub-conscience is trying to make him understand something.
He is drawn to an old box of his fathers personal item that at stored in the attic. Inside the box he finds an old license plate, old news clippings from WWII and a poem written in the 1950s in his father hand.
A Fading Man
Old man, pale and withered,
your time has come to rest.
Today your mortal being
Swiftly fades to the West,
Feeling alone and forgotten,
Doomed to a lonely fate,
Wondering where it all went,
Realizing it’s growing late,
Dim visions from your past
Bring friends that raped you of care,
Always living on the edge,
Falsely loved, inside so bare.
Preston Shepherd
May 26, 1988