Prose Citizen Unknown

 Adam Guerra, staff writer

 

My mind takes me back to the better days.

A pounding pride remains deep, beating in my heart, pulsating in my

veins, the very fiber of my body, the very fiber of raw emotion. My

heart stops and images fade. I am colorblind now, no more red or

blue, green or yellow...My vision is set on newspaper perception and

newfound reflection. I am a citizen unknown. Bury me with questions,

and I will rise from the dead with answers. I will form a collage of

opinions and facts that I will only know. I will form a conundrum to

separate the sober from the inebriated.

Like the wind to push us back, I am a form of positive and negative

responses, I will tell you the truth and reason out the flaws as they are

unfiltered and dripping with silent-tongued rules. A pre-associative

mind takes over as the exhausted body entwines with the thoughts

and subconscious of a precocious child, too young to know of the

consequences brought by actions seldom caused.

Yes, it’s true. I am part of a select few, an almost extinct species with

no capability of surviving the next wave of malice brought towards me.

My heart beats once again, the veins pulsing out streams of oxygen,

the life restored. As the eyes proceed out of vision in the madness of

all this confusion, a simple question comes to mind, "where has the

innocence gone?”

The question is simple, but in complexity it has a certain rule to abide

by. Innocence, it’s fading away like the time of a life turning round, if

only we can fly through all the mess that life brings. Maybe then will

we find a nirvana of sorts?

I am the footsteps on the sidewalk with

hands stretched, tattooed with a hollow wooden body crucifix awaiting

the signs of misconstrued comments. My heart stops once

more...Second chances don't come twice, and the sunny day brings

out opportunities for a nine-life curiosity.

Engulfed by common courtesy foundations, I lift up off the pad lock

imprisonment, latched to the bones connecting the forearms to my

hands and break free from false destiny and inevitable prosecution. My

eyes open- the darkest of nights dull from the stolen stars put away in

a light-tight box forming the photographic memory reaching too far

into the sky.

My heart starts for the last time- the beating commences

until no more, then a little is heard from the most sensitive of the deaf

ear. Pushing through further, the automatic trickle stained distractions

pull and tug the skin until the wrinkle of shame-written innocence

comes into play.... confusing, its equations turn nothing more but

dust and it is shadowed over by something smaller in size but more

meaningful in thought. Reverse figments.