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Riding the Horse in 69
Hey you got it? Yeah man! Well motherfucker hurry up; I'm like a freakin puta in heat. Cono, shut the fuck up and let me cook it up already. I wanna ride the horse baby, that's all.
They took out a bent spoon and filled it with a little stuff then put the lighter to it. Their faces were tense; the little time they waited for it to cook was in torment. I could imagine their stomachs turning as one of them took off his belt and wrapped it around his arm. He said, 'hurry motherfucker, I can't wait. Dame la cura or I'm gonna shit myself.'�
The guy cooking the stuff was nervous. He pulled out the needle, filled it, and started injecting the other guy who grabbed it and screamed, 'fuck you marricone.'�
They fought for a moment then the guy with the belt wrapped around his arm fell down. The guy cooking the stuff cried out, 'nah man, that shit was mine too.'� The man on the floor didn't get up. He had foam at the mouth. The other guy pulled the needle out, kicked him, and ran outside.
They were so taken by that horse that it rode away with their souls and they didn't notice the little kid sitting at the top of the stairs. I remained silent for a while and watched as the quake took over his body. His arm was twisted and the veins were like long tentacles reaching out for something.
This marked the beginning of my summer vacation.
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Great piece. Following up the visual on the veins with the realization that this is normal to a child is brilliant.
It could have gone so many ways, seeing this so young, and probably did. You've taken some of lifes scrap metal and welded it into a piece of art for us. Nice to see that writing is where it brought you.
Katherine |
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Comment by: zepol - 2007-04-26 08:32
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| Thank you; youâ??re very kind. I did submit it to a couple of anthologies and literary magazines. And youâ??re right, the little boy in this piece was me, I was about eleven or twelve. Back then, I lived in Spanish Harlem and had to battle the junkies and pushers. Our creator hit me with the lucky stick; all my childhood friends are either dead, in jail, or missing. I am lucky to be alive. Once again thanks. |
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OMG! This just blew me away, I have to tell you, one of the finest contemporary pieces of prose I have ever read in my life!
The last line, at first read, seems out of place, it is such a stark contrast to the work above it, but in life nowdays, its hard, its real and that shit happens.
The words you have chosen are too right for you not to have been there. I know, you are an incredibly strong person to come through experiences like that and be able to share your heart with strangers. I am truly impressed!
I would like to think, Hector, that this comes from your imagination, but I know better than that.
This is powerful! Thats what I wanted to say. The phrasing is excellent, it's urban and raw without being forced and without being vulgar.
I would suggest you submit this for publication to as many places as you can think of, I cant imagine it not being accepted immedietly if you choose wisely.
best of luck!
NJ |
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