Stray Hearts (© Jesus Riddle Morales)
Page 1 "Tom. Tom Preston, wake up!" A thirty-four year old history teacher screamed that sentence, while staring
into a dirty mirror tilted on the brick wall of an alley. It was getting dark
and the rain hadn’t subsided. His image was grossly distorted in the wet mirror
and he wondered why a huge mirror was hanging on the grimy wall of a city
alley. More so, he was getting scared. It had been three hours since he left
his home and got lost. He knew that he should not be lost. Tom lived in San
Francisco for years. How could he have gotten so lost from walking for only
three hours? He thought. Then suddenly a revelation hit him like a rock. "I’m in some kind of ruined ghetto, but there are no people here. I haven’t
seen one person in this part of town yet. Maybe it’s this damn rain. Maybe
people are just tucked away from the rain." Tom said starting to feel more
embarrassed than afraid. The dark city was wet and dirty. Strewn garbage littered the streets and
oddball trinkets like stuffed teddy bears and gold-plated watches seemed
purposely abandoned to the narrow walkways. It was a weird an unpleasant place.
Grimy patches of peeling paint and rotted wood were regular sights as Tom kept
walking. Soon, he realized he needed to take cover. The rain never seemed to
stop and he didn’t want to risk his health. He yelled loudly into the street,
desperate to get the attention of anyone in town. "Hello? Is anybody out there? I’m lost, I need directions!" Tom cried out over
the gurgling sounds of loud rain drops and rolling thunder. Yet no one answered back. He gazed high this time, taking a long panoramic look
over the broken windows of all the dreary abandoned buildings around him. He
saw not even a hint of light in them. "Dear God, this entire place seems empty. It’s like everyone was evacuated from
here." He quipped begrudgingly. Tom ran under a bus stop’s wooded rooftop. Like everything else in the strange
and unfamiliar borough, it was old and decrepit. He sat down on the bench,
twisting the long sleeves of his shirt to drain the rain that soaked him. He
felt desperation setting in. He was confused. Where was he? How did he get
here? Tom wrestled with these questions as he fought to recall the last thing
he did before walking to the cold and ominous ghetto. Shards of splintered
memories entered his fractured psyche. He recalled meeting his wife under a
bridge in the park. He gave her a glass of orange juice. Then, his mind grew
stubborn and his memories hit a stumbling block. "My wife, Mercy – what happened to Mercy?" Tom whispered in deep thought. "She
was in the park with me. I remember telling her to meet me there. Tom sat in the dim light of the violet moon, depressed, afraid, and confused.
What had happened to him? And why was he there? Still, he did not know and just
when he felt all answers would evade him, he saw a glimmer of light rushing past
an aged phone booth. It was a frail woman. She had deep black hair, cut in an
Asian style and she limped as she ran into a rustic dime store. "Hey, wait! I need your help. Don’t run away, I won’t hurt you!" Tom yelled
trying to raise his voice over the ever present sounds of thunder. But the girl did not stop; she slammed the thick glass door of the small
storefront as he took chase after her. Upon reaching the nervous woman, he
knocked outside until he heard her voice. It was a queer mousy voice, shaky and
afraid. "Get away from me!" She shouted through a crack in the glass door’s window
pane. "I’m not bothering you, please, just let me be." "I’m trapped here, I don’t belong here – I’m lost." Tom explained. To his surprise, she opened the door a crack and peeped through a small hanging
chain link that kept it secure. He caught only a sliver’s glimpse of her, but
already, he knew she was beautiful. She had a somewhat rare appearance, as Tom
could tell that she was an Asian woman with striking blue eyes. "I never saw a Chinese woman with eyes like yours." Tom replied a bit surprised
that he even said that. [ Continue to page 2 ] |