Gondwanaland (© Jesus Riddle Morales)
Page 1 Prologue Humanity. Is
there -- was there ever such a thing? The old house Sarah walked through proved
to be dilapidated beyond repair. It stood monolithically as a sign, which
represented man’s failure in the world. Sarah stumbled through the abandoned
house. The walls ran thick with blood and filth. All around her, the floor
began to shake and the walls seemed like they were breathing. In stark concern
and repelling her fear with every ounce of courage, Sarah yelled out at the
moving figures outside. Their dark silhouettes created an emotionally perverse
frame, as she looked toward the dirty windowsill. "Who’s
there?" she shouted. The silence
was stubborn and her question remained unanswered. In a daring motion, she
bravely stepped forward to the creaking door. For a queer moment all was
silent, but then - Blam! The door busted open and a horde of wild-eyed "things"
fell in the house like guts pouring from a severed belly. In that terrifying
instant, she woke up. The
cheeseburgers were burning on the grill and Sarah shook off the last vestiges
of her nightmare. In response, another waitress came to comfort her. She had
seen Sarah twitching about in a mad, fitful slumber. "Hey
darling, what’s wrong, are the tips in this place that bad?" "I - I’m
sorry, replied Sarah. "It’s just that I’ve been working the graveyard shift for
too long. I was hoping Vera would let me off of work this Saturday."
Her coworker just smiled and gave her savvy opinion on the restaurant's
infamous work ethics.
"Baby, keep dreaming! As long as the truckers keep filling this place up like a
damned nighttime, concert hall, our lives will be spent dishing out the
meatloaf special and the wild turkey surprise!"
Sarah liked Mina; she was the kind of friend that would always be there to
help; the kind you could count on. As Sarah turned back and noticed her boss’s
insistent stare to get back to work, she patted Mina on the back and set off to
her chores.
"Thanks for the wake up call, Mina. I’m glad boss Vera didn’t catch me
snoozing!"
Sarah had a peculiar trait as a Mexican woman. Her eyes were a beautiful,
pale-blue. This is odd among Hispanics, but she figured she inherited the blue
eyes from her Spaniard grandfather. Either way, it was just one more feature
that drew a queer attraction to her already, stunning image. Sarah thought that
her beauty often made things a bit easier for her and was glad to have been so
fortunate. However, she did carry a heavy feeling of inadequacy; she always
felt that she wasn’t very confident in anything. Despite the girl’s attractive
looks, Sarah was far from being conceited; in fact, she actually felt that she
was ugly at times. Her coworker waved for her attention and broke Sarah’s
thoughts.
"No sweat, just keep working on that accent of yours; down here we’re used to a
southern slang, but Vera’s a bit worried the customers won’t understand the
orders. You know -- since you got such a heavy Mexican accent and all. But hey,
don’t sweat it, honey; everybody loves you here. Shoot, Vera even calls you her
young Rita Moreno!"
As Sarah watched the clock pass time, she waited on tables, dealt with cranky
old men, and gingerly rejected the usual advances from lovesick truckers with
more than their share of rude sexual antics. But despite this, the restaurant
was like a home to her and Mina was right; everybody did love her here, even boss
Vera. As her shift came to a close and the sun began to rise, she was looking
forward to settling down in her comfortable bed. However, she couldn’t help to
wonder if she’d get a long-awaited, good rest or more visits from her
purple-skin, dreamtime boogiemen. The Experiment The night was falling in the city and the street urchins were out in full
force. While men and women passed by the busy streets complaining about one
petty thing or another, above them, a full moon raged in it's glowing
brilliance. Lovers walked hand in hand among the elevated train tracks and
policemen passed by city block corners with a suspicious eye. It was the
typical urban experience that Greg Weir was comfortably used to.
"Come on, baby - You can’t trick the lord!"
That was the message the dirty, homeless man repeated night after night. He was
a man that Greg had seen on dozens of occasions as he traveled through the dim
subway station. Greg always rode the train to work, because it was much faster
and solved the frustrating problem of finding a parking space near his downtown
lab. [ Continue to page 2 ] |