Encounterparts

Earlier this rain-ravaged morning, just after the clock's impatient hand wavered past midnight, several automobiles materialized out of the fog and quickly filled the numerous parking spaces of the apartment complex. Several humans emerged, and began strolling down the one-lane street while chattering loudly amongst themselves. Being the dedicated recluse that I am, I watched them from behind by my own window, comforted by the security it afforded. Humans: the larger the groups they travel in, the more nervous I am made to feel. They were all shuffling off in some uniform direction, all being magnetized to some central hotspot beyond my field of view. A few minutes later, I decided I would benefit both physically and psychologically from a late evening bicycle excursion to some place where human activity was not so proximate and imminent. By the time I unlocked the chain securing my bike to the post underneath the stairwell, I glanced down the street and noticed at least half a dozen police vehicles, their charming blue bubbles glowing steadily. I could only assume the party was being broken up merely half an hour after it started, which was fine by me. I headed off in the opposite direction to the intersection, and turned northward onto the dipping, winding residential road.

Whenever I coasted over a bridge, I could hear the heavy flow of water beneath them; swollen streams in a mad rush to greet the sea. The rain had subsided momentarily, but tall, dark clouds looming over the ocean promised more. I became lulled, as usual, by the steady growl of the tires rolling along the wet pavement, which occasionally splashed through a deep puddle or flash flood stream flowing across the road. Just as I departed from the residential stretch and left the unpleasantly bright amber street lamps behind, the moon exposed herself in all her gorgeousness. A short stretch along the highway, upon which no potential machines of death happened to pass by, led me to the cemetery ... the place one visits when they wish to be alone, yet in the company of quiet souls. I arrived well after closing time, which according to the sign posted at the entrance occured approximately six hours earlier. The dead certainly do not expect visitors after sunset, after all. I rode quietly up a one lane paved road to the central pavilion, a small shelter built upon a concrete slab which was garnished with two picnic tables. It stood rather modestly beneath a colossal tree whose great crown sheltered several rows of grave stones from the driving rain. The rain was again cascading torentially, and I was relishing it. My bare feet deviated from the concrete path and sunk into the cool, waterlogged grass. A comparable sensation simply does not exist. The falling water inundated the thick mane of fur flowing behind my head and slid down every inch of my body, soaking me to the bone in a matter of moments. I caught a few chills, but I did not mind, for I was one with the celestial atmosphere. I padded down the narrow paths separating row by row of headstones of various geometric shapes and shades. The grass upon which I stepped was short, even, and edged perfectly it seemed. As I ascended up the hill, deeper into the caboodle of neatly organized headstones, my ears perked up. They detected the faint melody of the music from my dreams. The eerie piano score seemed to swoop down from the sky like an ill-behaved pendulum exerting the power to displace mountains. Glancing up at the ghastly layers of clouds, I witnessed the heavy ivory keys being depressed slowly by strangely reptilian fingers. The lifesize replicas of Mary spun slowly in their perches as I passed them by, tormenting me with their ruthless surveillance. Cold, black, sunken eyes; faces blemished with lichens. Another "NO ANIMALS ALLOWED" sign made my fuzzy jaw drop. The subtlest semblance of a murmur for mercy. An awkward pile of decomposing human skulls in which robust spiders weave their webs in the southwest corner. A deep-throated chuckle emanated from behind a banana tree. Patchwork out for blood again, or perhaps sweet elongate fruit. Naturally, not another soul was to be found in this enchanting necropolis, and I wouldn't have it any other way.