Charles Pendelton
      © 2008 Marty Langdon
Chapter 31.5

                         Farewell my dearest love

Suddenly, I began to feel strangely surreal. As if I were standing in the presence of a ghost

or loved one who had long since passed. So intense now, was this feeling of warm breath
upon my neck, and the mild sensation of a woman's fingers moving across the borders of
my back in her most vulnerable hour. When I realized what was happening, I immediately
left the room, telling Rich to stay there. Running downstairs in a hurry, I rounded the
kitchen, before bolting through the living room; everything spinning out of control.

I was having a psychotic break.

I approached the fireplace, I had a complete emotional breakdown and fell to my knees
upon the cold tile floor. I began to tremble and could not stop the outpouring of tears.

Harmony, I said in a child's voice, and waited for an answer that would never come.

Such loving bliss; one which had torn my heart asunder was laid to rest.

So free are you now my love, to come and go as you please. To wander
this earth or to abandon even I, whom you said you never would. In the
end, I would have not even a small tombstone to visit. Not to mention the
beautiful picture of her, I used to carry with me in my back pocket. One
I can no longer find. I then remembered, it was in the wallet I lost last year.

Through closed eyes, I could envision a very faint buzzing sound. There I
imagined myself
in a tattoo parlor with the top of my head exposed. Looking
at it from a philosophical
point of view, my outer shell seemed to resemble a
hairy carapace, as it rested like
an ashtray on this oblong table. This didn't
seem to bother me in the least. As the
noise grew louder, which I perceived
to be a streetlight buzzing in front of the house, I saw a man tattooing an
image along the entire side of my
cerebral cortex.

Funny, I thought as I inhaled a tear; my brain looks like a hedge

Of course, I knew this was all part of the game. When you observe yourself
leaving your own body; it's wise to know it's just your mind tricks on you.
Through all this confusion, there was no pain in the physical sense,
I could
From a cognitive perspective, however, I had become distraught.

I then saw the scenario as I hovered invisibly from a distance.

Like a homemade film without sound from the turn of the century that has
gradually faded into a delicate brown tint resembling a sepia photograph.

As the needle moved around the soft interconnected brain tissue, that I always
thought would look ropy,
like a bowel, I was able to see an image forming.
The more he tattooed, the more I saw
until finally his work was complete.

He then picked up a small hand held mirror that
appeared to be crafted
of steel. The metal was smooth yet shiny, and that
stable composition
which held the liquid glass in place was truly something
to behold.

                                                                               Pg 161

Not only did it show me the extent of his work in a lead contrast, but also, that
the living ink had begun to seep down into the encephalons of my neural fibre.
From there, it descended down a single vertebra and flowed out around the
spiral ganglion region. It was around this time that I began to hear strange
whispers. I wasn't sure what to make of this scene as a whole, but I knew
my subconscious mind had awakened, and was now in control of the ship.

                                            What else could it be?

                      I only analyze the drug's effect, I don't study it in a lab.

As I continued to look, I found the likeness to be uncompromisingly convincing
in every detail of its alluring appearance. It was the image of my long lost love.
As I continued to mull it over, I would surely find that from the other side of Heaven,
my lover had given me a most generous bequest. Through careful observation,
I could almost see in my peripheral vision what appeared to be a woman standing.

He then recapped my skull on its tiny cranial grapples.
This brought it back to its original air tight seal.

“Thank you,” I said quivering, unable to stop my hearts wanting.

That incessant need to hold her in my arms again. Some wounds never heal,
no matter how much time passes. So now, I shall carry her eidetic image with
me forever, to gently caress in my final moments. The image of my beautiful
angel will neither blur nor fade, regardless of how many years may pass.

And how was I to know that he could only be paid in tears?

As emotionally taunting and arduously painful as this is going
to be for
me to relive again, I feel this story must now be told.
Our story. . . Finally. 

Harmony was an aspiring artist who moved here from the San
Francisco bay area, shortly
after the collapse of the psychedelic
movement and the Haight and Ashbury scene dispersed.

                                                                               Gary Scruggs - Gentle when you say the word

Since the age of fourteen she had been living with her Aunt Sofia in Alameda,
and had recently graduated high school with top honors. At the age of
eighteen she arrived and as fate would have it, her parent's house was
located directly across the street from where we resided.

Harmony's parents had numerous textile companies in India, and
her older brother Sanjit owned and operated his own antique
furniture store down in Stapleton, for as long as I can recollect.

I remember going there with my maternal grandfather, when I was only three.
How the old sofas and dressers adorned the showroom. Several months after
her arrival, Harmony began to work there, and together they got along like
two playful cats. All in all, it was safe to say they were quite well off.

                                                                               Pg 162

Nataliya Maize - Your writing just amazes me. I honestly don't know what to say, but I
do feel that someone with your caliber deserves to be published, I feel like this is something
I could easily find sitting on the bookshelf of a Barnes and Nobles, or Borders. Great Job!

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PG 161) L'instant Hypophonique by Wojtek Siudmak -

PG 161) Bangle seller by Raju

PG 161) Let me pick your brain by Myne

PG 162) Flight to the future by Wojtek Siudmak -

PG 162) Crying boy by Bruno Amadio AKA Giovanni Bragolin-

PG 162) The wild beauty by Raju