July 22, 2012
The Icy Puck II

 Funny how you’re finally comfortable and everything is finally falling into the right places and then in an unexpected turn, boom. Everything is once again falling apart like before. When you’re heavily beloved by people and especially by an entire province, they’ll be some with no life that will do anything to search for secrets you might have. Well it didn’t take but only a short week for that cat to get out of the bag. It was a journalist from La Press that made the discovery not by sophisticated detective work but by a drunken fool who yelled it out in a pub. He was the assistant to the equipment manager. He got fired and I got released immediately in exchange that the journalist kept his mouth shut. So not even a month in the bigs and I’m already out of a job.

I went back home to Hamilton. The very last place I want to be right now. The night before I was due to leave for Montreal and sign that contract, I went on a date with Kimberly. The great feeling of playing professional hockey give me the confidence boost and courage to ask her out on a date. We were seating from opposite sides of a small table. While she was pouring honey in her hot chocolate milk, I was gathering my thoughts together so I can reveal the deep love I have for her…

Kim, I have something to tell you. I’ve always liked you from the very beginning. You’re kind, sweet and the most beautiful girl I ever met. When I thought there was nobody else in this world that cared about me, you proved me wrong and took me as a friend and never looked back. Me too I never looked back and honestly it was the best day of our lives. I’m admitting all of this to you because my life is about to change for the better and I want you to be by my side more than ever. What I’m trying to say is… I want you to be my girl.

There was a feel of huge relieve from my entire being after telling her that. However, she wasn’t a bit interested as she kept looking at the snow slowly falling down from the sky. She finally looked at me and said this…

"I don’t know what to tell you… I’m not looking for anything right now. Sorry.”

Her response was a short and quick one and so was her single life. The following week, she immediately entered into a relationship with a nightclub disk jokey. From what I known Kimberly had always have a heavy crushes on entertainers especially the ones in the music industry. She saw the free ball and ran away with it. Things weren’t the same after the date and well shortly after that, we completely stopped seeing and talking to each other.

So here I am skating on the shitty ice rink in the early hours of the mourning. The bad recent weeks I went through were still floating above my head and just thinking about one of those damn events made me even angrier and of course not to forget that my alcoholic dad was still drinking strong. With frustration taking full control, I slapped shot the puck with all my strength. It went above the goal net and above the space in between and ended up smashing the window of a car. I viciously tossed my hockey stick aside into the snow and went to retreat my one and only puck. As I was sticking my arm inside the passenger seat in search for the puck, a police car parked right behind the vehicle and it was flashing brightly its red and blue lights.

There was only one word I could think of for what is about to happen to me…

Shit.

I was seating in a jail cell deeply thinking about the stuff that had happened to me. At the same time, I was  joyful that I would spent the night here and not at my dad’s or at Kim’s. I bet that cunt is singing a very good tune on her boyfriend’s mic right about now. A policeman came by my cell and told me he has called my dad…

“He’s not coming to bail you out son.”  He said with strictness.

“Thanks for letting me know officer.”  I said without any regrets.

My dad is an old bitter, drunk fool but regardless of that he is still my father and nothing and I mean nothing will change that. Three hours passed and I was comfortably asleep on the solid cement bench. The same policeman came by my cell but this time he opened the gate…

“You’re free to go.”  He said

“My dad finally sobered up?”  I asked him.

“Wasn’t your father who bailed you, this man did.”  He pointed out.

I finally was able to memorize his name. Ian McGuinness, the scout that invited me to the tryouts. Most of his close buddies simply call him “Guinness” because he heavily drinks that beer more than any other brands. In his Irish accent “It’s a real man’s beer.” Anyhow before bailing me out, he tried earlier in the evening to call the house but the phone line was broken thanks to my dad’s clumsy accident that ripped out the wire from the wall. He then visited the house and briefly spoken with my dad. He told him I was “sleeping in jail” and then slammed the door shut in Ian’s face.

“Your father is a lousy ass drunk, even from my standards.”  He bluntly said while driving me home.

“There’s a standard for drunkenness now?”  I said while looking out the window. “Why did you bail me out?” I asked.

“I found you a team that’s in need of serious help. The Toronto Maple Leafs.” He said with a grind on his face.

“Aren’t their media more ruthless than Montreal’s?”  I said

“Right now the team is struggling with injuries and they’re barely hanging on that 8th seed in the standings. Besides the scout from Montreal seeing your tryout, a Toronto scout saw it as well. The Leafs wanted you at first but changed their mind because of the severe backlash they might receive from their important people. So the Habs came in and snatch you instead. Before the idiotic incident, their original plan was to slowly introduce you to their franchise’s lovers.” He explained to me.

“I understand the injuries but why the change of heart now?”  I told him.

“My boy when you are in desperation, negative opinions of others no longer means shit.” He said.

I had upset stomach the second we turned the street corner. We arrived to my place and Ian parked his vehicle right next to my dad’s van. He then give me a look of concern…

"Do you need a place to sleep for tonight?"  He asked me

"No, I’ll be fine." I told him.

"Well you have my number for if you need anything." He said with promise.

Now that he mentioned it, I just remembered that I was broke as a joke and could not afford a bus ticket to Toronto. So as reluctant as I was I asked him to assist me with my situation. Before I knew it I was on the early mourning express ride to Toronto with the driver being someone I diffidently know that won’t let me down or high and dry in Mr. Ian McGuinness.

Or “Guinness” as he want me to call him now.

To be continued…

July 17, 2012
The Icy Puck I

Ontario, Canada

1988

Ring, ring, and ring my alarm clock goes. Its 4 o’clock in the morning and it couldn’t be any better. The silence of the town and the powerful cold breeze of this legendary Canadian weather make it perfect for me to go practice on my puck handling skills at the park’s ice rink. Every winter season, the city builds a temporary outside ice skating rink at all the parks. It includes two hockey goal nets. And what’s even great about it… It’s totally free.

Playing ice hockey is what’s keeping me from being depress from stuff. Stuff such as; my mom cheating on my dad and then leaving him as if the last couple of years they were together met absolutely nothing. Stuff such as; going to court constantly for custody rights. At the end of the brutal war, my dad was the winner but his heart was permanently destroyed in the hands of my mom. He eventually went on to remarry, this time to alcoholism. And finally stuff such as; keeping your alcoholic dad from finding out your playing a white predominated sport. Only once he caught me playing hockey. I was playing with the neighborhood kids and out came his all drunk and angry self. He called me out affront of everyone and said…

“Over my dead body you’re playing this cracka ass game!” He yelled at me.

Ever since that embarrassing moment, I decided it would be for the best that I skated only at nighttime while he’s passed out. Regardless of his reckless and hurtful ways, I still love my dad and I know for a fact a shattered heart will make you do things that are self-destructing.

I skate and train every day of the week without any rest. The only time I don’t train is when the winter season has ended. During that time I make sure to work on my cardio and strength. My friend’s father, a pro bodybuilder has a gym in his basement; he lets me do my workouts down there. Generous as he is, he also lets me watch Hockey Night in Canada since my dad won’t let me watch it at home. Speaking of my friend, her name is Kimberly and man do I ever have a heavy crush on her. I couldn’t never courage myself to admit her that because I’m shy, bad with my choice of words and also did not want to end up heartbroken like my father.

During every of my skating training sessions, there’s a strange man who watches me from his car. He smokes more than one cigarette and keeps on watching me train. I was a bit frightened the first couple of times he had done this but after a while I got accustomed to his secretive presence. As I was doing intense speed training, I abruptly tripped and hit my knee hard on the ice. Took a moment and checked out the injury…

“Oh good… just a bloody scratch.” I said to myself with some relieve.

While I was getting up to resume, the curious man was now standing behind the wooden board watching closely. He had a look of concern but nevertheless he went ahead and asked me how I was…

“You’re ok there buddy?” he said with a slight manly Irish accent in his voice.

Ever since has a child, I had difficulty opening up to unknown strangers. Only two or four words would barely come out of my mouth. By 2nd grade it got so bad that my teacher send me to the school’s Psychotherapy counselor. After many sessions that involved proper communication, proper speech and avoiding avoidance, I was diagnosed with social anxiety disorder. The counselor strongly advice my parents that I take medical prescription for this syndrome but they immediately refused. My mom read this article about how those medications leaves a child emotionless, uncreative and simply like a robot. She didn’t want that for me. I guess this bolder on the road is what’s keeping me from moving forward and telling my true sentiments I have for Kimberly…

“I’m ok.” I told the mister.

“That’s some spectacular speed you have there. Top of the line I would say” he said before taking another hit of his cigarette.

“Thank you. My dad once told me, Be the best or just suck. ” I told him

“Indeed you must my boy. Your father is one wise man.” He said.

“He can be sometimes…” I said before skating around while angrily cringing my teeth. 

“I’ll cut right through the chase. I’m a representative for the local junior hockey team and the dedication and hard work you put on this cheap shit ice every single night is very impressive. I want to invite you to our tryouts.”

“For real? I don’t know what to say.” I said with a look of surprise. Honestly, I didn’t know what I should say.                                                                      

“Say I’ll be there this Saturday mourning ready and prepared to go.” He answered for me.

“Here’s my card. See you soon.” He hands out before walking back to his vehicle.

I took his business card looked at it and told to myself with huge happiness running down my heart and soul…

Fuck yeah.   

When I announced the good news to everyone in the neighborhood, there were many congratulations and only one who gives a damn. Who else but my dear drunkdad to be the one to said that.  I’m all but alright with him saying that because after all those long years I stopped having that expectation that a beam of positivity will finally come out from his dark clouded being. No matter how much good I do he’ll simply just bury me deep below the surface of the earth with his uncaring shovel.

“Enough with that self pity bullshit and focus on that big tryouts man!” says my good trusty conscience.

No butterflies in my stomach and all the supreme confidence in the world as I and several others hopefuls stepped on that ice. The coaches meanwhile were observing and taking critical notes from the mid level bleachers. I would be lying to myself if the other players going easy on me didn’t cross my mind. They’re all here for the same thing. Make the roster. So expect it to be a grueling, physical, drag-out battle until the sound of the horn. I was added to the blue team and assigned to the left wing position. I wore the No. 54 practice jersey. Some of my newly teammates expressed some displeasure with their body language, I saw that coming and wasn’t too effected about it but I was a bit concern that some might leave me out of the game plan. Well that puck is about to drop, let’s see if I belong to this game…                    

The game is over.   

I looked around in the locker room and it couldn’t be anymore blue and tiresome. No. 76, a second shift centre from the white team tore his entire anterior cruciate ligament while trying to stop an icing call. He made it to the end of the board and voided the call but awkwardly jammed his foot and knee while doing it. He is still with the medical staff and judging from the way the tears are running down his face and his justified frustration, he won’t be playing for while. Then there’s No. 45, a defensemen and native of Quebec that lost some of his teeth and had a bloody mouth…

“Esti Tabarnaque de shit. Un coup coude a fait tout ca?” he said in his French Quebecoise tongue while looking at his own blood.

Every player gathered in the hallway and checked out the list. I couldn’t see a thing so instead of rushing through that crowd, I waited patiently in the back until it died down. While some players left with joy and happiness, some walked away with bitter disappointment. I’m the only one left now and I took a long look at that list and took a big breath while I was at it. Between the numbers 53 and 55 on the blue team, there was no number 54 which means I didn’t make the cut. I give it all on that ice but in the eyes of those coaches it still wasn’t enough. I gratefully returned the equipments that was loaned to me and exited the arena.

I seated on the bench waiting for the number fifty-four bus that heads east to arrive. Ironic that I begun the mourning fashioning the number 54 and now its ending it and taking me home. Hockey will always dwell in my heart regardless if I’m not playing for al team. As I was looking at the droplets falling one by one from a frozen tree branch near by, a familiar Irish voice was calling me. It was that same man who give me the tryouts invitation. We’ve talked for a couple a minutes and then he had to go back inside the arena.

Well apparently it’s not the end of the chapter just yet. The Montreal Canadiens wants to immediately sign me to their practice roster. The Irish scout properly explained that the main reason my number did not make the cut was because they didn’t want an outside source to know I’ve tried out. The Canadiens or Les Canadiens, wants to make this deal as quiet and under the table as possible to avoid negative outrage from their French media and loyal fan base. It will be a great honor to play for a storied franchised that has won 23 Stanley Cups and has its own long list of Hall of Famers that includes Maurice “Rocket” Richard, Jean Beliveau and most recently Guy Lafleur and a filthy rich dynasty that will probably be remembered for hundreds of years to come. However it will be just a matter of time that I will be found out. But then again that’s out of my control. The best I can do is just play hockey.                                                                   


To be continued…

May 13, 2012

The land of Haiti in its wonderful flamboyance.

March 21, 2012
Le Bon Macoute.. Volume 2

Republic of Haiti, 1967   

I always thanked mom for introducing my brother and I to this beat down hut. Its location in the apricot plantation fields made it a great hidden site. She first showed it to me and Gaston when we were little children; she would use it as a secret place to teach us how to read and write. My father had forbidden us to ever go to school because in his paranoid mind, he thought that we would become smarter and wiser than him and might probably start rebelling against the genocidal Prezidan. Mom would get physically abused by father if he caught her reading to us. So she took us and her teachings somewhere else. In her heart, she knew she didn’t have much time to live so she made it her life mission to feed our hungry brains with some knowledge.

As my mother’s health would degenerate to the worst, so did Gaston’s commitment. He had grown more and more passionate with father’s barbaric principles and ways that he eventually stopped caring about learning. Mom was only left with me to educate. Flash forward to now and here I am back to this hut with a traumatized girl. I rested her on the table where mother and I would have our school session. She was still unconscious until the sunlight hit her directly in her face. Her eyes opened and she slightly got up…

“I guess this wasn’t a nightmare after all” she said with tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry” I humbly told her.

An unexpected smile appeared on her face as if I told a punch line to a funny joke. But then again simple words like “forgiveness” or “sorry” coming from a Macoute is considered laughable and unworthy to accept. Personally, I wouldn’t blame those who were hurt and lost loved ones because after all, why should they forgive monsters? Why should she forgive me? Why should I forgive myself? The only way I see her accepting my apology is if I and all of the Macoute dies in a horrible and satisfaction fashion.

“I rather be dead like my parents then to hear you monsters say “I’m sorry”. Just… just finish me off.” She begged me before looking away.

I let her discouraging comment enter my ear and I dumped it out in the other. I then walked toward the burlap bag and grabbed a couple of things.

“Here’s some bread and water. I’ll bring some more food later” I told her.

“Please stay here. You’ll be safe.” I also told her before leaving.

While I was ridding out of the apricot field, I wandered how I’m going to keep her safe and a secret from the Macoute and especially from my family.

I couldn’t have been any more relieved that nighttime had arrived. This day and the things I’ve done took a toll on me physically and mentally. There were times when other members of the Macoute would make cruel jokes and would excuse myself to a private place and just puke my stomach out. My father caught me vomiting and his only comment was…

“Your break was over five minutes ago. Stop slacking and get back to work.” He told me without any ounce of concern.

Meanwhile, my brother was quickly shinning as the clan’s top comedian… I’m not going to bother or waste time repeating the tasteless-shit-garbage jokes he said. Even though I’m related to both of them I hope and pray that down that long line they both pay dearly for their horrible crimes. I know I’m not any better as well but unlike them I will gracefully accept the ultimate punishment whenever it comes upon me. The apricot fields are a very different site at night time with all those nocturnal creatures doing their natural hobbies. As I removed the wooden flat door from the entrance, I then went inside and lit my kindle. It was dark, silent, and most importantly, empty. Like a hollowing glass bottle.

She was long gone.

I quickly got on the bicycle and rode it as if I was the pony express from one of those Western films. I went to every inch of this nation that I could think of but she was nowhere to be seen. Around here during nighttime there is a very strict curfew. Le Prezidan sends his army in the streets to make sure there’s no one plotting anything against him. However, if there was a person out in those streets then the soldiers had no choice to gun them down. It’s urgent that I found her before they do. I remembered that my father and brother took that girl’s decease parents in a spot in Quartier de Bel-Air. She has to be there. 

Fortunately, I got there as soon as possible and she was there alone on her knees praying and crying to the two hanging battered corpses that she used to call mom and dad. I was quite surprised that she was able to identify them because honestly they were down right unrecognizable. Not far away were a couple of soldiers walking toward our direction. As much as I was reluctant to do so, I had to be a Macoute in order to save her. I walked casually over there and knocked her out with my pistol. I then picked her up and left shortly before those soldiers noticed a thing.  

Once we got back at the hut, I ruthlessly pushed her back in…

“I know you wanted to pay your respect to your folks but you’re not safe being out there.” I told her with some frustration in my voice.

She leaned on the wooden wall and asked…

“Why are you keeping me alive?”

I knew what to tell her but I had doubts she wouldn’t believe me. So I didn’t say a word and looked away.

“Do you know Toussaint Loverture?” She then asked me.

“Yes. He was the leader of the Haitian Revolution in the mid 1700’s. My mother told me countless of tales about his great accomplishments he has done for this nation. Why?”

“Napoleon’s troops under the command of his brother-in-law General Charles Emanuel Leclerc, kidnapped Louverture and his family and brought them all to France for persecution. At the very end, Napoleon, thrown him in prison at the Fort-de-Joux in the Doubs and remained there until his death.”

“I will not let you rot in this hut forever.” I told her. “You have to let me think about a solid plan.”

“You want a solid plan?” she said. “Get me out of here… out of Haiti. I have some family in the United States. My parents were my only family here while the rest were all exiled by Le Prezidan.”

“It might be too dangerous” I honestly told her.

“If you proclaim to be a good human being, then you’ll find a way to help me. She said while looking dead into my eyes.              

I’m nothing like and never will be like my own family. While giving me lessons as a child in this very hut, my mother would tell me… Ignore the fraud and listen to the truth. From the tribulations you might go through life, your heart will remain faithful and true to you. Always keep that inside you my dear son… She wants to leave this place and I’ll help her…

“Alright. I’ll see what I can do.” I told her.

She agreed to not escape and to stay in the hut while I try to come up with some sort of a plan. Her name was Geneviève Anne-Jean. She’s in her second year at the University of Haiti, the same university that Le Prezidan graduated from. She likes to read novels. In fact the book she’s reading at the moment is Sans Famille volume two. I’ve asked nicely if I could borough the book but she said not until I live up to my promise. Well at least I have her full trust and a sequel to look forward to.

The only way she could leave Haiti was by boat. Now the question is how to get her on a boat. The import and export ships would do. My nation is not known to do great business with outsiders but when it comes to our natural resources such as coffee, rice, beans, legumes and others we’re among the leaders in the Caribbean. We might not be a perfect civilization but we do treat nature and its offspring with love and dignity. I guess one can say, that’s the only good thing this poor nation does. After checking the shipments schedules at the Warf harbor, the next ship that departs to the United States will be in two days. Judging from the incompetent guards and my Macoute credentials, I shouldn’t have any problem sneaking Genevieve on that boat.

Two days as passed and it couldn’t have come any sooner. I admit those couple of days were the most intense I ever endured in my life. However, on the bright side Genevieve will finally be able to leave this place. As I rode my bicycle in the apricot fields I felt something wasn’t quite right. Maybe it was the weather messing with me or maybe I was exaggerating and worrying too much. The wooden flat door was moved and there was a voice of a man inside. I pulled my pistol out and rushed in the hut. There was my big brother standing tall and giving me a look of disgust…

“Father begun to be suspicious ever since he took his pistol back. He was more than ever after you burned down her home. Now I see how dead right he was. You used our mother’s favorite place to keep this bitch?” My brother says.                                           

Without any remorse in the world, Gaston had beaten Genevieve to a point that she was all bloody. I ignored my brother’s comments and immediately went to her aide. She was barely breathing…

“Mother, may her soul rest in peace would be disappointed to see how his baby son grown up to be a weak pathetic disgrace to this family. I can imagine what Father will do to you once he hears about this fine mess” My brother included.

I continued to ignore his cold comments and desperately tried to wake this girl up. She slowly opened her eyes and held my hand tightly and whispered…

“Mattia and Remi became best friends and they went on to have great adventures. In the end Remi marries Lise and they have a family” She said while loosing up her grip on my hand.

Merci et au revoir Bon Macoute.” She last said before going to sleep forever. 

I failed. She’s dead and my brother was very satisfied. I’ve always believed that there was some hope but my brother killed any remaining there was. I guess it is my nature to be a monster and take human life without remorse. I might as well act upon my true purpose. I snatched my brother’s machete and ruthlessly pushed him against the wall…

“I’m a disgrace? No. The real disgraces are you and that demented old man.” I bluntly said while holding the blade on his throat.

“You wouldn’t dare make your first kill your own flesh and blood” He said.

“Mother never received an honorable farewell because you two never bothered to give her one. But that’s alright because now she’s in a better place than she ever was when she was here.”

“What’s next Remy?” he grinded. “Escape from your shameless family and start fresh? If you do then you won’t be any better than us remembering mother”

“You’re wrong… I’ll bring her dreams to life.” I told him.

Gaston spitted directly in my face and literally disowned me as a brother. So I slashed his venerable throat with his own machete. I hated that I had to be the one to serve the cold dish of irony to my own brother, but now the innocent ones that had fallen in the hands of Gaston’s murderous ways may now rest in peace.  

I buried Genevieve in a remote location only inhabited by nature and seated next to her grave thinking how will I confront my father. As for my brother, I couldn’t care less if a bunch of hungry dogs eats his entire flesh. I rode back home and there was my father standing next to the gate drinking his beer. He gives me this look of disappointment but as soon as he saw the blood on my hands he dropped that bottle and snatched his pistol off his waist belt…

 “You’ll be doing the both of us a great favor so pull that trigger and end this nightmare” I coldly said.

“Where’s Gaston you bastard. WHERE IS MY SON?” He screamed at me.

I pull out Gaston’s machete out of the trailer and thrown it at my father’s feet. The blood leftover on the blade turned my father from loud and vengeful to speechless and broken as he gotten on his knees and barely attempted to touched his son’s bloody weapon.

“Him, the Tonton Macoute, Le Prezidan and you can all burn in hell.” I said with a merciless tone in my voice.

“Your death won’t be on my hands, but on the ones you betrayed. That I guaranteed.” He said with tears of sorrow running down his face.

“Then let it be.” I last told him before riding as far as my bicycle can take me.

I’m a wanted man and all the fire power from the army and the Macoute will do at nothing to find me and kill me. Unfortunately for them they’ll be unsuccessful on doing so because I’m no longer living in that country. A nice handyman who was visiting his relatives saw my deep personal struggles and agreed to take to his home in the Dominican Republic. Once we got to the border I was fearful that I might become another casualty of the Antihaitianismo discrimination but luckily the handyman had a great comedian side of him and had little trouble with the guards. On the road to his house, the handyman told me he will give me shelter, food and an honest job but most importantly he also said…

“Right now Haiti is not a good place but it is your home, your heritage and your heart. Pray and pray and pray hard that things will be for the better one day.”

He gives me a good tap on my shoulder and continued to drive. I took his words to heart and took a very long look at the plantations we were driving by. I then looked inside my bag and saw Genevieve’s Sans Famille novel volume two…

“I’ll be back home one day.” I said in full confidence.                 

March 16, 2012
Wet & Wild

I was in the gym, not working out but doing my work cleaning up the floor, picking up the plates, dumbbells, and all the heavy equipments. As an employee I’m always obligated to knock on the women’s locker room door. Gently knocked twice and nobody was there. So I walks in took the trash container and as I was about to leave, the shower was turned on. Shortly after the drapes were slide opened and there she was.

A fit model looking women covered in a bright pink colored towel with a dark chocolate brunette hair styled in a delicious bun. I was totally caught off guard by that shit, I was like “my bad, my bad, I thought nobody was in here” but she was cool about it. In fact she was so laid back that she gently started speaking en espagnol. Her Spanish was so sophisticated that I thought I was talking to Shakira. Anyhow, her gorgeous hazel eyes were deadlocked on me and she said…”ven a limpiar mi coño”. I say something corny like “I did not take Spanish classes back in high school so can you repeat that in English?” Her cute delicious lips were moving and saying… “Come play with my cat.” I’m like; “ok cool” took my clothes off in a record-breaking time and followed the cat in the shower.

The water was hitting her body beautifully that made it drippy and wet everywhere. Her tits were so soft that I wanted to squeeze them as if they were play doe. The bun was gone but her long beautiful hair showed itself up at the perfect time. She grabbed my big hand took two of my fingers and guided them directly into her kitty cat. The orgasms coming out of her were so off the charts that the entire neighborhood could hear her screaming pleasurably. I then proceeded to take my fingers out and start making out with her pussycat and then started to humped her viciously from the back as if it was the last night of our lives.   

 

When it was over, the dream was over. I woke up, and said…Man was she wet and wild or not. 

February 13, 2012
Bullying Tales

The following events you’re about to read are actual true events that had transpired to those individual students. These are their personal testimonies…

My Principle hates me

I’m a boy and I’m 11 years old. I go to Ogilvy elementary school. Since the school year begun, the boys were giving me a hard time both in class and recess. They would hit me if I was forced by the teacher to play with them or call me mean names just so they could make fun of me. Every time I tell to the teacher, she would accuse me of annoying them first. If I went to the principle she would pretend to understand my problem and kick me out of her office after. My principle hates me. There’s that one time a week before the break my class was suppose to sing Christmas songs affront of bank workers. Before the bell even rang, the principle for no reason sends me down to the office. I stayed there all mourning long while the entire class was performing and getting gifts. I felt alone and nobody wanted me. It was after the break when I switched schools. The principle was tired of me. My mom talked with my old teacher over the phone and my teacher said “she had no right to kick him out like that.” She also said “the principle was an aristocratic bitch.” I don’t know what aristocratic means but I sure know what a bitch is. 

Rollercoaster from hell

I’m a girl, sixteen years old and a sophomore at my high school. In my freshman year, some girl from the popular “Kliq” thought it would had been hilarious to pour an entire bottle of hand lotion on the top of my head. My hair was wet and sticky and everyone laughed their asses off and recorded with their phones. The bus driver did little, but that’s ok because I didn’t need his help anyways. I ran crying to my house threaten myself to end it all. My mom convinced me not to and called the school and that girl wrote a letter of apology. I knew from her poor grammar and lack of emotion she didn’t mean a damn word of it.  Later that school year that same “Kliq” group accused me of hooking up with one of their favorite bad boy. So after school they jumped me and beaten me until I was a bloody mess. They got suspended while I left that school for good. Now I attend an alternate special school and I’m graduating early. This school experience was a real rollercoaster from hell. I’ll stick with online courses.               

Little was done

I’m a junior and I used to play football for my high school. I have this learning disability that makes me a slow learner. My ex-teammates would make fun of me and do cruel stuff because of my disability. I joined because I wasn’t making any friends in the classroom or in the hallways. I thought why not join the football team at least they’ll make me feel welcomed, respected and confident. It wasn’t the case once I got in. One of the offensive linemen constantly made fun of me for not putting the right amount of plates on the barbell. Waiting for your name to be called from the sidelines during practice, was the worst. A skinny-fat defensive lineman almost pushed me to the point that I wanted to fight him. He told the entire team out loud that I can’t read for shit and why coach would take in a stupid retard like me. I wanted to deeply throw my helmet in his face and bash his skull in with it, but that didn’t happen. I did not do anything and neither did my teammates. No one stepped up to tell him to shut the hell up. Don’t give me wrong I hate when people fight my battles but seeing them doing or saying absolutely nothing for their own really showed me how uncaring they were. I eventually told the coaches but little was done. One day my locker would be broke in and all of my clothes would end up near a trash can and other day after practice I would be ditch by my ride and be left to walk endless miles home. I left the team after that season and concentrated on my studies. I didn’t let my learning disability stop me from succeeding. I proved a lot of doubters wrong and received my high school diploma.                        

       

Tormented by their classmates and completely ignored by their educators and peers when they needed help. However, these three young people share something special in common.

Perseverance.    

                  

February 6, 2012
A love letter from a shy adolescent

Your a really beautiful gurl and I want to get to know you… I was gonna tell you this at first, but for some dumbass reason the words wouldn’t come out my mouth. About me, i’m not a playa and surely am not the type to “spit out game” just to get in your panties. I ‘m just a decent, honest young men who’s reading this note to a gurl who he really feels. The only thing he hopes for is if that gurl is interested and wants to hangout sometimes… If not he’ll leave her alone and never, ever see her again. 

January 13, 2012
The Eagle and the Crow

The eagle is capable of soaring 30,000 ft into the sky. Yet when descending to the crow’s level, the crow will attack the eagle chasing it about. When the eagle has had enough it will ascend far past where the crows wings can take it. You see, don’t worry about what people think or say. There is no need to waste precious time on their level. There are greater things on level you can choose to see.

~From my good friend Nicholas Gonzalez

January 9, 2012
Why try to die?

The very last time I had written poetry

It was for this girl whom I though liked me

Her name was Melanie

And she rejected me.

But that was a century ago

I moved on ever since.

This poem is for my Amigo

A true great friend

I first met him in High School

This dude was already your buddy before you knew it

Even though back then he was nerdier then cool,

His likeable personality made him the person you wanted to hangout with.

While time would change

So did his appearances

During that period he became negligent

He unfortunately faced the deadly consequences

Why you had to be fancy with the bike?

You aint Speedy Gonzalez or the Flash

Why try to die?

Seeing you on that hospital bed all broken and lifeless brought tears in my eyes.

Thank heaven there is a God

And he made the right choice to keep you with us

I know for sure you kept that life lesson in your heart

We love you brah.

January 8, 2012
Le Bon Macoute.. Volume 1

Republic of Haiti, 1967    

  We were doing a routine patrol in the region. While my comrades were all singing our nation’s heart warming anthem, my stomach was hurting badly. I don’t know if it was the bumpy ride but whatever the cause was it damn sure was trying to make a volcano erupt out of my stomach. They say that a good long look at a natural landscape will relax the body and the soul. However, this doesn’t work if your father forced you as a child to align yourself with a group of merciless murderers whose sole objective is to keep Le Prezidan in his good praises.

We are known as the Milice de Volontaires de la Sécurité National. But because of our violent ways toward the inhabitants, we’re simply known as the Tonton Macoute. Our job is to rain terror on those who dare to speak out against Le Prezidan Francois Duvalier. Besides myself being a member, my big brother Gaston, is as well. He and I might have the same blood but his is satanic acid compared to mine.

Not that long ago he and I were making rounds in the neighborhood of Turgeau which is the location of the College Mixte Philadelphie - Dantès Bellegarde. Everyday after school teens would enjoy the rest of the sunny afternoon and go see their favorite John Wayne films. I went to the restaurant to grab some casse-croûte while my brother was waiting close by. The second I made my way out, a girl was yelling and everybody was running away for their lives. I looked around and there was Gaston just finishing slashing open the throat of some poor boy. The crimson colored substance was everywhere even on his hands but he could care less about the bloody mess. For him it was all about not being made fun of…

 “Piece of trash!” He said.

I dropped everything and rushed over to him. “What the hell man?” I told him directly in his face. He pushes me away with his blood dripping hands and says; “Those light skinned Negros… just because they’re on a high educated plateau it gives them the right to ridicule the rest below them.” The boy was already dead once I had arrived. Besides his blood being everywhere on the ground, so was his school books. “What did he tell you?” I reasonably asked him. “Something that made me look stupid.” He said. In my mind, I truly saw the reason why he killed that boy. His prideful and distasteful ignorance was put in its place by someone who had great knowledge and was not afraid to use it. My brother had nothing in his head to defend himself against that so, out of sinister rage, he did what our father taught him to do. And not to forget, that boy’s skin color was brown tan. The Tonton Macoute has a deep hatred over that colored population.

“Where’s my soda?” he said as if nothing significant just happened. He picked up the beverage and began drinking it. Meanwhile, I was observing the lifeless body and especially the books and I noticed he had the Without Family novel. That’s a book I’ve always dreamed to read. Out of nowhere a can hits me in the back of my head probably my brother trying to grab my attention. “Let’s carve it up some more and put it on display” he directly told me. “His dead body would look perfect on the school’s front building. What do you think?”

“I think I’m going to vomit…” I grunted out while I tightly held on to my stomach.

“Tell them to pull over right now.” I desperately said.

Honest to heart, this damn ride is going to be the end of me if I don’t get the fuck off. The truck stopped, I stumbled out, ran to the tobacco plantation fields and puked until I felt completely hollow inside.

What is my mission here? Why was I birthed to this world only to cause misery? Is this truly my destiny to be a monster like my father and brother? If it’s the way is going to be then I don’t want any part of this. I’m alone in the darkness sitting on the edge of my uncomfortable bed with my dad’s revolver pistol in my hand. I spin and spin the barrel in hopes that bullet connects to the hole. While spinning it my conscience was telling me over and over…

“Isn’t it fun that you’re excited to die?”

It’s whatever at least I’ll finally be reunited with my mom. A deadly illness that we unfortunately couldn’t afford to treat took her life too soon. Well, if I’m going to do this might as well do it while the brother is gone partying and my father passed out in his bedroom with a prostitute. I slowly pull the gun toward the right temple of my head and closed my eyes. Adieu et a la prochaine…  

Why am I still wandering in the shadows?

Why can’t I see the light at the end of this tunnel?

Last but not least why am I not dead?

I reopened my eyes and looked directly at my nightstand next to me and there was that book written by Hector Malot. While my brother was dragging the corpse, I took it upon myself to grab it and hide in my pocket. After reading the first couple pages of that book, the main character and I which oddly cherished the same name of Remi, share a lot more in common when it comes to infinite hardships in a young life. But his story is less gruesome than mine.

He was abandoned as a baby and when he turned 8 years-old, he we was sold off by his deadbeat foster father to a traveling musician. The musician along with three dogs and a monkey traveled around the region of France entertaining the villagers with their enchanting performances. Even though this musician was a complete stranger to the boy, he cared and loved him as if he was his own son. While time would pass by and the two would travel from town to town Remi, looked up to him like a father he never had.

Some good hearted tales can become darkly tragic as you keep turning the pages…  

The musician was jailed and Remi, was on his own with his fellow companions. Fortunately, the musician was shortly released from prison and reunited with the boy.

Meanwhile on their journey…

Through a devastating snowstorm in the woods on their way to Paris, two of the three dogs were eaten alive by a vicious pack of wolves and the poor monkey caught pneumonia. Remi and the musician gave the ultimate performance of their lifetime to raise money for the operation but it was little too late. While he needed to go away and train new animals, the musician decided to leave Remi with a Padrone which is a man who kept a group of boys sold by their poverty-stricken parent who worked for him.

I personally know some people who do the same for both abandon boys and girls however they’re saints compared to this monster…

After two horrible hours of witnessing how the Padrone was beating, starving, abusing and enslaving the boys, the musician quickly took Remi out of that place and never to return again. During those two hours Remi made a new friend in Mattia.

No good deed goes unpunished…

That night unable to find a place to stay, the musician and Remi collapsed during the snowstorm under some fence. At that moment, the musician who was by all means pure hearted died while saving his boy. Fortunately, Remi was rescued by a group of good people but like a fragile vase that fell on the floor, he was shattered in a million pieces once he received the news of his mentor.

All that was left now from the gang was Remi, and the white greyhound that survived the wolf pack attack.

In order to find out the true identity of the musician, a policeman escorted Remi right back to the Padrone. He revealed that the lonesome traveling musician used to be the famous Italian singer Carlo Balzani. As he grow older, his voice rusted and he was deeply ashamed of this that he decided to disappear for good. He eventually changed his identity to Vitalis, the traveling musician.

 The book ends with Remi ending up joining the people that rescued him and working for them in their garden. During his stay there he falls for a mute girl named Lise. But tragedy strike again with a terrible hailstorm. It ruined the glass in the greenhouse and the owner was sent to debt jail for not being capable of paying. The children were sent to uncles and aunts while Remi was left alone with his dog traveling the big roads once again.

The good thing about this book, it’s only volume one. Hope and salvation is not dead just yet.     

“Time to wake up! Common let’s go! We have an important mission to do before sunrise so get ready.” my loudmouth father said before leaving our room.

Gaston was passed out on the floor after partying hard the night before and as for me, a book made me change my mind about blowing my brains out. I didn’t know the exact time but by looking at how the sky was mauve dark, the roads were deserted and the dominant silence in the neighborhood, my good guess is it’s early in the mourning. My dad was driving the jeep almost at the speed limit on the crumbling road while my brother and I were barely holding on to everything. We drove through Rue Bonne Foi and made a couple of corner turns. We finally ended up stopping near a home in South Port-au-Prince. While we walked toward the home a huge gate was blocking our entry. So like a bunch of athletic street cats, we climbed up the gate and jumped over. The family’s dog begun barking like crazy but my father wouldn’t have any of it.

A cold blooded killer that he is, he simply gunned down the dog.

With an obvious reaction, the man of the house rushed out to protect his family but my brother was right behind to knock him down. My brother then pulls him on his knees and punches him repeatedly. Meanwhile, I was ordered by father to go inside the house trash everything and drag every living creature out. I entered and went toward the bedroom. The door was locked so I busted the door down with a hard kick. With tears of fears and worries raining down all over their faces, the mother and daughter were clustered in the corner with their only hope that they don’t get killed…

“Please I beg of you… do not harm us.” said the mother

I took out my machete and responded “Shut your mouth and get outside!”

The mother was first in line followed by her daughter. The daughter was walking extremely slowly so out of impatience, I poked her on her back with the machete. She flinched but didn’t say a word. All three family members were on their knees with their hands tied up behind their backs. Gaston shortly filled me in of why we’re supposed to execute this family; the father is a well known professor and journalist who on several occasions has written articles critiquing Le Prezidan’s politics incompetence.

“Any last words?” said my father?

The professor remained calm with his head held high in the heavens and said…

“To my dear family, I forever will love you all… L’union fait la force, but to him this has no significant meaning. He doesn’t care about this nation or its people. In truth, what only matters to Le Prezidan, is absolute domination and corruption over the poor and vulnerable souls like you. He has no compassion for human kind, this man is a genocidal monster and I will pray that you realize it.”

 I felt a huge surge of a powerful and unexplained source going trough my entire body the moment he said “I will pray that you realize it.” He locked his eyes to mine when he said this. I strongly doubt it was a mere coincidence. Nevertheless, my father thought otherwise.

“Well until then…” My father told him before putting three bullets in his head.

The mother screamed and immediately leaned over her husband body but Gaston, stopped her in tracks, pulled her by the hair and slashed her throat. Witnessing her parent savagely been murdered in front of her, the daughter simply fainted on the ground with the never ending tears running down her face. I took a look at my machete and at this girl. It was my turn to kill. This unexplained source inside was making me reluctant to go through with it. I could feel father’s impatience breathing down my neck. “This girl has nothing to live for now. Hurry up and do it.” I never killed before. In fact up until now all I did was only assist in dismembering the corpses and decorating them for the innocent to watch. My family is encouraging me to continue this tradition of murdering without reason, but I can’t. I’m not a monster and never will be. 

“I won’t.” I said before dropping my machete.                   

“You better tell me why or else you’ll be aligned with those bodies” my father coldly said.

“I want to give her some last pleasure…” I said to my father while looking in his eyes.

He took a brief long moment to think about it and said…

“Make sure your dick is the last thing she ever sees.”

My brother dragged the dead bodies to the vehicle and my father got in the driver seat. He give me a long cold stair, nodded his head and drove off.                         

I walked toward the girl and she was still unconscious. I pulled her up by the elbow and dragged her back inside the house, back in her bedroom. I looked at her almost lifeless body and told myself; “What now?” Seriously, what to do now? Maybe I should grab her belongings first and hopefully by then a good plan will come along. I’ve grabbed every important thing that I could and put them all in a burlap sac. For transportation, I’ll have to cross the street and borrow the bicycle with the trailer behind it. Knowing my father, he’ll comeback at any given moment to finish her off. How can I save this girl without having my father, Gaston or any member of the Macoute suspecting a thing?                    

That’s it… The Macoute are dirty savages. Might as well use what I’ve learned from them.

Alright, everything is set the girl and all of her belongings are in the trailer now on to the last part. I’ve thrown a flamed lit bottle at the window and watch the house slowly burn down along with the family’s most cherished memories. I then got on the bicycle and ride away.

To be continued…                                

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