Sakura Sweet Chapter 2: For Old Time's sake.

Raining. It was raining. There was rain all over the place in the gutter on the roof in the streets and on top of the cars going pitter patter pitter patter to the beat of the drum inside Jonathan’s heart, his head, his very internal state of being which he himself knew not to forsake for anything but the righteous command of the one who loved him, she who was no longer a part of his life and who had left him in the rain in the first place where he lay with his head against the concrete and his eyes open, listening, watching the rain fall down on top of the roofs of the cars which were parked in line ant-line like a big fat poboy filled with roasted sausage and sauerkraut and bits of roasted fish and roasted chestnuts and the things which he imagined were true as well as false; it was all false, he didn’t like it being false, he wanted it to be true drew ploo shoe inside the mind of this body which he inhabited because of how fake it was and how different he saw it as being. Not at all. No way in hell.

No way in hell.

He got up. From the ground. And tried to wipe his hands on his pants but they were wet. He looked at his palms and asked God for forgiveness of his sins. Why were they forgiven? Were they forgiven?

What had he done?

Why had he done it? You deserve it. You deserve it. You deserve it. You deserve it. You deserve it. You deserve it. And then he began to walk. Through the rain. Away from his house. But the parking lot was empty. It was an apartment, wasn’t it? Why had she mentioned mortgage payments? Was she real—see? She wasn’t real. This place didn’t have mortgage payments.

It had rent. Rent. She said mortgage payments and she meant rent. Rent bent crent. Cookies and cream on top of a salad bowl. Johnathan looked up at the stars. But they were not there. They were gone hidden behind the clouds the cumulonimbus up down quark skies which were really green because the aliens said so. Now he was wet. Had he always been wet? He wasn’t wet. Where had the wet gone?

Bright skies. Big trees. Lots of forest all around him. Where was he? In his head. Of course. He was there when she looked at him and now he was not there anymore.

. . . Hello, there.

. . . Hello, there. Someone said something. Hello, there. You there.

(You there.)

; ; ; He answered. He listened. He heard. This was his destiny. His real destiny.

The king of the world. He was the king of the world! Stand up! Listen! Everybody hear this message!

“Hey.” A hand touched his shoulder. “You okay there?” The hand gripped his shoulder tight. “I said, you okay there?”

English sminglish they speak English here in fantasy land. This is fantasy land. Good for me. I’m king of the world. Kind king of the world king of the world. Sming king bling ding dong the doorbell Christmas is here. Christmas.

“Hey, there, you, look at me.”

Maddening.

“Are you even alive?” he asked. The person behind him. Which person was it? Darth Vader. It had to be Darth Vader. Jonathan turned around. “Hello, Darth Vader.” Darth Vader did not look like Darth Vader.

A kid. Sweet kind eyes. The kid had sweet eyes. Very sweet eyes. Jonathan liked him the instant he saw him. Which was a couple of seconds ago. Seconds ablow with whale penis peni pinasaurus rex. Penis. The kid had a penis. But he did not. She was a girl. Girl smirl? Girl Smirl.  Why then had he heard the voice as a he?

Deep voice. Must be deep voice. Girl. She’s a girl. Nice breasts. Cool. Round. I want to suck on her nipples. Shut up. No you shut up. Go away.

The girl tilted her head and watched Jonathan as he stared back at her. She did not know what to think. She only knew that there was a person here who was not here before. In her cabbage patch. A rather short man. A rather skinny man. Obviously crazy. What would she do with him? Adopt him? Did he need a nice meal and some rest? She decided. He needed someone to talk to. She would play the kind card while she still had it in herself to be merciful. Merciful shumerciful. Me shumerciful. Johnathan thought not that he would be king. He wasn’t kind enough. He was broken. This girl. Could she fix him? Fix what? Was she broken?

The girl took his arm. She smiled at him. “Care for some sausage?” She began to drag him away but then she stopped. She turned around to look at him. “Are you okay? You sound a little muddled. I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Shumaying.” Johnathan wiped his free hand on his pants now suddenly dry. Now he took his hands and showed them to the girl. “Who are you? What do you want? Where am I?”

The girl smiled. “I’m you,” she said. “You, you, you.”

Jonathan blinked. “Haa . . .” He paused. “What do you mean by that?” His thoughts suddenly became clear. Very clear. Clearer than they had ever been before. He liked it that way. Shumay? No, no shumay. That wasn’t a word. Not at all. Where was he? Really. In his head. It must have been in his head. All of it? All of it. All of it. All of it. So where was Emile? Did she still exist? Somewhere? I don’t know. This guy doesn’t know. She. She’s a she. She is a she. She is a pretty she indeed. Shumeed it is not. Shumeed. Not a word. No word. Not a sentence. No sentence. Not. Wiped his pants on his hand. Goodbye, me. I’m alive. Goodbye, me. He took a deep breath. And looked around him.

He was alone.

He saw no one. The girl was gone. She had always been gone. She had never been there. She was not real. Nothing was real. Except what Jonathan saw. He saw it all, for the first time in his life. What was he doing with it? His life. Why had he come here. Why was he here. Those two questions he felt would be answered in a short period of time specially known only by him but not by him at all. He liked it that way shumay it was not. Shumay was not a word. No, it was not a word. At all. He wanted to go home?. He wanted out. He had been out his whole life. All the way out. In and out he had been going his whole life. Now he was free. Trees. Green trees. They were there and not thinking of him, not out to get him, not trying to kill him as he had always thought. He liked trees. Hadn’t always liked them. They were scary. Now they were not. Welcoming him. That was what they were doing. That was what they were saying to him—

We will help you. We will worship you since you are our king.

“I am?”

Yes, you are. Though you have not been chosen yet, you have not been put through the trials by fire. “Trials by fire?”

Trials by fire. The thoughts ended. The trees stopped talking. Perhaps they had been talking. Perhaps it had all been in his imagination. The imagination of the king. Perhaps. Jonathan did not believe them when they had said it to him just a moment ago. He had no reason to believe them. None at all. Somehow he could think straight now. Differentiate reality from fiction. Perhaps it was not fiction. He had no choice but to agree that it wasn’t, but he knew that it was. It was pure fiction. The world was not fictional, the way he saw it, but it was indeed specially made for him. It had to be. He felt it in his bones.

He felt it in his bones.