Green River Road – 1708

https://joatmon14.wordpress.com/2014/06/18/green-river-road/

 

As he looks at the houses up and down this block, he wonders what happened to them, why are they all in such decay? Something is telling him that in order for him to move on in this world, that he will need to understand what happened here.

First house number is 1708, as he approaches the house he gets glimpses of color in his mind, showing him how it used to look like. He is stunned at the vividness of the image that he sees, the green of the grass, the child’s toys in the front yard, the hopscotch squares drawn in yellow chalk on the sidewalk leading up to the porch that is now only 4 stairs that seem to be ready to fall apart at even the thought of walking on them. He tries to open his eyes to see things as they really are, the shades of gray that he saw from the street, but he realizes that his eyes are open.

“What the hell is going on?”

As he approaches the stairs, he notices it. The closer he gets to the old porch, the more he can see of it, as if it were really there. Wooden steps leading up to. . . well to nowhere. But now there are 7 stairs, not 4, and they look safe so he moves forward. As he does he can see an arc of color in front of him, maybe 10 feet away on the ground. Everything inside the arc is full of color, while the ruins lie just outside. He steps slowly on to the stairs and can see the white painted railings on the side of the wooden steps, stained a dark crimson color. One by one he goes up, his arc of color showing more details of the front porch which now seems to be expanding to the left and right.

At the top of the stairs he stops, realizing that he was not breathing and takes in everything within his half circle of color. As he turns his head to the side to look over his shoulder, he realizes that behind him is colorless. Whichever way his body is facing, the arc follows. He heads toward the front door, which is now well within his reach, the numbers 1 7 0 8 on the small black metal mail box hanging on the house. The wooden house is painted a lighter shade of blue, at least the part that is now visible. Screen door is unlocked and the wooden door, painted white is open.

He has to go in, something is telling him that he has to go in to start unlocking this mystery, but he is scared. turns to look at the street thinking about escape, but his feet won’t move. Turning back to the door he wonders what is going to happen, the voice in his head just telling him that he must find out what happened if he wants to get back to his normal life, 

“‘YOU MUST FIND THE ANSWER, YOU MUST HELP THESE PEOPLE”.

He takes a step onto the threshold, a blinding light hits him for an instant, almost knocking him off his feet. It felt like it went right through his chest, through his soul. Suddenly he is hearing names:

Eduardo Maldonado

Eileen Maldonado

Tamara Maldonado

Arturo Maldonado

The voice continues to say the names as he stands in the doorway, in a slow monotone voice, the kind of voice one uses when trying to memorize something.

‘Who are these people? Why am I hearing these names?’

He steps in past the door and the names stop. He backs up into the door frame and they start again. He can see up ahead outside of his arc of color, that there is just rubble, not even a frame of a house, but within it is beautiful. As he walks into the hallway, he sees a portrait of a family, a father, a mother, a daughter and a son. Are these the Maldonado’s? Was this their house? What happened to them?

No sense turning back now, he moves on down the tiled hallway…..

About joatmon14

Man in recovery from everything, looking for a little help, inspiration and direction.... Have spent the last 25 years working in big business, getting lost in all the chaos, not feeling like what I did mattered. By no means am I a professional writer nor do I even think I am that good, but it is something I love to do. Getting lost in a world of words, even for just a little while is why I started my blogs. In reality, at the age of 49 I am trying to find my voice. To find my passion. Maybe starting a little late, but better late than never. I write for me, I enjoy reading other's thoughts very much as well and look forward to the day that I can hold an extended, intelligent, meaningful conversation with YOU View all posts by joatmon14

8 responses to “Green River Road – 1708

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