Ron Gibson, Jr.

 


Under the Seppuku Sun


The city suffers from sleep apnea. Before it drowns in the loins-heavy languor of a dream, it crashes to the surface with the wailing laughter of graveyard shift workers, the squeal of tires and whiney exhausts from rice rockets, barking fits from paranoid dogs, indeterminate clashes of steel on steel in the distance. The unceasing will to live strobes through the mind, like ball lightening. Breath catches, seminal fluids release, the edge, now disembarking for Anaheim, Azusa, and Cucamunga on Track 15. Eyes flash-shutter. Darkness prevades. The sound of static coos softly, a lullaby. The will to live drives his legs to movement, his mind to madness, his face to twitching. He dresses, leaves the duplex, its skin abrasive against his own, and he wanders, seemingly, aimless.
His legs lead him past the dark windows of houses--houses seemingly benign of sorrow, holding their disease close to their hearts, as they feign sleep--underneath pools of streetlight, comfort zones for adherents of the bogeyman, to the amber waves of intersections. Past the garish sign of a 24-Hour convenience store, empty spare a black woman waiting at the telephone booth and the indifferent existence of the nightclerk, scratching lottery tickets to pass the time. Past the raucous echoes of a dive, its parking lot filled with pick-up trucks. Past miles of darkened buildings and concrete, poured to coagulate the soil's veins--its death a canvas for industry.
He stops abruptly at a train crossing; its bell clanging, candy-caned rocker arm falling, red lights blinking. With no fanfare, an Amtrak train races by. Warm, aquarium light burns across his retinas, sparse shadows of humanity look through him--a mere amusement en route to paradise.
The rocker arm raises back up, bell stills, and lights die, leaving him to wonder if the train was ever there or just an itinerant thought borne from a fever dream.
Under overpasses, still-life apartment complexes, digital reader boards flashing 0% Down savings at abandoned car dealerships, tassles fluttering with the breeze.
Earthly amusements eventually seem to bore him. As he ascends the dark lane winding up a hill, he keeps checking skyward, as if an answer has yet to reveal itself to him. The answer does not come. Nor will it ever. But he continues to watch, as he seats himself on a wooden bench in a hillside park, his only hope.
Though the hill is not of great height, the city appears so small, so tame. A distant trinket in a snowglobe, waiting to be shaken up by a 9.0 earthquake to sink its miserable existence back into the earth, whence it came. Lights stutter in the distance. Silence wraps him in its embrace, making him aware of himself. Echoes of the past haunt his blood. Each heartbeat, another pang of regret knifes through his mind. Two hemispheres of a brain; combatants of a private war.
He watches the harsh darkness pale into the gray of dawn, before the sun rises like a gunshot, the unified wings of geese fleeing southward.



    The prose of Ron Gibson leans toward the abstract and is rich with poetic lines and heart thumping detail. Ron resides in Kent, Washington, and his work has previously appeared in publications such as Exquisite Corpse, Word Riot, The Whirligig, The Paumanok Review, and Thunder Sandwich. He has had fiction and poetry included in various anthologies, and has been nominated for Pushcart and Zine Yearbook nominations.


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