Nightmares by Matthew A. Hamilton

The nightmares grow worse now that her body has been discovered. I dream of the cold, DC rain falling angrily on the street that evening. Her screams haunt my mind and I can’t sleep. I wake up drenched in sweat. My teeth are sore from grinding them all night. I see her throat, slashed to the spinal cord, and the blood, now dry, sleeping on white plastic bags.

I’m hoping for the rain, the rain in my dreams, to wash away the memory. I try and think of the rain as a calming, therapeutic rain, but it never works. It remains angry. It turns to blood and the blood pollutes the streets. The only thing washing away is my sanity.

I quit my job last week. Now I spend my time watching children play on rusty monkey bars at Turkey Thicket Playground.  I watch them while I sit in my car and smoke packs of cigarettes. I can see them clearly through the chain fence. Sometimes I move the car up closer so that I can get better look and sometimes I just stare at the street and watch the steam rise like death angels.

Yesterday, I decided to get out of the car and take a walk. I listened to the sound of my feet on the cold and wet street as I locked the car up and walked away. I threw the keys down the sewer.

Halfway up the block, I saw a man curled up against a cardboard box. Maytag was written on the side. He watched me carefully as I approached him. He didn’t say anything; just watched me. Life on the street had been rough on him. His face was blown into different shapes, like beach dunes, and some of his teeth were rotting or missing altogether. His eyes were lonely, frustrated, and questioning. I thought of the box as a lonely bedroom of sorts and, for some reason, I don’t know why, I envied him.

I handed him the plastic Belk bag I was carrying. Inside was three thousand dollars, credit cards, my driver’s license; everything I owned. I’m turning myself in tomorrow.


When I grabbed her, she screamed and I panicked. I forced her down and drew my knife. It wasn’t my intention to kill her; just scare her a little. Why she broke up with me, I don’t know. That’s what I really wanted to ask her and had she not screamed, I probably would have.

–

Matthew A. Hamilton is a US Peace Corps Volunteer serving in the Philippines. Two of his poems will be published by the E-zine, Long Story Short: Ballads of Quiet in June 2010 and 1692 in October 2010. After service,  he plans to pursue an MFA in Creative Writing.

© 2010, Metazen. All rights reserved.

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This entry was posted on Wednesday, January 20th, 2010 at 4:00 am