pages of a fantasy - dream catcher

Sarah is walking home, where she came from is not clear, even to her. A bit confused and a bit cold from the night air, but she's sure where she was headed. This wasn't her usual route home but she knows a place around the corner and a few more blocks and she's home.

The night air blows colder, she pulls her coat on tighter and she walks faster. A few more meters and she'll find a familiar place: the dwellings of a beautiful, tormented soul; a place of arts where she felt like home. But the closer she gets there, the colder she feels. She reaches for her coat again but touches nothing but her skin.

Realizing this, she hastens her pace slowly breaking in to a jog.
"Just around the corner" she tolls herself.
Before she gets to that corner, she notice something absurd -- snow.
"Snow? In this city?"
But when one of the failing specks touches her skin, it wasn't snow. It was ash. But it feels so cold.

As she rounds the corner, she sees it -- a towering inferno.

She runs toward the burning art shop. As she gets closer to the fire, she feels colder. And as she stands across the street, staring at the flames, she sees it. A wave of panic, pain and fear hits her.

The artist; the beautiful, tormented soul, was burning with his art.

She runs towards the burning building with intents to save her artist. But it seems like she never even took a step. She notices someone beside her. His hand clasped on her wrist.

She turns to face the stranger.
She sees the fire in his eyes, and as if she is under a spell, she loses her thought of her artist. The stranger gives her his brown leather jacket to keep her warm. As the stranger lead her away, she steals a look back. Now, it's only a pile of charred wood and ash. And a whisper leaves her lips -- Khael.

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It has been two years since Khael burned his own shop, with him along with it but the dreams keep haunting Sarah. It feels so real to her that she thinks she might actually have been there when it all happened.

But She could not have been there. It could not have happened that way, in her dream. She remembers that night well, she was woken up from her nap on a pile of her textbooks by the wailing sirens from the fire trucks. But even before the fire truck got there, the shop was already burning to a crisp.

But her dreams feels so real that she's not sure anymore.
But the biggest question on her mind was: "who was that stranger?"

She memorized the stranger's face now. Every crease, every frown line and those fiery sad eyes.

She knew the stranger's face so well that she draws it besides Khael's face every time she gets bored. And another thing she remembers is the brown leather jacket, the warmth it offered and the words or verses written all over it. And like every part of the dream, it felt so real.

Sarah still lives in the same apartment building a few blocks away from Khael's art shop. from her window, she can see the seven eleven outlet that now occupies what used to be Khael's art shop. She catches herself once in a while, staring at the store reminiscing on what it used to look like and how it used to draw her near every day as if the art shop was calling her to come home to it. But, now, staring at the seven eleven, it doesn't feel the same.
Or maybe it was Khael that she felt at home with.

One night, after waking up from the same dream, she stares out the window, looking at the store. And just as her head was beginning to clear from the dreams, she spots a kid wearing a brown leather jacket and the same messed up hair as stranger from her dream.

driven by curiosity and partly because she haven't felt the night air since she started having the dream and she missed it. She grabs her coat and her keys and still in her pajamas, runs to the store.

The air was cool but not biting. There was a light breeze blowing from the west, but Sarah barely notices it. She had her mind set on catching up to the kid and see if he was the stranger.

She bursts through the convenience store's double doors and starts looking around in every isle. The Kid was no longer there. Quite disappointed, Sarah steps out of the store with her head down and not even looking where she was headed.

She was four blocks away when she noticed that she wasn't walking towards her apartment. She chuckled at her absent mindedness and turned around and started her way back to her apartment.

When she got to the corner of the convenience store, she spotted the kid from the corner of her eye.

When she turned, the same wave of panic,pain and fear that she felt in her dreams swept over her.

"It's You!" She says out loud.
She stepped towards the stranger never pulling her eyes from the stranger's fiery eyes. Surprisingly enough, the stranger didn't look confused. Instead, he looked at her as if he knew her.
As she got closer to the stranger, she asked tactlessly: "Who are you? Do you know Khael?"
"My name is Michael, and I've talked with Khael once or twice." The stranger took a deep breath just as Sarah started to feel the biting cold.
"Why?" The only word uttered by Sarah as a reply.
"Stop chasing shadows, Sarah. Khael did it to himself. Don't get obsessed like he is." Michael said in a calm and steady tone.
"What? You said 'is'. Where is he?" Now, Sarah's voice was shaking from the cold.
"Don't Sarah. I'm trying to Keep you away from the shadows. Stop chasing them."
"Shadows?! I just want to know if he's alright."
"He's dead, Sarah. You saw him burn."
"No! No, I did not! And reports said the body was too burned to be recognized. They just assumed it was him." Sarah's voice now growing louder.
"He's gone, Sarah. So, just wake up." Michael said keeping a calm and steady tone.
"NO! You know where he is, don't you?"
"Look, Sarah, Khael is no more. You can't keep on chasing him."
"Take me to him, please."
"Sarah--" Michael's words trailed off as his finally let go of its hold on Sarah's.

Michael was now staring at someone behind Sarah. Following Michael's gaze, Sarah turns around and finds Khael behind her.
"No, Khael!" Michael grabs Sarah by the wrist to stop her from walking Khael. "Sarah, Khael's dead. Wake up."

Sarah, not even taking her eyes of Khael, says; "He's not dead. He's Right here."
"I'm right here, Sarah." Khael assures her.
"Khael, please, don't do this." Michael begs as he lets go of Sarah's wrist.
"C'mon, Sarah. I'll walk you home." Khael takes Sarah in his arm and started away from Michael.

Michael calls out to Sarah but, Sarah, now felt at home and no longer cared for anything else.


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SPO1 Badua:Sorry I'm late. I was in the bathroom when you called. What do we have?

SPO1 Suarez:25 years old, female, goes by the name of Sarah. Land lady said she heard screaming from the apartment. we found our Sarah dead and her apartment door open.

Badua:So, what you think killed her?

Suarez: I can't say. No bruises, no wounds. Just died.

Badua: I don't think she just died, may. It has to have a reason.

Suarez: Whatever. But check out her sketch pad on the table.

Badua: What about it? Did she happen to sketch her killer's face? (chuckle)

Suarez: Nope. Not exactly. Look.

Badua:Huh. Looks like Rodriguez's son and that arson kid.

Suarez:Rodriguez died Six years ago. two years before Sarah here moved to this region. And Rodriguez lived in the next city.

Badua: What are you saying, May?

Suarez: It's just weird. She never could have known Rodriguez.

Badua: Maybe it's not Rodriguez. Maybe it's some kid who looks like him.

Suarez: A kid that looked like Rodriguez's son with a jacket with Rodriguez badge number?

Badua: No shit?

Suarez: No shit.

tribute

A burning old man of words and wisdom
A thundering voice of soothing verses
A roaring power from heaven's kingdom
A tender lover of man's restlessness

A voice whose words could open people's eyes
A mind that labeled the cheapest lies
A soul that has heard the people's cries
and made unsilent all the silent sighs

He talks of his land, the people and life
Verses of the people's pain, death and strife
Lines of how his people has been oppressed
The lives that endure what fortune has missed

He stated three seasons in this nation
Two seasons of wether one degration
The sunny, the rainny and election
The third just another chance for poison

I heard Him on a radio frequency
and just for an hour I found His beauty
He woke the hungry poet inside me
Gave me a new found love for poetry

I heard him strum and sing a song of his
I, for that moment, was in state of bliss
To not reas his work is truly a crime
The greatest free poet of His and all time.
-Orville "chubby" Basas

body and soul and death

body and soul?
is it separate?

when the body dies does the soul die with it?
frequently asked questions. don't deny it but even you have once asked yourself that under your breath.
but what is the answer?
are they two separate accounts molded into one being?

some believe that when the body dies, the soul lives on and others think we all die when the body dies.

if the body dies then our soul lives on as a spirit or a ghost drifting astray in this empty world. some believe the souls are reincarnated. or recycled into other beings.
let's dwell on this.
ghost. many people say they saw ghost or spirits among us. 'though I have my own accounts of ghostly apparitions too many to mention. is it possible that the all mighty creator, some call God and others call Allah, allows these poor souls to wander among the living? why would an all seeing all, merciful and all powerful creator do that? but to understand Him is not what I am trying to say.
there may or may not be ghosts, it is for one to see for oneself. but to die is what I'm questioning.

when our body dies, does our whole being die?

NO! I refuse to believe that a person can die. the only time I believe that a person, both body and soul, can die is when he or she is forgotten.

like Vincent Van Gogh, who still lives as his works are praised and appreciated and thus he is remembered. like William Shakespeare who still thrives in the theatre and every one's poetic side.
like the Dads and Moms that their children and grandchildren remember when they hear her favorite song.
like John Lennon who's views are still rampant in the minds of both the young and the old.

I believe that the body dies and the soul lives on in your works, legacy, thoughts, in what you have made and done.

our soul is forever etched in the things we have accomplished. forever branded in the minds we have influenced. forever present in the songs we have sung. forever there in the hearts we have touched.

in a song written by Paul McCartney after John Lennon passed, "and you are with me now, for you are in my song."

--Orville "chubby" Basas