Post by Jim Chandler on Jun 13, 2007 18:09:28 GMT -5
SCARFACE AND THE PURPLE FLOWER
The Emmaus Tribune, a newspaper in the Ozark Mountains published this series of strange reports mailed to them from an unknown man. His reports will be published in serials to allow you time to judge him. His life will be in your hands.
The pain and tragedy of this poor man screams out in each line and on every page. This was his first in a series of remarkable revelations.
February 14
Dear readers, my name is Scarface. It is not the name on my birth certificate. I cannot tell you my former name, my former address nor my age. Regrettably, I was once a drug user, any drug that would get me high was my choice. At least five years of my life are a misty, psychedelic haze. I don’t remember where I lived or what I did to get money, but when I finally sobered up I found two duffle bags packed with one hundred dollar bills. There are over twenty million dollars in these bags. O you greedy ones out there, don’t bother trying to find me for the money. It is hidden away hundreds of miles from where I live. You would never find me anyway because I live where no human has ever lived or will ever live again.
I can not live another day unless I tell somebody about a terrible crime involving me. I was in a drunken stupor when a friend told me that Greta, a woman whom I loved with every fiber of my being was cheating on me. I was devastated. A red shroud of fury engulfed me. My love disappeared that night and has never been found, nor will she ever be found. A few days later I discovered that my friend had lied about my love. Like Othello I had lost a great pearl. But unlike Othello, who only stabbed his Iago, I helped my ‘Iago’ disappear that night and he will never be found again.
Totally estranged from the world I retreated to a desolate mountain cave. The second day in this far away place I was cooking my high for the evening. Unfamiliar with the portable stove that used alcohol for fuel, the stove exploded. My entire upper body was in flames. I covered my eyes with my hands and rolled on the grass near my cave. A horrible burning pain invaded my body. I could feel the screams coming from the gash that was my mouth, but I could hear nothing. Blessedly, I passed out.
This happened months ago but the memory is so vivid that I can still feel the searing pain. I must pause now, dear reader, because the memory of the pain fills me with nausea. I will write you again. I must ask you soon what I must do.
Scarface
February 15
I apologize, dear readers, for my sudden departure yesterday. My wounds and pain have healed but the memory of the accident, the burden of guilt I carry and my lonely life overcome my emotions often. The only friend I have is a stray dog who saved my life after the accident. I was awakened, I don’t know how long after the accident, by a distant sound of a dog barking. After I painfully tore my swollen hands from my face I saw a large German Shepherd who was barking very close to my face but it sounded like the barks came from hundreds of feet away. I touched my ears and felt large scabs where the ears used to be. The scabs were ear muffs made from my former ears. Now my best friend, whom I have named Manuel, was trying to get my attention. Slowly, I sat up. An explosion of pain invaded my upper body. I screamed out. Manuel licked my face and moved repeatedly toward the cave entrance. He knew that I needed shelter.
I passed out several times from the excruciating pain as I crawled to the cave. Each time Manuel awakened me to be on my way. Before dusk I was in the cave on my bed roll. I drank deeply from the cold spring water in the cave. As I drank, Manuel lapped up water beside me. Fortunately, I had stocked my humble dwelling with several months of canned food. And most fortunate of all was my nurse, Manuel. The trusty Shepherd, possessing the wisdom of Canis familiaris, with their centuries of serving as man’s best friend, Manuel provided the anti-septic cleansing with his licking of my wounds. It was during this treatment that Manuel and I bonded. He gazes at my horribly mutilated body and all I see is love in his eyes. Would a human being ever do that before I die. I must pause to cry now, dear reader.
Scarface
June 25
Dear readers, my burned skin on my head, arms, hands and upper boy has sloughed off leaving a red and white striped scar. My ears and nose are gone; only four dark pits show where they once were. All the hair from my upper body is gone. There is no hair, no eyebrows or eyelashes and a weird numbness enwraps my upper torso.
My jeep is still in running condition, but until five days ago I was fearful of venturing out of the woods again. Two weeks earlier, I had driven over to the small country store. Inside was a mother with her three small children. When the children saw me they screamed in horror. The mother and the store owner stared at me in disbelief. I was the ogre who lives in haunted houses to them. When I returned, I loaded up my few belongings. Manuel and I left this area for good. I had long ago buried the drugs and their paraphernalia. For the first time in many years I sleep from natural reasons, not a drug induced vapor.
We drove for three days until I found another likely cave in a large wooded area in the Blue Ridge Mountains. After unloading and posting Manuel on guard I drove to a small town to buy much needed supplies. Before I left I had covered my head with a wool cap that covered my face. With a scarf that covered all but my eyes and gloves that covered my red hands without nails, I felt confident that I would not draw attention or frighten anyone. After loading up my supplies I stopped by a toy store. Soon I found what I was searching for. I selected six different rubber masks, very realistic looking. One was Reagan, another was Nixon, the others were different characters. At another store I bought pens and many notebooks. For some unknown reason I have an intense urge to write. Perhaps it is the lack of contact with human beings that I miss.
Scarface
The Emmaus Tribune, a newspaper in the Ozark Mountains published this series of strange reports mailed to them from an unknown man. His reports will be published in serials to allow you time to judge him. His life will be in your hands.
The pain and tragedy of this poor man screams out in each line and on every page. This was his first in a series of remarkable revelations.
February 14
Dear readers, my name is Scarface. It is not the name on my birth certificate. I cannot tell you my former name, my former address nor my age. Regrettably, I was once a drug user, any drug that would get me high was my choice. At least five years of my life are a misty, psychedelic haze. I don’t remember where I lived or what I did to get money, but when I finally sobered up I found two duffle bags packed with one hundred dollar bills. There are over twenty million dollars in these bags. O you greedy ones out there, don’t bother trying to find me for the money. It is hidden away hundreds of miles from where I live. You would never find me anyway because I live where no human has ever lived or will ever live again.
I can not live another day unless I tell somebody about a terrible crime involving me. I was in a drunken stupor when a friend told me that Greta, a woman whom I loved with every fiber of my being was cheating on me. I was devastated. A red shroud of fury engulfed me. My love disappeared that night and has never been found, nor will she ever be found. A few days later I discovered that my friend had lied about my love. Like Othello I had lost a great pearl. But unlike Othello, who only stabbed his Iago, I helped my ‘Iago’ disappear that night and he will never be found again.
Totally estranged from the world I retreated to a desolate mountain cave. The second day in this far away place I was cooking my high for the evening. Unfamiliar with the portable stove that used alcohol for fuel, the stove exploded. My entire upper body was in flames. I covered my eyes with my hands and rolled on the grass near my cave. A horrible burning pain invaded my body. I could feel the screams coming from the gash that was my mouth, but I could hear nothing. Blessedly, I passed out.
This happened months ago but the memory is so vivid that I can still feel the searing pain. I must pause now, dear reader, because the memory of the pain fills me with nausea. I will write you again. I must ask you soon what I must do.
Scarface
February 15
I apologize, dear readers, for my sudden departure yesterday. My wounds and pain have healed but the memory of the accident, the burden of guilt I carry and my lonely life overcome my emotions often. The only friend I have is a stray dog who saved my life after the accident. I was awakened, I don’t know how long after the accident, by a distant sound of a dog barking. After I painfully tore my swollen hands from my face I saw a large German Shepherd who was barking very close to my face but it sounded like the barks came from hundreds of feet away. I touched my ears and felt large scabs where the ears used to be. The scabs were ear muffs made from my former ears. Now my best friend, whom I have named Manuel, was trying to get my attention. Slowly, I sat up. An explosion of pain invaded my upper body. I screamed out. Manuel licked my face and moved repeatedly toward the cave entrance. He knew that I needed shelter.
I passed out several times from the excruciating pain as I crawled to the cave. Each time Manuel awakened me to be on my way. Before dusk I was in the cave on my bed roll. I drank deeply from the cold spring water in the cave. As I drank, Manuel lapped up water beside me. Fortunately, I had stocked my humble dwelling with several months of canned food. And most fortunate of all was my nurse, Manuel. The trusty Shepherd, possessing the wisdom of Canis familiaris, with their centuries of serving as man’s best friend, Manuel provided the anti-septic cleansing with his licking of my wounds. It was during this treatment that Manuel and I bonded. He gazes at my horribly mutilated body and all I see is love in his eyes. Would a human being ever do that before I die. I must pause to cry now, dear reader.
Scarface
June 25
Dear readers, my burned skin on my head, arms, hands and upper boy has sloughed off leaving a red and white striped scar. My ears and nose are gone; only four dark pits show where they once were. All the hair from my upper body is gone. There is no hair, no eyebrows or eyelashes and a weird numbness enwraps my upper torso.
My jeep is still in running condition, but until five days ago I was fearful of venturing out of the woods again. Two weeks earlier, I had driven over to the small country store. Inside was a mother with her three small children. When the children saw me they screamed in horror. The mother and the store owner stared at me in disbelief. I was the ogre who lives in haunted houses to them. When I returned, I loaded up my few belongings. Manuel and I left this area for good. I had long ago buried the drugs and their paraphernalia. For the first time in many years I sleep from natural reasons, not a drug induced vapor.
We drove for three days until I found another likely cave in a large wooded area in the Blue Ridge Mountains. After unloading and posting Manuel on guard I drove to a small town to buy much needed supplies. Before I left I had covered my head with a wool cap that covered my face. With a scarf that covered all but my eyes and gloves that covered my red hands without nails, I felt confident that I would not draw attention or frighten anyone. After loading up my supplies I stopped by a toy store. Soon I found what I was searching for. I selected six different rubber masks, very realistic looking. One was Reagan, another was Nixon, the others were different characters. At another store I bought pens and many notebooks. For some unknown reason I have an intense urge to write. Perhaps it is the lack of contact with human beings that I miss.
Scarface