Saving the World - A work of fiction, Part I

You ever have those moments where you jolt awake, almost like it was a cattle prod stabbing into your lower back, pushing you, shocking you back into reality? Then, after being driven into the darkness that is reality, blinking through the sleep, you wonder where you are, what is happening and was it really a cattle prod that woke you? Sometimes I'll twist around to check my backside just to be sure.
Anyway, that happened again last night. Seems to be happening more lately. I know now it was Hemingway, kicking in his sleep. But it makes me wonder sometimes if its the promise. It also makes me wonder if Hem misses Lady Bonita and maybe he's dreaming about her. Running with her in the backyard, a place a dog deserves to be, free enough to chase his "girlfriend", or I guess more like sister...
Ahh, I've got to get off the subject.
Idiot!
All it does is crash down waves of memories about a life I can't have anymore and that's just selfish of me. But still I have to wonder, would Hem be better if I could have left him behind. I guess that was my first mistake.
Stop!
Can't think like this. It's not about me, this is about the greater good. Hem is just as happy with me as if he was back home. Anyway, I have more important things to do like find breakfast.
I scan around the alley, wrap up my blanket and look down at Hem. I always love this time of day. The sun cresting, it is the cosmic equivilant of a reset button. No matter the promises, the hopes, the failures, here is another chance to get out there and share the worth of the promise. Hem's sitting like the good boy he is, tail is slightly wagging and I am now noticing he's got "the look" in his eye. That sly look like he knows something I don't. This usually goes one of two ways, either he's going to take off after an alley cat or we are gonna have a feast.
My stomach grumbles a bit and I scan the alley and its dumpsters once more. It won't happen here, a business complex on a...what day is it, Saturday? They won't have anything here, I've seen the fat slobs who work in these sterile boxes. They won't even toss out a stale donut; but that's the duality of it all. It makes this the safest place to sleep at night and that's just till October anyway.
Hem is nudging at my hip. He's ready to go. As I put my blanket into the backpack I decide to grab his ball. A quick chuck down the alley and he's off chasing it, his clicking nails echoing all the way.
Lead us to something good today boy...

Days

All these days string together, blending and twisting. Mixing and muting they swirl and become difficult to differentiate. There are times that stand alone like a monument above trees, then there's the other times that seem unique but only remind me of nothing, like the dead leaves fallen, huddled under the wrong tree, next to said monument.
No matter the day, I can smell your hair when the breeze strikes up and I can taste you as I am sustained by life. These days that blur may just be caused by you, I never remember a day without you and the comfort is found in exactly that.

Relative

People ask why I am so interested in history; dirty, dusty, old and crusty history. It's simple, it follows the Principle of Parsimony, meaning the easiest answer must be the correct one, right? The easiest offering I have is I want to know if I'm going to be crazy one day.
History doesn't have to encompass the desire to know what types of tools the Sumatrans used to build their living quarters; no, it sometimes is just about finding out about the last five generations of my own family. Knowing that I had a relative who threw himself off the peak of a 14-story building might help me understand why I am afraid to look up at tall buildings, or maybe why I don't fear standing on the ledge of one. Maybe knowing that my own grandmother suffered from agoraphobia helps me understand why I feel antsy being cooped up, or maybe it lends to why I enjoy being on the couch so much.
My grandfather's sister currently resides in a sanitarium, showing none of the genetic disease that killed him over 15 years ago. Which path will I follow, senility, or premature death from a disease that has no cure? Maybe my mixed blood from the other blood line will hold all of that in check.
I can tell you which of my ancestors invaded which country dating back to 1066 AD, how all lines of my blood came to be in America and how eventually they co-mingled. I cannot, however, tell you if I will someday be insane. Frightening? Sure, how is that not slightly scary? On the other hand, do we really know if we are going insane? How far must that path be travelled before we can actually say we've arrived in the town center? Maybe I'm there already and those around me are either figments of my own depraved mind, or simply catering to my deranged state.

Food for thought...

We are a funny people sometimes. We complain about how much money Obama and McCain are raising for their advertising campaigns, yet we are swayed by those 30 second "warm and fuzzy, the world will be perfect under me" commercials.
Which is more insulting, that they think they can garner our vote in 30 seconds, or that we are actually a snippet society, so caught up in getting into the next thing, we cannot even take time to research who is most qualified to be the most powerful man on the planet for the next four years?

The Reveal

DaveP World: A Buzz From the Past coming in September. The first new DaveP World story in five years...

Epoch To Come

Descending soon...The dynamics of which, have never been previously revealed...

The Clue

Dreams of heading west
the place where the sun goes
to rest.