Final Part

I couldn’t help but wait until he showed up to the hospital. As he ran in covered in sweat, my mind flash backed to five years ago on this very same day when he did the exact same thing.

This time though, it was death that was calling and not the disillusionment that came with the freedom that birth brings.

Angry and crying he stumbled towards the nurses station shouting in a panic to see his family.

Diego, many said, was always so passionate and maybe that’s why I continued to love him from a far, waiting for the day he would love me back like he did her.

I watched as he broke down when the police told him of how his family was butchered to death.  Multiple stab wounds they said, inside her groin and chest area they said.

They told him how his wife had fought to her very last breath. How his daughter was found dead in the back of the bus he took everyday.

I watched.

“We have a couple of questions we would like to ask you Mr.Gonzales”

“Must we do this now for Christ’s sake! Don’t you have any respect for the dead?”

“We understand that this is a difficult time Mr. Gonzales but we need to know your whereabouts when your wife called your cell an hour ago.”

“Called?” he shook his head, “What do you mean…..” and there it was. His realization that while he was knee deep in pussy his wife and child were been hacked to death by a deranged lunatic.

“Diego are you…”

“Johnny! Fuck Johnny, Marisol [sniff]….Sofia…… they’re…..They’re dead!”




Part Two

“Why is she calling Diego? I thought you said this was our time?” Isabella asked for the umpteenth time this week.

I put my phone on silent, placed it on the night stand and turned back to her.

Her body was calling out to me, and even though there was a pit in my stomach after seeing that call and we only had ten minutes left of my lunch break, it was paramount that I left her on a good note.

Now, don’t give me that look! I loved Marisol with all my heart, and we had built something so strong together. But Isabella, adios mio, she was my first drug.

Marisol and I had gotten clean once we found out she was pregnant. I had gotten my act together for her even changed everything about myself just to ensure that she and Sofia were happy. But even then, there was still Isabella.

The problem with being a junkie is that you fall from one addition to another and Isabella was that for me, an addiction that catered to my deepest, darkest desires. She was my first drug. Marisol was my recovery.

“Don’t leave.”

“Cariña, you know I must.”

I pulled her towards me and as I kissed her sweet lips and held her beautiful body to mine, I promised myself that this would be the last time that I would ever use again.

I exited her apartment and turned towards the direction of the diner when my phone rang again.

This time it was work.

“Diego, for fucks sake where have you been! We’ve been trying to reach you.” Janet the receptionist said rather earnestly.

“Eh, relax mama, you got me now. Where’s the fire?”

“Diego……I don’t know…… you need to get to the Chestlive hospital quick, its ……..its Marisol and Sofia they…”

Before she could finish her sentence, I hang up, turned around and began to run towards the direction of the hospital when I felt it again. The pit in my stomach that felt like the world was about to end forever.


What Do You Believe In?

Often, we are faced with this question at some point in our lives. More so as an adult then when we are kids. What do you believe?

When I was younger I believed in the catholic way of being. I prayed, I confessed my sins much to my entertainment. As a child knowing I could maybe do something naughty and say a couple of hail Mary’s always made me feel better for being bad. But away from that I was the catholic girl.

Later on in life I became intrigued by philosophy, the mind, the different religions present on earth and boy did my mind swirl.

I dabbled in it all and I made sure to try as much as I could, to my mother’s horror, in an effort to find that missing link to what I felt at the time was what I needed to feel complete. A belief so steadfast in its roots it couldn’t be shook.

You know, like that saved friend that has seen angels and what not. I wanted that.

Other times when I was naive and wishful I believed in the government, and when I was free I believed in the silence of the earth.

What is to believe?

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines it as:

believed; believing

intransitive verb

1 a :to have a firm or wholehearted religious conviction or persuasion :to regard the existence of God as a fact Do you believe? —usually used with in believe in the Scriptures

b :to accept something as true, genuine, or real ideals we believe in believes in ghosts

2 :to have a firm conviction as to the goodness, efficacy, or ability of something believe in exercise

3 :to hold an opinion :think I believe so

With that in mind I ask:

  • If I am to say I do not believe in religion or rather I have no religious conviction does that make me less of a spiritual entity then that person who is in a religion?
  • If I am to say that I chose not to take anything as truth or genuine or ideal because in a world that has existed for so long one can never truly have such understanding, is it right of me to say that I would be deemed as not normal in terms of what is deemed as normal human make up?
  • If I choose to hold no opinions what does that say about me as a whole?

I in my own limited and flawed understanding coupled with the little number of years I have taken breath on this earth can say, that if I am to place some form of belief in something, I believe in being.

In a sense I believe in the individual’s right to believe in what they believe to be right to them without the need to stamp it as truth for the whole of mankind to follow. That is what I believe in. No matter if you are religious or not, no matter if you eat cornflakes or sip tea, no matter if you are organic or dig into some bbq wings that just don’t quit. That is what I believe in.

One’s freedom to be, what do you believe in?