JAX time capsule: a short story

The early experiences of his childhood set a half-baked stage for his return to Florida in the Summer of 2023.  You may have read previous blogs from the journal page that detail a road journey from San Francisco to Jacksonville, FL.  During my visit, my third EP, JAX, USA, was recorded.

On October 8th, 2024, JAX time capsule (Spotify pre-save link), a 2-track archive by Raph’s Radio, will be available on streaming platforms.  Songs featured were cut from the aforementioned EP.

The important points have been stated.  Thank you for fuckin’ with Raph.  I think you’re beautiful because of it.  Shönes Feiertage this week in Deutschland and a great week to the rest as well.

Enjoy.

…

A four-lane street separates a park from a historic-like infrastructure exhibiting a gallery from an unknown artist.  They’re phantom funded world tour attracts cities worldwide.  Most critics write, “Fascinating,” “A must-see show,” and “There’s nothing like it.”  Tonight’s hosting city is exceptionally clean.  Smooth concrete offers pedestrians a reason to slowly stroll.  Cars obey the posted speed limit with the occasional rage of a false dick size. The city lights glisten over top of them.  Beyond the Coliseum entrance, a spaced line of citizens stretches around the corner and further a hundred meters or so.  They converse with one another about various topics like the mystery of the artist, and their work, amongst other things.

Across the street is the city’s well-kept public park.  At a width of about two Manhattan blocks, with its length quadrupled, it’s the most visited scenery within a 5-mile radius.  Families, Yoga groups, book clubs, nappers, cuddlers, and pet owners happy to pick up their dog shit; that type of deal.  The northern edge of the park, like most instances throughout, features a neat trail supported by a few classy places to sit.  This specific trail, having the usual benches, and trees, bushes and more, can be seen from outside the gallery.  Naturally, the gallery faces south.

A dancing wind of leaves and flower pedals reveals a body-filled white dress occupying one of the North oak benches.  Their darkish hair sits in a perfect circle towards the upper back of the head.  They turn their head to look right.  From the torso, their left arm rests, draping over the back of the bench.  The left-hand drapes in the front; the right arm seems to sit to their right side.  From this angle the legs can’t be seen.

A forward leaning man seems uninterested in the line he waits in.  Squinting passed turtling traffic and to the park, he squats.  Splotched between plants like paint, his eyesight finds a shining white heel.

“Oh.”  He whispers to himself.

Vroom!  Two thundering vehicles break the man’s concentration. “Don’t be scured!”  A chuckling woman accompanied by others, bid at the startled onlooker.  Her American accent gives the comment a comedic punch.  She points from a black, broad-shouldered suit with a black and green, polka dotted, bow tie.  The green buttons guide the eye down to black dress shoes.  The man quietly turns to the woman and waves with a smile.

The line stubbles a few centimeters towards the door.  He sighs taking a quarter step, now looking in the direction of the speeding cars. The sounds of their engines still ring in the open air.  Interested in small talk, he turns again, but to address the group.

“Average night, right?”  He speaks.

The same woman responds, “You know where you at!”  Her tone suggests he should know or already knows the immediate area.

Friends of the woman continue to speak with one another.  They make up five people in total.  The man attempts to grab the group’s attention once more.  “I’m not sure if I’ve seen it like this, though.”

“Well, we’re outside all the time, so this usual for us.”  She responds with smirking confidence.  One of the members of her company begins to shift from the majority, making her way to the new conversation.

He replies, “Then I might be fresh to the antics.”  He sets into a new rhythm.  “This gallery is fairly new to me as well; It’s my first time here.”

“This gallery been here.  Did you travel for the exhibit?”  A woman from the company interjects, puzzled.

“I’m nearby actually.  Call me Dom.”  Softly smiling, he makes eye contact with the new woman then gently back to the first.

“I’m Greta.”  She cheeses.

“Call me Evie.  You should definitely see a little bit more of the city if you haven’t yet.”  Ring!  A vibrating phone screams from her suit pant.

She raises an index finger, signaling that she’ll need a moment.  The call seems urgent.  Dom gives a nod and notices Greta’s teeth still beaming at him.  He glances at her fishnet stockings and black and green, polka dotted, ruffled skirt.  The stockings flow down to green platform heels.  His eyes lead back up to a long-sleeve mesh starting from the arm of her black, off-shoulder top. With all this, he thinks the gold-chained emerald is a nice touch.

Dom remembers an earlier interruption.  Turning back toward the park, he squints his eyes, browsing through vibrant plants.  Did the woman leave?

“Hey, I like your style.”  Greta’s words try to shift his attention, but they fail.  He prioritizes focus and keeps looking.  Greta cools, allowing him a moment.  “Hmm.”  She looks where he looks, and the moment passes.  Not understanding, she tries again.  “Hey, I said, ‘I like your style!’”

Dom sees the bench, but the woman wearing white is no longer sitting there.  He squats to remember the sight of her heel.  “What?”  The odds of seeing her body lay horizontal under the bench baffle him.  Is she hurt?  He stands.  “Hey Greta, give me one moment, please.”

“Okayyy,” she sings with discontent.

Unsure of what he’s seen, Dom jogs down the street to the crosswalk.  The traffic has increased since he arrived downtown.  Raging dicks are now a more constant phenomenon.  “It’s best to play it safe.”  He clicks the crosswalk button multiple times.  His frustration grows as the cars honk at each other.  “Crazy.”  He thinks for a moment how drivers can be so reckless.  Still clicking the crosswalk button, the walk signal changes, and the last bit of cars proceed.  A group rushes the street before a car can pass the light.  “C’mon!”  The group ignores his rant.

The corner entrance near the crosswalk gives Dom a simple pathway.  From the chaos of the pedestrian crossing, he sprints, wondering if he’s mistaken.  Maybe the woman is a part of the gallery.  She may be a method actress or something.  His pace slows a bit and his mind continues.  It’s 2024.  If someone wants to lay on the ground, they can do that, regardless of their clothing.  He slows to a light jog.  Well, maybe you’re just curious and you want to see what it’s like to lay on the trail too.  His pace stabilizes.  Yeah. That. Exactly.  A woman in white slowly recovering from the ground, enters his sight.  He jogs faster.  She’s dressed so nice too.  Why not get her number?  She may even like guys that run fast!  His speeds now create a large vortex, whisking leaves, as he jolts back into a sprint.  Confidence is regained in his concerns.

“Hey!” He yells from afar and soon approaches.  “Are you alright?”  He takes a breath.

The woman isn’t urgent to respond, balancing herself on what look like expensive heels.  Eerily, her hair hides her face as it looks down at a stained dress.  Pieces of bark and twig stick out of her head.  With silky gloved hands, she caresses dirt from her breast and open stomach.  She then stops to look up at Dom.  “Did you see that?”

A split second of shock is felt as they lock eyes.  Time slows as he analyzes.  She’s a bit disoriented.  Dirt is spread around her face.  Redness around her pupil.  Her eyelids are weak.  Her is posture slouched and the neck tilts forward, also swelling red on the left side.  The right knee shakes trying to remain stable on the heel.  In real-time, he responds. “Miss, what happened to you?”

“I…I’m not sure?”  She stutters, gradually increasing her voice. “Some…fffuck bit me!”  A small drop a blood slowly streams from the neck.

Dom immediately reaches for his phone and dials 911.  “Hello, my name is Dom.  I’m in the park, directly across the street from the Tower Gallery.  A woman has been attacked.  She’s in critical condition and needs medical attention.”

“Wait!  Is that necessary?”

“Ma’am, you’re in bad condition.”  He points to the bench while trying to hear the operator, “Please, have a seat and rest.”

She thinks and agrees, “Okay.”

The woman steps to the bench and sits down.  She closes her eyes and calmy inhales and exhales.  She opens her eyes to search the ground for something, but no sign it.  She glances at her dress.  Stains of various greens and browns, smudge across it.  Her anger builds.  “Maaan.”  Dom looks, still on the phone with an operator.  He sees a tear roll down the woman’s cheek.  The aching of her neck distracts her from any sadness.  “Ow!”  She lightly touches the bite on her neck and quickly retreats.  White puss oozes at the teeth marks.  It pulsates.  The intensity of its pulse thickens.  “Why is the traffic so loud?”  Brakes from a screeching car make her face scrunch.  Rattling stereo systems play shitty music.  The crosswalk signal ticks make her twitch.  The sound of engines running pollutes the atmosphere.  Her hearing emphasizes voices from distant people.

“Who cares about art anyway?  It’s so useless.  The hoes, pleeease!”  Yells a statement.

“What’s gettin’ up my diggy?”  Confusion replies, “The hell you call me, fool?”

“I really enjoyed the nature of the Cloud Series.  The manner in which it’s captured, highlights an abstract sense of perception.  The work is well done. Thorough, truly.”  Articulates a review.

“Watch this!”  Vroom, vroooom!  A dick rages.

“Hey guys, I’ll be right back.”  Drifts a heads up.

A sizzling, followed by a strong inhale, whistles.  The typing of keyboard buttons, click.  Honk!  A loud car projects.  Beep-Boop.  An electronic frequency transmits.  The woman starts shivering at her hands.  Her nose drips snot off the top of her lip.  She sniffles it back and feels a burning at the nostril.  Then, a tingling touch braces her shoulder.  A voice speaks.

“Ma’am, what is your name?”

“Mee…Mmm…Mia.”  She struggles.   

Dom confounds at her shivering hands and dripping nose.  He kneels in front of her.  “Mia, my name is Domenico.  I’m going to wait with you for the ambulance to arrive.”

She’s scared.  She looks towards the sound of obscure footsteps coming from the left, then turns back to Dom. “Thank you.”  Tears prepare and her voice raises in pitch as if to inhale a large sob.  Dom, nervous, stands and steps back to create space.

“Hey!”  Greta yells from a distance.  Dom looks toward Greta, then turns his head back at Mia.  Her mouth opens wide.  She grips the seat of the bench and braces herself.  Dom watches.  She casts a loud inhale that feeds oxygen down the throat.  The eyes brighten.  Breasts press outward as the stomach pulls in.  The loud sucking last the next twenty seconds and halts.  She holds the air, looking at Dom, helpless.  Greta walks to them and inquires, “So this is your girlfriend?”  Dom and Mia, synchronized, turn to her.

“This woman isn’t well.  She was a—”  Mia’s mouthing vacuum now works in reverse, cutting off Dom.  It’s viciousness pushes leaves off the dirt path in front of her.  Then, the loudmouth abruptly stops and closes.  They all pause.  “I called an ambulance.”  Dom says franticly.

“Oh, I get it!  Ya’ll part of the gallery.”

Mia’s eyes disappear into her purpling head.  “Holy shit.”  Dom freezes.

Unimpressed, Greta walks close to him and stops an inch away.  From this distance, she can look up into his nose.  “And what’s your thing, huh?  You turn green?” 

Mia’s tint fades back to her natural color.  “She’s…not well.”  Dom speaks in a quiet terror.

Mia’s eyes return as black marbles and look at the back of Greta’s head.  Dom remains frozen.  Suddenly, as Greta begins to turn around, an extraordinary lunge rushes at the two.  The shove thumps a possessed white dress on top of them.  The combined weight of Mia and Greta almost clears the wind from Dom’s lungs.  Straddling Greta, Mia grabs her face to force both her thumbs into the throat.  Bang!  The thrust of Greta’s head knocks the back of it into Dom’s face, leaving him unconscious.

Greta flails her arms at Mia.  “Ahhh!”  She gags, sending alcohol and vegan bits upward.  Saliva and cream-like mush, drip around Dom’s sleeping frame.  Mia isn’t fazed.  Her thumbs work deeper into Greta’s face.  From the center of the lips, skin breaks apart like dotted strips on notebook paper.  The thumbs are deep enough to where the fingers can wrap around the back of the neck.  She squeezes.  The cheeks rip into separate flaps that butterfly from the face.  The screams silence.  Relentless, and grabbing the bottom teeth with two hands, she yanks.  Unsuccessful, she yanks again.  And again.  And once more.  The jaw dangles from the skull.