Just a Story

I have a story for you.  A little bit of fiction.  A tablespoon of friction. 
Just a story.

A story about John.  No one you’ve heard of, just John.  Although you may recognize the reflection within a selection, 
but it’s just a story.

John was a booming boastful business guru living in Texas.  A whole lot of reckless.  Racing the fast life.  No kids.  No wife.  You see, John’s wealth made all women seem alike.  Below him.

As you may have imagined with your Hollywood minds, John was stacked with attractiveness like a cheeseburger eating contest on the restaurant wall.  Luring and mouth watering with the tag line “FREE, If completed in ONE short HOUR”.

John traveled for business with the glamorous pride of a fraud imitating an exotic secret agent.  Stirring nothing, shaking emptiness.  Not even enjoying martinis, but he had no one else to whisper his dirty little secrets to.

The pleasures of business led John to Mexico like the waving finger of a sensual, seductive, sedating… cannibal.  Prized and pampered.  Seasoned with lies and fake love, just to be naively chewed up and spat out.  Like playing blackjack with Lucifer as the dealer.  Just one more deal.  What’s the worst that could happen?

The profit of business was on autopilot for John, so his travels meant he was along for the ride.  A zombie working weekdays and smiling like a model on the weekends.  Hashtag all the filters.
Just a story.

John spent little in meetings and more with white powdered greetings.  He gambled and trampled on his own childhood ambitions.  John didn’t live easy at a young age.  He was once a red headed step child stuck in the body of a Blondie.  As a kid, he saw his own mother take strikes from another.  Too small to do anything but hide.  Curled in the dark, he muffled his cries.  Like a victimized female college student’s fear of the media because he’s the University’s proclaimed student athlete with their deserved punched ticket of Sports Center Coverage.  Paying a zero dollar salary to the ones burning calories.
Just a story.

Hiding in shadows is what drove John to become a man of statue.  Standing strong and proud like Greek art.  Only day dreaming of a bigger, more shameful leaf.  I don’t know, maybe one from the desired garden of Eden’s fashion line.  The Adam collection perhaps.  People may kill for that blog post.
Just a story.

John had his day of business and night of fun.  He called his driver and said, “Be ready at one.”  John’s intoxicated self was bored with the ani-climatic fizzle of his theatrical happiness.  Like a chest trembling finale impostered with duds.

John made his trip short and aimed for the airport.  His ride rolled up slick and smooth, ready to impress.  Black on black on black like American culture that some white men hiding behind confederate flags and blue porch lights hate, can’t relate and miss the southern ways.
Just a story.

John stood waiting for his flashy taxi.  Chewing his gum, smacking and cracking.  The driver hopped out and grabbed his bags, opened the door and John sat in the back.  The quiet orchestrated a vibrant silence.  His eyes went from ready to steady.  Then steady to heavy.  The sound of gravel gave John a rattle!  He woke to a sudden halt.  The doors opened with strangers dragging him out.  He kicked and resisted!  He swung his arms close-fisted!  John was hit and collapsed.  Everything went black.

John woke up to a dirty stray dog licking his face.  “Good boy…  Good boy…”  The sun was up.  Dirt in all directions.  John rose to his feet, wobbling weak thighs and squinty eyes.  He moaned and groaned while he evaluated and calculated, getting his equilibrium straightened.  He frantically checked his pockets, and with a panic he knew he lost it.  They took everything!  No phone.  No money.  No wallet.  No I.D.

John hiked as the heat spiked.  The panic and worry piled higher and higher like the hot sun raining down nothing but sweat.  His belly grew thirsty and his mouth dried up like distant children in foreign lands.  Meanwhile, I’ve grown picky on which water bottle to choose in the grocery store beverage aisle from the same people who prescribe sugar to Diabetic States of America and the United Nations of Litter.

Have you seen our oceans?  Something’s wrong when we have an island of trash floating.  Nearly vanished forest, but we don’t see that from our doorsteps.  The Arctic looks lethargic.  Taxes leave us starving.  No guns discussed.  In shootings we trust.  Oil drills pepper opens fields.  Hunting season for the fracking, just to see who the money stack king  is.  Farmers are on death row.  All we eat is GMO.  We try to fix our mental sickness by buying a fitness clinic we’ll never finish.  We greed during Christmas and give no love to those who’ve made a bad decision.  It’s vicious!  The hate is malicious.  We turned sex into a business!
Just a story.

John managed to sneak up on a truck stop.  He noticed two cowboy hats herding a handful of women into the back of a semi truck.  John took it as a struck of luck.  He saw they were sneaking across the border and this was his chance to ride back home.

The men went inside, forcing John to decide.  There and then, what to do.  John also had grit.  A man of courage.  In a position of conflict, he fiercely flourished!  Kind of like the kid from Akron being more that an athlete.
Just a story.

John’s mind was made.  It’s like he was born for this stage!  He ran and hid in the back of the semi.  He saw glowing eyes and whimpering cries, and boxes.  Brown, cardboard, square boxes.  No one answered him.  He felt more alone in the truck than in the dirt with a dirty stray licking his face.  “Good boy… Good boy…”  John heard men approaching and quickly arranged the boxes to hide behind.  The doors opened, the men spoke few words and shut it again.  The engine started and began to move.  John’s eyes adjusted to the darkness.  He saw eyes piercing with sharpness.  So sharp they were carving.  So carving it was startling!

The women looked like abused pets.  Cuddling each other with stress, and the rest was a mess.  Torn blankets and old buckets.  Pillows without stuffing.  Tough times for the other side.  Greener grass depends on the eye of the beholder.  Seems politics are color blind these days.
Just a story.

The truck came to a stop.  John swallowed the lump in his throat like a scorpion snapping and stinging all the way down.  Slowly dragging down his esophagus to the acidic abyss below.  John peeked between boxes in a crack.  The two cowboy hats opened the doors from the back.  He watched as they pulled and grabbed, forcing like drunk snakes winding up on helpless prey.  Slithering lies with whiskey breath and fat wallets.

John saw truth in the semi.  It filtered through his brain like an avalanche.  Unwelcomed, but cleansing every fruitless branch.  He saw these women were not immigrants.  Not illegal aliens stealing from pumpkin spiced latte advocates.  John realized he was hiding in the back of a semi trafficking sex slaves, going straight through on the red-eye.  Maybe they were taken.  Given promises of a land massacred with empty promises.
Just a story.

John forgot his own circumstance.  How he was robbed and abandoned.  Worst he was stranded and branded, as a nobody.  John’s pupils widened like a late night yawn.  Catching fear and flies alike.  He remained silent, but his hunger was a tyrant.  His stomach grave a growl!  A cowboy raised his brows!  John regretted taking a peek, because now he couldn’t blink!  “Can he see my eye?”  John thought.  “He’s looking right at me!”  A woman pulled the cowboy’s arm, refocused his attention, diffusing the alarm.  John blinked.  The men finished and left, leaving behind their venomous stench.

“She saved me.”  John thought.

John came out from his shelter.  He wanted to help her.  He no longer felt stellar.  Rich, proud and loud to claim.  The King of the Jungle with a beautiful mane.  Now like a rodent, sneaking in trees.  Hiding in fear, with no one to please.

The truck stopped close to the border.  John didn’t know what was in order.  The women began to whimper, as if it was a hint for, another visit from the cowboy hats.  John hid and peeked through his favorite crack like a little boy wandering into the dressing room.

The cowboys approached for actions we loath.  Something was different.  Like an empowering whisper.

The cowboys’ physical mentality snagged an alternate reality.  No one planned for the women to retaliate.  Resisting together, each followed suit.  Side by side, they screamed, “Me Too!”
Just a story.

One of the cowboys pulled a gun, upset he was denied his fun.  John leaped out from behind the boxes, without blinking he cocked him.  The gun went flying as John fought from dying.  A woman grabbed the gun and ordered them off the truck.  She pointed and yelled as both cowboys ran.  Her first felt strength in front of a man.
Just a story.

They all sat in the truck, but this time up front.  John drove to the border and explained the whole story.  He made it back home, and the women the same.  His life grew new meaning.  His heart had been changed.

Years passing by, with John doing much.  He shared his money with the women in that truck.

John gave his visits to all but one.  He did not visit who picked up the gun.  John was unchained from the baggage he carried.  John and this woman were peacefully married.

Love can be found in the oddest places.  Racist faces don’t need slavery to make a case for.  The economy needs apologies.  The poverty’s astonishing.  Pharmacies gain on the chronically!  Gave plagues to the poppy seed!  Our political dishonesty bailed out the monopolies.  We stampede on religious needs.  Enemies will never please.  We need to find a love agreed!
Just a story.

-THE END-


Written by Sean Reed

Los Angeles, California