Now for the Running: Part I (Poem)

Even before the first stone hit,

something inside my mind cracked and splintered.

I could only stare upwards at the cathedral's eyes,

fragmented by my throw,

as myriads of glass shards rained down like lethal rain.

I couldn't tell you what made me do it.

I probably couldn't even tell you where I was,

except that watching the windows shatter

was like seeing a painter's perfect picture slashed with stray paint,

and I sat sadly down on the curb.

----

The moment finally came when I rounded the corner and saw him.

Blood trickled down his eyes where he'd been cut,

and I gazed upwards, 

where dark holes had been punched in the cathedral's face.

Looking down at him,

I suddenly realized he was holding a chunk of rubble,

while passing it back and forth between palms.

My head swiveled left and right,

and saw no one. 

Crumpled newspapers and Sunday mass pamphlets rolled past,

as if I were in an old movie set. 

"I suppose there's nothing left but to sit down and join you, no?"

"Suit yourself." 

He seemed strangely lost, out of place.

His hair rose at strange angles from his face,

and pictures blanketed the skin on both arms,

while the blood on his face caked and dried.

His empty hazel eyes switched between curb and church,

the stone went thunk thunk every time it passed between hands.

"Whyd'ju do that?" I asked, pointing vaguely skyward.

"You're not real," he responded. "I remember you from last time, except you had a hammer with you then."

"Huh, I don't remember you at..." trailing off as his gaze turned on me, baleful, cold eyes silent. 

"You're the architect of these, right? Bastard. I knew you would follow me even here."

----

I hurtled myself from the curb as only dreams can teach.

I had twisted myself and thrown my chunk as heavily as I could

before I could even process his face,

folding in on itself in rage and fury.

It struck him in his chest, 

his snarling face snapping forwards as he stumbled.

"Now for the running," I mouthed to myself,

ecstatic to be slipping through alleyways in a chase for life.