Epiphany (in which the child realizes that enormity of the world that exists behond his own limited experiences)

He walks through the library, past the halls and halls of books everywhere. He can only reach to the fifth shelf, and only if he stretches, but he doesn't think about that much. He is primarily concerned with finding something interesting to show his older brother instead of looking for comic books, and he isn't paying any attention to what section he is in, he just looks for something that will catch his eye. Finally on the bottom shelf he spots a large book on some sort of anthropological studies of some jungle-inhabiting tribe, but the point is that there are lots of pictures everywhere and he quickly finds his brother and yes! He is impressed after all. He is looking through the book and talking about each picture and he thinks it's all very interesting, and it's wonderful.

And then he turns the page and there is a picture of a pile of skulls, just skulls in a giant heap in the middle of the jungle. The pile is higher than his brother, or the fifth shelf on the book case, or even the top shelf. The child looks and looks and his brother doesn't matter for a minute and he can't look away, it's too much. Every one of those skulls was a person, just like me, and felt pain and love and had relationships and connections to other people like family and friends and they must have been missed when they were gone and it isn't just the skulls he can see in the photograph, the whole pile must be full of skulls, hundreds of thousands of them, more people than he had ever met before and it makes him a little dizzy but he can't look away.

Now his brother is trying to turn the page, but the child still doesn't want to look away and he pulls the book out of his brother's hands and sits down by himself to look through the rest of it, quietly, by himself.

Cabin Fever III (edits)

When the Spaniard wasn’t hired out he spent his days by the brothel or watching the gambling tables. He never actually played but he would always sit there watching the tables and keeping a close eye on every card dealt. More than once the loser of a hand tried cursing him out of the gambling room yelling about how “that fuckin spick’s bad luck, every time he sits watchin all my paint an’ makin eyes at all y’alls, it’s no wonder I been losin.'” The Spaniard would watch emotionlessly, continuing as he had been. No one ever defended him, because no one really cared much. Everyone seemed to feel the same as I did about him. To tell the truth he was a bit of a spook. His eyes were constantly dilated until you couldn't see any color in them except for the murky yellow sea his dark black eyes sank into. Still, Maggie was convinced he had a good heart. And he wasn’t all bad, he out-drank me anyways.

One day I was sitting watching the boys playing cards and the Spaniard was sitting across from me taking slow pulls on a bottle of what I assumed was tequila. When I got myself a Tennessee Bourbon he stared at me for a moment and then set down his bottle and motioned for Joseph to bring him what I had. He took up the glass and showed the bottoms of his yellow teeth as he glanced over at me to see if I was watching, then drank the glass down. I typically took my whiskey slow when I was drinking it neat and I don’t know why but I picked up my glass and put it down in two harsh swallows, I continued to watch the game without looking back at the Spaniard for a minute to appear unconscious of my actions. When I looked back over to him, his glass was full again and he was holding it with both hands while blankly watching the cards. Joseph came over silently and whispered if I’d like another, and that's how it began. He even left our glasses on the table so he could keep count. Occasionally I would glance over and catch the Spaniard checking to see what number I was at. I wish I remembered more from that night and had seen more of that poker game because I was later told that the boys from the mountain had done quite well. I had drank at least 11 glasses of whiskey which is more whiskey than I ever remember having had in the space of two hours. When I went to pay my tab that next night, Joseph told me it had already been taken care of and that was the last I saw of the Spaniard for some time.

Cabin Fever III

When the Spaniard wasn’t hired out he spent his days by the brothel or watching the gambling tables. He never played but he would always sit there watching the tables keeping a close eye on every card dealt. More than once a loser tried cursing him out of the gambling room yelling, “That fuckin spick’s bad luck, every time he sits watchin all my paint an’ makin eyes at all y’alls, it’s no wonder I been losin.’” The Spaniard would just sit there emotionless, continuing as he had been. No one ever defended him, cause no one really cared much. Everyone seemed to feel the same as I did about him. And to tell the truth he was a bit of a spook. His eyes were constantly dilated until you couldn't see any color in them except for the murky yellow sea his dark black eyes sank into. Still, Maggie was convinced he had a good heart. And he wasn’t all bad, he out drank me anyways.

One day I was sitting watching the boys playing cards and the Spaniard was sitting across from me taking slow pulls on a bottle of what I assumed was tequila. When I got myself a Tennessee Bourbon he stared at me for a moment and then set down his bottle and motioned for Joseph to bring him what I had. He took up the glass and showed the bottoms of his yellow teeth as he glanced over at me to see if I was watching, then drank the glass down. I typically took my whiskey slow when I was drinking it clean and I don’t know why but I picked up my glass and put it down in two harsh swallows, I continued to watch the game without looking back at the Spaniard for a minute to appear unconscious of my actions. When I looked back over to him, his glass was full again and he was holding it with both hands while blankly watching the cards. Joseph came over silently and whispered if I’d like another, and that's how it began. He even left our glasses on the table so he could keep count. Occasionally I would glance over and catch the Spaniard checking to see what number I was at. I wish I remembered more from that night and had seen more of that poker game because I was later told that the boys from the mountain had done quite well. I had drank at least 11 glasses of whiskey which is more whiskey than I had ever had in the space of two hours. When I went to pay my tab that next night, Joseph told me it had already been taken care of and that was the last I saw of the Spaniard for some time.