Monday, September 26th, 4:47 A.M.
I can see myself.
I am watching myself doing something.
I'm standing alone. Alone in a
room. I'm standing alone in a room
staring out a window. Through the window
I can see something. Something I wish I
hadn't. I can see a man. This is a man that I know. I can see this man using something to beat on
a boy. This is a boy I know. This man is using a stick, a pointing stick,
to beat on a boy. I can see this. I can see this through the window I am
looking through. I can see this because
it is right in front of me.
There is a voice.
A woman's voice. I know this
woman. I am hearing a woman's voice
talking to me. I know she is talking to
me because I can hear her calling out to me.
Hato.
Hato.
Hato.
Hato.
She is reaching out to me. I can see her hand. I know this hand. It is Valerie. Valerie is the hand that I see. Valerie is also the voice that I hear. I know this, and I know that the me I am
watching knows this. However, the me I
am watching is not moved. Not moved at
all. Not moved by the woman calling out
to him. Not moved by the woman reaching
out to him. Not moved by the man, the
despicable human being, beating on the boy, my brother.
The hand is about to touch me, just centimeters
away, when I wake up.
This is what woke me up today.
Hato Shurtleff
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