PLASM DREAM

THERE WAS NO GUESSING WHAT IT WAS, white and crusted as if days had passed since dropped, spilled or slung onto the bedcovers on and around the appearance of the lifeless tan figure in its midst. One could guess milk or perhaps the ejaculation of some hit and run prank played as just another act of malice. Better and more conscionable imaging would tease at the thought that there had been some austere rescue mission bursting into the room seventeen steps above a locked steel plate door. A more humane consideration would say that even a techno operation had been performed after interjection of some watchful neighbor's emergency call for help brought an unheard siren and rush of expert medical team that splashed preoperative fluids and impassed punctures, steel threads and anesthesia to the unconscious life form found at the end of a rescue call.

To awaken in the midst of crusted sex scented mess after having closed up house and home behind a simple day's college course and library research hour was undaunting. When did anything have time to make or become such as this and the painin and upon the scalp and skull breaking sensation beneath wire ends felt at the base of hair strands on one... two and three... as many as five points; when did they have time to suddenly appear except in the night of honest rest from studying for a next day's class. Memory could reproduce none but flashing thoughts of a meal... soup made, maybe days ago. A purchase... a wire staple nail gun for upholstery and canvas to recover aged furniture in a room below and to create a wall mural to decorate otherwise boring white walls of the apartment. There was nothing... no visitor... no date... no repair and no one that should have created the space in time for a series of interjected mis-haps. Offspring gone and out of home for their adult era options at life and love. There was no one to answer back to names called out in search of an answer to the questions presented. There were only the extra keys kept supposedly locked with the office safe. A metal box attached to a wall in the leasing office held the keys to every unit within the property. The keys were accessible to VILLA ROSE office staff, maintenance and emergency personnel only. It was a plan that worked... if the leasing manager and employees held the thought in reverie and respect. Other than that, all units could be entered at will by anyone picking up any doorkey in that building plainly identified as the management office. Typical rationale for gained access was for maintenance emergencies. Atypical rationale suggested medical emergencies called by police order on response to 9-1-1. No one had made the call. No one had placed a call for medical assist for that particular townhouse in the row of 60 on site. No one had placed a call for any of the 200 apartment units either. No one had made a call, but the keys for three units were found to be missing from the cabinet. One of those units held the mystery of this "plasm dream" and the unexplained intrusion of lurid acts set in the second floor bedroom.

It was only months into the new move in to the apartment complex. Being new, there were no feint or indepth acquaintances; and familiarity with office personnel was kept to a limit of, "Hello, here's the month's rent check. Fine... thank you and good bye." It should have been something of a medical record but no notation ever coming forth to register that idea left the air of mistery hovering. Air of mistery and that lingering scent of old sex that could not wash off. The prick of a finger pulled through hair could bring scratches from what felt like wire poking through bone and scalp at two or three of the marked spots; wires that brought wincing pain when and if touched. Wire that never deteriorated and was the marking space to track drizzled water from shampooed hair until the need for a rush of peroxide to clean up behind the filth left underneath scalp and bone boiled infection to it's end. Closure... closure, whether the wire ends... peroxide douse or rendered solution by some passerby as to "What happened" to cause a flood spermatoza and antisceptic on one college study night of mistery. THERE WAS NO GUESSING WHAT IT WAS, what it had been or why. Just white and crusted as if days had passed since dropped, spilled or slung onto the bedcovers on and around the appearance of the lifeless tan figure in its midst. One could guess milk or perhaps the ejaculation of some hit and run prank played as just another act of malice, one more act of malice or assault.