Pool_1

Recall, in eddies, fed on exhaustion. Flashes. Blurs. Hand-me-down stories of long ago in snippets of inconsistency spun as odd fallen leaves on vortices trapped at the edge of the mind stream, stuck, not wanting to go away. And somehow, they belonged. Doctor Macaluso, motionless in the sullen dim, not allowing sleep though not committed to quickness, conjured these fleeting visions. Shadows of realization, Nino, Jazz Man, the burning scar - reflections - of the pool welling over and drowning children - they were his. The cast of shadow emanated from him. In that slow heavy ebb which pressed him deeper than sleep, he entered the cave of the beast. It was time to set it free. Come. I know who you are, he said with his eyes. Death's aged child, in the flowing robes of darkness, bowed before him, offering an out held sleeve of stark bones. "I have been watching over you." The doctor whispered, "I know. May I embrace you?”