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Copyright ã 2003 M.D. Ward. All
Rights Reserved. Hoverman By M.D. Ward |
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By M.D. Ward Hoverman went to see the witch doctor.
He opened his mouth and out popped his whole crazy life, skin bones,
and soul. From his strange cranium flew the words that made up his
life. Fire, fear, rage and shame. Hoverman let loose a torrent of
truth and another witch bit the dust. He didn't see her burning.
Hoverman was not to be tolerated. He was out of control. He would have to
find his own way out. Breathe slow and let the seconds slip away. There are
too many in the boat. Hoverman dreamed of sunshine and the sea
and lived a life of perpetual shade and hopelessness. He didn't
believe in anything but beauty....and even that had it's price. Well, one
thing was learned, a witch doctor without balls, is just another witch. * * * It was midnight and the wind blew a
chilly tune through the dying trees of November. Hoverman gathered his supplies
and settled down for the long cold purgatory of winter. He didn't need
much. A little food, a little drink, his cat, a few friends, and a
whole lot of smoke. Hoverman loved to smoke. It made him levitate. It made
him Light. He was born in flame. When asked, " Why do you
love the smoke so much?" he would always say, " It's not the
Smoke....It's the FIRE!!!" Everyone knew the Man was Nuts. Everyone but Hoverman. To
him it looked like the rest of the world had missed the boat. They were
all too busy to be trusted. Hoverman took a stand against the hurley
burley ambition of a willy nilly world and pulled the covers over
his eyes and clicked on the magic lamp in his cranium as the
snowflakes fell in Baghdad and a carpet of red petals floats a madman
with a grin, and a cat, a friend or two, a sack full of boo as the blue
breath of winter blew. * * * It was raining silver dollars and the
fat moon smiled a crooked grin on all the woebegotten souls wandering in
wonderland looking for the night to burst apart like an old pinyata and
flood the sky with stars. Hoverman was a born loser. The deck was
stacked with knaves and jokers long before he was born. Like so many of
the human race his life's light barely fickered. He had come to believe
that the bad luck was his fate. And so it was. Hoverman lived a
nocturnal existence. He hardly saw the sun. He lived a life of dreams and
waited for death. There was nothing else to do. He was here for no reason.
As real as you. Stuck in a clock of flesh and bones with no way out
and no reason why. His heart was too old to break. After a while his
life became one solid night. One day Hoverman decided that Today
would be the Day. He would face the Sun. He placed one foot on the floor
and reached for the chain to the overhead light....The globe around the
bulb slipped off and exploded against his skull into a thousand glass
splinters. He slowly returned his foot back into bed and that was the
end of that. Some people were born to sleep. Hoverman was one. * * * Hoverman woke and reached for his smoke
and rolled out of bed to begin the day. It was three o clock in the pm
and he felt like he was late again. Hoverman was never on time. At least no
one else's time. He just couldn't seem to make it in the jungle
and jumble of seconds. Time was all there was....and it was running out.
Nobody seemed to notice but Hoverman...and he was Always Late. He
was late no matter what time it was. He just didn't want to be on time
for something that would steal his life. Anything or anyone could do
that. It was easy. Hoverman was a very bright bulb in some ways, very
bright. He thought he had it all figured out. You're born in darkness you
live in fear you die in darkness. In the meantime you wait. * * *
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