What Happened When Reilly Woke Up

In Excerpts of Prose, WHAT HAPPENED WHEN REILLY WOKE UP on November 1, 2010 at 11:13 AM




No One Was Supposed To Notice

She stood watching. Expression blank. Eyes soft. The wheel of thought behind them, turning. Wisps of blonde hair laughing; showing off for the summer sun, dancing in the afternoon breeze; gentle. They were beautiful, whispering inaudibly, “I have a secret.”

And in this, the eyes held the hidden smile of someone silent and in agreement. (Like the woman in that old oil painting. The one everyone recognizes immediately.)

For a moment, she became distracted by a piece of newspaper blowing past her feet. The front page of The Times, pausing for just an instant, pierced her vision with the fraction of a headline,

“…Hundreds Dead In Afternoon Bombing….”

The paper turned over and continued up 6th Avenue, scratching the sidewalk.

The eyes flashed, hardened and became sharply acute. The blank expression opened to reveal only a disruption. She bit her lower lip and sucked it back in, breathing, arching her neck upwards. A posture wired from ballet and modified over time to initiate a kind of physical alignment. She exhaled slowly. Focus. Then inhaled steadily, silent. Inside, conjuring grace and strength. It would soon emanate from her, almost tangible for those who came in close contact. This had become a shield, a defensive stance before engaging in critical action. She assumed it because she did not know what else to do.

The thoughts had resumed their slow turning, reviewing what had happened. What she had missed. What got her trapped in the first place. Do not go insane.

She had left off with the objective reasons behind the recent disappearance of a close ally. Vanished off the radar, there had been no communication. No response to recent requests for status reports or confirmation. In their language, he had chosen radio silence, done only once before and in a volatile predicament. Something had gone wrong. Something had happened.

Several blocks uptown a van turned into traffic. From the second floor office, a fax machine turned on, his vision was failing, but he could see her.

The woman standing vigilant, taught and tall. Long legs made longer by the narrow high heel of black designer shoes. Perfect legs stretching upwards, forever, meeting a slim A-line skirt several inches above the knee. Teasing but ladylike, they disappeared inside. The rest left to imagination. The body underneath the tailored, sliced grey suit.

If there ever was a time in life to be alive, this was hers. Rising in the ranks of the world, a young woman with a brilliant future, surveying the landscape from a hilltop.

He thought this as he watched her.

The van blared its horn in the midtown traffic. Someone wearing a red hat came out of the subway, blinded for a moment by the sun and the glare off of the avenue.

This is what you see with a lazy glance. Look closer.


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PART III: Information Age and Constellations

In Excerpts of Prose, WHAT HAPPENED WHEN REILLY WOKE UP on November 5, 2009 at 11:36 PM

Photo 103








The Sigh of the New Chapter

The time was 6:42 PM, according to the round clock on the wall.

Tick, tick, tick of the third hand.

The woman sat, smoking a cigarette, flicking her heal up and down, stamping in 16 Beat Rhythm. She was about 25 years old but aged 10 more than she should be. Another 5 were added by the glowering scowl, a steel gaze she held across the table. She was thinking.

I’m thinking definitely drugs. Definitely drink. That damn Cheese Steak with extra mayo.

The empty room with the electric lights, shiny clean linoleum floor, metal chairs around a metal table, all in a conversion to welcome the enclosing concrete white walls….

The design sucks the mind into a desperate void. Her eyes see nothing, searched the depths of some unknown inside. Silence as the moment grows fierce. I don’t even have coffee to sip.

The rhythm of agitated tapping stops from her heal. The signal brings it all back with a sudden jolt. Wave of consciousness crashing into sudden twitch. The rapid shudder, clenching teeth. A fire-filled sigh through the nose.

For some dumb reason, I remember that horse snorting through its nostrils as it sidestepped before the start of a dressage routine.

She snaps her head to the side and pulls at her hair. Recomposing herself, sucking the last of that cigarette, I notice a mess on the table. An empty ashtray.

That horse and its giant teeth grinding at the bit. No foam…yet.

She stamps the cigarette out, “Dammit.” This time the fire of air came from her mouth, “Heh.” Her head snaps to the opposite side.

I watch hypnotized, disconnected, bored.

Knowing they cannot see you makes it easy to pretend; play the scientist in a lab experiment with a white coat. Record each observation like a robot, forgetting whatever makes you human. Its just another lab rat in a routine response and procedure.

Time can be like a slap in the face. I have to go in.


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In Excerpts of Prose, NEW!, WHAT HAPPENED WHEN REILLY WOKE UP on November 4, 2009 at 2:44 AM


Reilly 2

Cause and Effect. Or Affect.

Click here to read Part I

Peter Piper Picked A Pack Of Pickled Peppers

When people travel through time they are supposed to stay hidden, remain unnoticed and most importantly, refrain from touching anything. Otherwise, you end up altering the course of history.

This occurred to Peter when the silver cell phone fell out of his backpack the following morning. He looked at it, remembering Marty McFly, George with the binoculars; and the sound of Marty’s head hitting the pavement shortly there afterwards.

It all happened in a split second under accidental circumstances. The natural elements that make up a Cause and Effect equation, only Marty was never supposed to be factored in. The wrong accident happened and what started out as good intentions, a simple parking lot experiment (disrupted already by terrorists) ended up turning into a whole load of pashit.

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