After completing “APT: 1012,” I feel for the first time, in months, that I can breathe and begin to think of more pleasant things.
Indeed I feel all the better for completing the written and illustrative properties of the production. Feeling I was able to express myself concisely and accurately, leaving no room for doubt on how I feel about the subject of rape. I am assured, I will suffer no flack from my audience, for taking a decisive stance on ‘what should occur to secure safety for women in our present rape culture.’ Though in times passed, I’ve defended and continue to champion the cause of the ‘sex-offender.’
As there is a difference between the murderer and one merely accused of murder, I believe it is reasonable to gauge crime and punishment of a man, not on what he can potentially do, given enough rage and bad feeling, but on what he has done and to respond in kind, based on the facts.
My black and white approach of due process in functionality is the reason why I never became a lawyer. At least, never saw myself as a man hunting down a ‘prosecutorial,’ position for the sole purpose of eliminating a man’s right to justification. As of late, in light of President Trump’s legal issues, there has been a lot of talk of the DOJ and the State Department’s role in seeking to edit the established constitutional standards of law, that suggests a man is innocent until proven guilty. To curb the endless debate surrounding the effectiveness of the American court process.
Some believe by eliminating due process and relying solely on DA, and AG reports and communal census and the keen pursuit of diluting recidivists, there is little need to establish trials and risk acquittals to rouge juries. The legislative branch would rather a prosecutor’s word alone could establish crime and punishment.
Then there are those that believe the underlying crime and punishment was never the issue and it’s all about who can come out on top of the best deal. Plea bargain or pay enough money and buy one’s freedom, resolving to eliminate due process and gauge it on material wealth.
Neither thoughts appealed to me as an aspiring lawyer and because I had my own ‘final solution,’ in mind and believed in that aged parchment that insinuated a criminal has a right to his day in court to argue his freedom, not wanting to think of the crooks in suites or even be like them, I was never against grandstanding upon a position no matter the controversy.
In short, where I believe it is far too easy to imprison a man falsely for rape, when the evidence is sure, it has become far too convenient for the legal system to allow for rabid dogs, killers, drug dealers, murders and rapists to remain at large.
The only misgivings I’ve approached in taking such controversial ideas and illustrating my positions, is the lack of feedback or online traffic.
Which when we consider the American society as a whole has been conditioned to absorb and seemingly loves conflict. For years American’s have taken the unconventional stance of defending their right to permeate themselves in negativity, making the marketing and selling, merely the promotion of anything approaching ‘virtue signaling,’ impossible.
I dearly love my fans and supporters. Yet this project is personal, touchy, and unmotivated by the influence of trolls or supporters. Completely organic and not enough to pull an organic following through Patreon ( https://www.patreon.com/AdventVoice ) or any of the numerous online sources you’ll be able to view this pulp comic.
I’ve celebrated a year of creative management on DeviantArt.com. A year of deviance and defiance, that has been wonderful and therapeutic.
My world can not exist without the sequential, compartmentalization of moments highlighting my fleeting existence.
An existence, that when I take a moment to reevaluate, will be culminated, if I was able to capture it all with the camera that is my mind, hands, and sketch-journals. The challenge is taking my life and make money from the endeavor.
The Navy took a couple of years recruiting young people to sign up for selfless service with the slogan, “If your life was a book, would anyone read it?!”
Then they would end the advertisement with the sponsors promising a fulfilled life by volunteering.
That mantra stayed with me as I don’t believe I have as yet produced anything worth the attention of a highly volatile audience who in their introverted lifestyles have been conditioned to read or hear about a story like “APT: 1012,” and ask, “What does that have to do with me and how can any of this information profit me?”
That is the challenge surrounding marketing ‘empathy.’ It is not sexy.
In a world more concerned with the stories of UFO’s, EPA regulation violators, and the death of butterflies, how humans interact and can take steps to make their lives comfortable becomes valueless and we being to contemplate a life without the distraction of the internet.
Pretty sad, but as a creator I have to hold out hope that the importance of art and the storyteller will out last the trends of the moment.
For those of you that could not find it in your hearts to pay to support a starving artist and seasoned storyteller. I have taken it upon myself to encourage you to dive into this story. Share your thoughts and simply join the conversation. If the story moves you and you would like more, feel free to join and subscribe to my Patreon account. https://www.patreon.com/AdventVoice
Lately I’ve really been wondering why I was not motivated to think about anything else. I mean the pleasure found in the curves of a woman, should erase the darkness that haunts my dreams, but as of late I could not get “APT: 1012,” out of my mind.
Could be the fact that their where no news reports about what they did to the man. I’ll never know for sure if the girl made up everything and beat herself up to just stick it to the guy.
I personally can not afford another prison term so, I’ve resigned myself to leave the matter alone.
Doesn’t mean I should not write about it.
Finally you will get to see a side of the Dream Weaver that compliments the Noir atmosphere, I’ve applied to his overall development. I was wanting to make strides to assure my readers that this story is mostly about the girl and the Dream Weaver’s feelings on the matter, and not so much about him.
So there are very little flash backs, to assist in understanding the position he takes on the circumstance dropped in his lap at 2. a.m.
You certainly get to perceive his response. The Femme Fatal, Victoria, does not die in the altercation, so there is room for her to make more appearances. We just hope that her story changes for the better after being aided from such trauma.
The question is still left hanging, “What is the real solution for problems like these?”
To legalize prostitution, drugs, and take away the legal right to own a fire arm? How do we account for the fact that most violent crimes and acts of war occur in ‘safe-zones,’ and areas that police citizens with polite white and yellow caution signs, instead of using the force needed to have tangible evidence of peace and security?
Do I feel better after illustrating and writing my thoughts about this issue out?
That is hard to say. The President of the United States can go to England and sip tea with the Queen of England. Mention nothing about the bombings of the churches in Shri-lanka and as so many Christians of the home front ignore the tears of his own people. Imprison men seeking to defend their homes from home grown evils. Men like the Dream Weaver can do what is acceptable by most standards at the moment. Only to be reprimanded for taking civil action and ignoring proctorial laws. Their is more security and encouragement for people to commit crimes then there are discussions of building avenues toward prosperity. When an avenue is presented some imaginary inequality barrier is highlighted by demarcations.
Just seems we can’t get ahead to save our own lives.
It really took me a while to devise the best way to convey the cover for this story. Ask Google what a Femme Fatal is and it’s going to send you through a circus of images, monickers and ideas stemming from the 1930’s noir and pulp classics of women with pistols, cigarettes, and pearls.
Which made me realize that the overall idea of the Femme Fatal has been lost in the noise and madness of life. For the Femme Fatal is a woman. Plain and simple as that. A woman who’s story happens to be rather dark around the edges.
The fridge of darkness does not make the story, mind you, it is the woman who is supposed to capture our attention at the moment.
She has made an appearance in some of my previous discussions, I have just never made a whole comic about her. (See attachments)
In prior journals, https://www.deviantart.com/adventvoice/art/Short-Story749391507 I set out to explain Victoria Maria Harris Edwards. In light of recent developments, that I will explain in further discussions, she has found a way to make herself relevant again to some of my daily round table discussions.
When we talk about loyalty in marriage. Faithfulness to one lover. Friendship to the end. Little can be said in the way of supporting Victoria’s present behavior.
She is not as confusing as Estela https://www.newgrounds.com/art/view/adventvoice/loving-estela but it is much safer to deal with a woman who is willing to cheat on one man, opposed to a woman willing to marry 4 times, and all the while risk limb and heart for the chance to seduce a man who would never marry her.
The woman in this story, goes by the name of Victoria, Vickie to her friends, and she is not a 1930’s whore of red lips and in need of rolling around on a couch to express her love for how she feels in black silk, complimented by fishnets.
This femme fatal happens to live in the year 2019, in a small apartment numbered 1012. While she might be friends with the Dream Weaver, her philosophy about life is entirely different from his own. Mind you, when she is in trouble, that is who she calls.
In the middle of working on the cover page, I wanted to illustrate my idea of a modern black urban woman.
I was rather disappointed that when you type in google search, “Modern Black City Girl,” or “Modern City Girl,” there is this weak reference to Micheal Obama, Haley Berry and the sort of faces that do so little to honestly reflect our everyday view of a modern woman and it is quite impossible to illustrate such an incomprehensible idea on to one page.
From scratch I created this original character, this is her story.
This story, “APT 1012”, with all of it’s exciting detail I’ve decided to present in five pages, it seems to be that is all I have time for now-a-days, which is fine. I’ve never been one for talking heads and low octane, so I expect you all to ask questions if you can’t keep up with this one or if I happen to skip crucial details and the lack of consideration is too disturbing. It is not like me to interrupt your fun with one of my long speeches but I was hoping to let you know this one happens to be important to me.
See I was born out wedlock, never knowing who my real father was and did a lot to make sure my mother was not treated as a prostitute ~ used and abused by men because she, ‘needed someone to help raise me and my siblings.’ So when I hear stories like the one I plan on sharing, it really takes a lot for me to keep what ever composure or sense of propriety my diction belies.
I recount the time my cousin was propositioned by Mustafa, the neighborhood pimp, and I left him in a ditch, tied by his ankles with barbed wire. The local authorities where too slow for my tastes, in making a decision. That was years ago; before I became the ‘Advent Voice,’ creator of the “Dream Weaver!”
~ Some things don’t change though ~
APT: 1012 Page 1
At 2 o’clock in the morning I received a phone call most would not want to deal with. In regards to a woman getting beaten. Having her home invaded by people, while her child was inside with her. For reasons that remain a mystery or are discounted when asked of her the details, because she has a history of selling her pussy, drugs, stealing merchandise and being an overall femme fatal.
Her mother refuses to aid her or even visit her in the hospital. Her grandmother thinks foster care is the best thing for the child. A little girl no older than two years, watches as grown men, not satisfied with fucking a “tender,” or ‘snap-chat thot,’ paying and leaving, sought to rob and abuse a woman who let her guard down.
It’s stories like there that enrage men like the Dream Weaver, and have him up at 2 in the morning, hunting down some punks that thought it would be cute to nearly kill and rob the neighborhood whore.
I am getting ahead of myself. Lets start from the beginning.
Not desiring to romanticize the notion of the rape culture, I purposely sacrificed the level of art and decided to make ‘Dino,’ unattractive. I can’t stand the idea of rape or think of how a man can seek to claim a woman as his property.
Thinking of the ancient story of Troy and how Prince Paris, steals and rapes Agamemnon’s wife and how there seemed to be some desire on Homer’s part to infer the idea that a woman will learn to love the man that can take prisoner her heart. Never agreed with the idea, so when I found out Dino raped Victoria, I was thinking to myself, “What kind of man am I, to sit here and do nothing?”
The answer: and don’t try to talk me out of it. “No better than the citizens of the neighborhood, who knew what a man like Dino is capable of and instead of calling the police, the moment he was found to be spending too much time alone, with Victoria and never questioning his obsession.”
Dino is an insect in the underworld. He could never fit in as a boy with the other delinquents and always pulled on the coat tails of his grandmother when accused of a crime. Having the face only a mother could love, and she barely could stand to show that much to him, herself, he began to take his aggression, toward being useless, out on the people that laughed and sneered at him.
The easiest victims, being women. He was imprisoned twelve times for rape, robbery, and a slew of other acts of stupidity, associated with boredom and a mental flux.
Always weaving some tale of grandeur to impress the men in prison, he would continue to escape the retribution, any God fearing man would have given him, had they known they were entertaining a rapists.
He was 65 years of age when he decided to attack Victoria. Some would consider this too old to be held accountable for his actions; some would insist he is too old to have been a threat to so young a woman. I can careless about what they say. The man has been a laughing stock in that area for so long I am sure that was his motivation. To end the laughter of the beautiful woman who shunned him.
Victoria is the kind of woman to tell you to your face, “Only money makes me climax. If you don’t have enough to feed my children or feed into my dreams, I don’t need or want you.” She never said that to the Dream Weaver, but he is not the type to play her game anyway. He has heard her mock men in this way before and he laughed right along with her. She was his childhood friend. He wanted to marry her once. Long ago, but feared her ‘gold-digging,’ habits would have pushed him too far and had him killing a man because he fell for her smile.
Yes, I am sure Dino felt the whipping sting of her tongue, when she denied him sexual favors because he did not have enough money. Feeling his pride was being challenged he was too stupid to meet her challenge with a fair deal, he decided he’d show the neighborhood that he controlled that corner of town and no woman would tell him what he could have and what he could not have. Especially one who has been selling her pussy to whom he considered to be lower scum than himself. He wanted his fair shake and was going to commit the unforgivable, if it would end the years of laughter that haunts his dreams of achieving status among the ghetto rich.
APT: 1012 Page 2
ISAIAH 43: 2
Certain of his advantage, Dino overpowers Victoria and with sadistic glee, declaring how he would enjoy this moment. She had denied him since she was sixteen. Years of waiting has made him ready. Despite her struggling and biting, kicking and clawing, he services himself with her ass, vagina, and mouth. Giving her globs of his ejaculation. Punching her in the face when she tried to reject his penis or began to dry up. He demanded silence and she gave in. Nothing was enough, because everything about him repulsed her, making her vagina chaff and bleed. She bled in his lap and it horrified him to think the bleeding came from himself, that she was diseased or sick and passed it to him. In his rage he knocked her unconscious, took what money she possessed and left her in a pool of his secretions and her own blood, from the endless pounding in the face she had to endure.
Assured that the coward fled, she calls the police. The next time she wakes up, she is in the hospital, tubes hanging out of her, to replace the fluid she lost in the encounter.
Suffering from a concussion, blurry eyed and still dehydrated, she is not surprised at all when in the corner of the room she sees a card, flowers and his initials, DW.
Inside the envelope is a stack of money. The card reads, “I was here as fast as I could be. This money is to hold you down for a while, be back soon with food and the info I need to find the one’s that did this to you, your buddy the Dream Weaver.”
The first three publications of APT: 1012 have been doing well to enthrall the attention of adolescents and young adults. Yes 22 years of age is still considered young adult to me. I have this thing about gauging maturity based on the lever of a person’s sexual performance and I know I was simply teasing pussies until I turned twenty-five or twenty-six and felt I was sufficiently and adult when I could make a woman cream her pants by playing with her nipples.
My childhood really ended at the age of twelve but I did not know what I was doing until I was about twenty four. Prior to losing my virginity, my mother would tell me as I would sit in my room and craft stories, she would tell me to never forget about my race and people and to be sure to incorporate them as much as I can when I illustrate. She believed we never had enough representation in literature, movies, television, in anything really.
As I have been crafting APT: 1012, I have been tickled pink at the amount of ethinic culture I’ve been able to cram in such few pages and wondering how she would respond to this story.
She might say something like, “ You could have shown black people in a better light, why are they so materialistic, basing life on money, sex, and abusing one another?”
I am sure I’d laugh and defend my work by stressing my dependency on the truth of our culture and though I am a dream weaver and could have crafted an illusion to appease our private sensibilities. I dare not! To sacrifice the image of the African American culture, I’ve been surrounded by my whole life and made to cut corners in showcasing the truth of our present rape culture, just because it makes you feel bad, is an insult to the word truth. If you feel bad, that is a good thing. It means you’ve not lost your ability to empathize and through this lens of pain, you might decide to dream of something better.
Knowing it is out there because anything is better than what we we’ve been given.
In my mind, I happen to live in a rather zebra patterned spectrum. Where white robed people tend to glow with bronze and gold auras and, “evil,” are those robed in black hoods and hued in purple flakes. No grey areas and any little room for error. I have this desire to achieve greatness and have crowns set aside for the white robed golden arrayed people who desire to stand with me in my efforts to paint murals of love; on barren walls; of those that have trouble defining what purity is.
I refuse to believe in making evil, no matter where it originated from, ‘necessary.’
I don’t wish to learn from it. I don’t want to be around it and when I see it, I’ve only decided to talk about it to highlight what to stay away from. If it was up to me, I’d not even perfect the illustration of rape, but would instead, plaster it with lines of yellow and black caution tape and set in a garbage heap of memories to be burned away.
It took me a while to really decide how I wanted to showcase the altercation between Dino and Victoria. A lot of artists have attempted to depict rape scenes or hardcore sex and I always feel they miss what rape is. In my imagination, because I’ve never been raped, nor have desired to rape anyone, I see the woman struggling while the man seeks to conquer her. Breaching her but because he is such an inept person and had to result to rape, he ejaculates before he can even get in and due to his inability to please a woman, he takes his anger out on her, beating her to sleep and this is why Victoria ends up in the hospital. Remember the old bastard is 65 year of age and wouldn’t be able to get up to meet the challenge anyway.
Other artists I’ve seen depicting rape, have made the mistake of illustrating the woman eventually taking pleasure throughout the act and if she finds pleasure, it can’t be seen as rape.
I wanted to give the audience a defining image for the Dream Weaver’s vindication and justification for his following actions. He would not have seen the act but when he visits the Apartment 1012 he would have seen evidence of something horrible happening and he will need that image to finally give him the will to pull the hammer.
APT: 1012 Page 3 ~Psalm 25~
In the midst of his dreams, on the same night Victoria is attacked, the Dream Weaver was given a vision of a man who sought to explain his allegiance with sin, drugs, debauchery and his desire to enlist the youth in his world of ‘equal and opportune employment.’ He sought to convince the Dream Weaver to understand the necessity of the underground, his underworld and was sure after a while, even a hypocrite like the Dream Weaver would come to join him. Willingly giving him all he owned, even his soul, for food, clothes and shelter, when the gong sounded, war impedes and all is taken from him.
The ‘man clothed in shadows,’ is a breathe away from the Dream Weavers face when he concludes his speech and banishes him from whatever realm he chose to summon him to, “You can’t stop me from achieving my goals, this world must fall and I am going to be taking everything that is precious to you!”
The Dream Weaver wakes to his phone ringing, the clock blaring 2:00 am and no clue as to what the vision could have meant.
2:00 am! An hour before the ‘witching-hour.’ When the elements of darkness gather and boil into the manifestation of evil so many devise justifications to ease their minds into indifference or down right negligence. The Dream Weaver after years in prison, decided, upon his freedom to live on top of ‘Hickory Mountain.’ It is far enough from the cities that surround him for him to sleep in peace, yet close enough for him to peddle his talents and earn a little money. Those close to him are aware of the distance he must travel to be good to anyone and are respectful of his desires for isolation, they know not to call unless someone is dying and especially before the witching-hour.
The officer on the other line explains Victoria took a beating and was asking for him. That was all. Disturbed by his dream and being made to leave the side of his Euriidice, he prepares to see about Victoria in the hospital.
Euriidice is not having it.
“Off again to help someone that does not see about you when the son is shining and you can have them over for dinner?” she pouts.
“If I don’t see about her, her grandfather will disturb my dreams and reprimand me for not living up to my end of the deal. He would say, ‘ Son, you have this gift to correct the imbalances in this world with your words alone and you sit on your mountain top, in a house I built and paid for and do nothing?” coos the Dream Weaver.
“I still think it is none of your business, what a person willingly chooses to do with their lives and you should not meddle. Let the police handle it. It’s what they are paid for. Why do people call you, in all hours of the night?” Expostulates a tired Euriidice. She is determined to keep him safe and away from the ghouls that bay for his blood at night.
“My beautiful Hellenist, this is what I was born to do, on the night my mother conceived me, by some man I may never know I was endowed with gusto to look at a dilemma and through brains and brawn, mainly brawn, bring down the battlements which sought to oppress a man. I would shine my light by laughing in the face of evil and with a golden will, make a way for the sun to shine again, another day. I tally the men that have fallen to my fists or the .45 and feel I’d be remiss to allow anyone even a whore like Victoria, to wallow in pain and misery. The same providence I provide you and my family and friends, can not be denied to her because she called.” Explains the Dream Weaver as he loads his .45.
Euriidice could care less of his bravado, she is a card reader. “Your still in love with her, that’s all there is to it. You might delude yourself and can weave some fantasy for your actions but you can’t fool me. I know you’ve had a soft spot for her since you were a Similac baby, wet behind the ears and jacking off to playboy magazines, but none of that justifies your getting up before the witching hour to jump in where your government, local authorities, her own family refuse to rush in. Only fools rush in.” Counters the lusty card reader.
“It’s nice to hear the concern in your voice, it is sweet. Means you care and because I don’t have much to go on and I am not getting paid to stick my neck out, you’d not have to worry about me doing anything foolish tonight. I should be back to finish where we left off because you were too tired to continue.” Smirks the Dream Weaver.
“Good boy.” Smiles Euriidice as he turns over, waving him off to play hero for the undeserving again…
Euriidice has very little love to share with people that only seem to bring drama and discord into her life and the lives of those she cares for. Her love for animals takes the place of people and because she is so beautiful, all the Dream Weaver can do is smile as she turns over to sleep and shut out the notion that his naive sense of equality for everyone will be the death of him.
She is not the only one in the Dream Weaver’s life that has questioned his beliefs in retribution or justice. It was once said to him, “That he was not allowed to be outraged with a mere moment.”
Something painful happens and he stands in view of people with a sign demanding ‘protesting justice,’ vain reassurances that someone will aid him in his moment of pain and when no one’s heart is made to beat like a speaker as his is he no longer trusts them and goes alone to fix the problems.
Problems his son’s mother was sure he could not fix, ever and it was not his job. Many have assured him the evil of this world must be. For if it did not occur, we’d never know their was something good to believe in and working towards. To those made aware, the scape goat of ‘distance,’ erases responsibility.
It was never enough for the Dream Weaver. To him the moment does not lose it’s continuity, simply in the passing of it, neither can this be claimed for the victim of rape or false imprisonment.
Each are binding, dehumanizing, and set the Weaver into action; especially if he is in a position to do something about it.
I speak to friends, women mainly and they all agree, awareness and action are needed to devise change in our world, when it comes to how we treat women, speak of women and teach our sons how to love them. Can’t say I have the answers to where to begin. But I can say doing something is always better than nothing and when the threat comes so close to home as it did for the Dream Weaver, I can only hope other men will be as quick to respond as he was.
To have a ready answer for why they believe a woman, no matter her chosen profession deserves the protection granted any small business owner.
He responds to Euriidice’s apprehension on the matter of aiding Victoria with the same ideas he holds for anyone taken advantage of by those that abuse their power.
“If I don’t answer the call and leave it up to someone else, who does not care as much as I do about the problem and she dies or is hurt worse than what she is now, due to carelessness, how can I call myself her friend? How could I ever ask her to trust me or expect her to change her lifestyle and choose a less destructive course. A course she only chose because she never felt loved by anyone or thought people cared?”
It’s been said when people are at rock bottom they only seek better because their back is against the wall. They presume when something horrific happens like rape or murder, the victim had a hand in it and wanted to be abused, as if it is a cry for attention.
Then they look at the person on the edge of this world and what awaits us all on the otherside. Alone in some hospital room, ready to die, it is in that moment I ask the callous and uncaring, “Do you honestly believe anyone would choose that? Given the choice between having life and an abundance of it verses a painful and lonely death, What would you choose to give your fellow man?”
After receiving the call, he makes tracks to Victoria’s apartment. No sign of any formal investigation – her car was still in the parking lot. For all anyone knew she could have been in bed sleep and this was on big prank. After several knocks, no one answered.
“What happened with the child?” The Dream Weaver asks himself.
He gets in the car and calls her husband on the cell-phone. After the last time he dealt with her she fist-a-cuffed him and the courts separated them. Charged with Domestic Violence and a year restraining order, with the risk of violation and immediate jail time, the Dream Weaver knew Pedro would not have been the one to beat on Victoria. Even if he did think she was selling her pussy.
“Pedro you need to get over to the hospital asap. Victoria took a hit, I got the call but there is no sign of her and I don’t know where your little girl is, call me back if you hear anything; let me know your side of things.”
They have their problems but he figured Pedro to be smarter than average illegal alien and knew if he was caught with the woman, he’d lose his child and have to serve jail time for violating a court order.
This is why I have never believed in State involvement in personal matters. All State employees are trained to do is detain and quarantine an area, not deliver retribution.
ATP: 1012 Page 4: Not Yours To Touch No Matter How Naked I AM!
Time Magazine describes “Conversations with Friends,” and “Normal People,” by SallyRooney of Trinity College Dublin and “In Machines Like Me,” by Ian McEvans, as novels that speak to the Millennial generation.
Defining normal for a new generation. Allowing bi-sexual communities to air out the emotions they have been made to suppress with irony and modern romance.
The Dream Weaver notices the two books as he strolls to the room of the hospital where Victoria is sleeping. He asks the doctor of her condition and he assures the Dream Weaver that she will make a full recovery.
“She is worse for ware but considering her Native American and Jamaican roots and American tenacity, her blood is thick and strong.”
The Dream Weaver is pleased. “That will be all doctor.” Walking over to Victoria he touches her hand tenderly and bends over to kiss her forehead. As he leans over, he gives her an envelope, full of money, she is to use as she heals from her ordeal.
The tears of humiliation, shock and gratitude are overwhelming. This is a tender moment between the two. Their is a lot of water under the bridge of their on and off again encounters. He always comes with money, a kiss, and words of comfort.
“Don’t worry about a thing my gorgeous black bird, I will find the bastards that attempted to clip your wings before you were able to feel the wind in your hair.”
A nod of consent and a single tear are all she is able to pass on by way of communication at the moment. The drugs send her back and forth between dreams and reality. Sleep and awareness or pain in her body and her skin, she desires a shower but she wants the water to drown her, to erase the memories of being powerless to stop that monster from raping, robbing and taking years of hard work away from her.
To wash away the guilt associated with having to call the one man that when he was nineteen, desired to protect her from these nightmares and would have given her anything she asked for. Even if it left them poor and wanting.
“It would be helpful if you could point me in the right direction.” Inquires the Dream Weaver.
As she looks away the tears begin to swell again, the bile builds in the back of her throat as she struggles to release the words. “Find Dino and you will find the one man that tried to take everything away from me. He nearly did you know, I nearly felt I deserved it, I almost thought, “This is what happens when I try to be as tough as the Weaver, that your condemning looks won’t affect me and I can have my dreams without the aid of the Weaver.” Sniffles Victoria as she fiddles with the gift in the envelope.
“A Dino, huh? Where does he stay and how much money did he get away with?” Asks the Dream Weaver.
“He lives in the Hoover-ville of a rat trap neighborhood that I live in. A few doors down from Apartment 1012, when you find him be sure to get the $5,000.00 back and I might give you $500.00 of it, but make sure he is dead as a door-knob. Do you hear me Weaver, I want him dead, if I was not lying her with a headache, I’d do it myself!” Commands Victoria.
“500.00 huh, keep your money. I have my own scores to settle and I am not trying to make a beggar out of you. I’ll hold you in my debt instead.” Smirks the Dream Weaver.
“Oh no you don’t! Your not going to come around whenever you like trying to get a freebie either, you take the $500.00 or you can take your charity and shove it up your ass! I don’t want your brand of Christian enslavement, where you think you can trap me into some kind of marriage with kindness. Nope, you don’t get to get your dick wet this time lover boy, not without the green.” Laughs Victoria
“I never was quick enough for you. I’ll let you know how things go after I am done. I hope you get well soon. Be sure to buy your daughter some new clothes with the money.” Chuckles the Dream Weaver as he walks out of the room, allowing Victoria to heal. She has already given him what he needs.
“Where are you going you two timing jerk, and what about our arrangement, I am so serious, don’t you dare get to thinking I will be made a debtor to any man, especially someone like you Weaver!” Yells Victoria to the backside of the Dream Weaver.
“I am going to do what I do best, don’t worry love, It is free of charge and all to show my respect to your grandfather, go to sleep. You owe me nothing, just to dream sweetly.” Echoes his voice as she fades off to sleep.
APT: 1012 Page 5 ~Placing a Police Report~
Is an answer of how I feel about the American police force. I was asked a while ago, with the national news shedding light on police brutality, corruption in the FBI and intelligence bureau’s, the abuses which occur from the vague rhetoric of statutes, written to turn a victim of a crime or harassment into the catalyst of a dispute, subsequently nullifying any pursuit of justice, “How do I feel about the American Police?”
From my perspective, there are two kinds, the coward who interprets an order given by the DOJ as an unquestionable decree and it is his or her sworn duty to enforce any and all laws, especially if they pose an inconvenience for the law abiding citizen. This same officer will witness a robbery or theft but because the thief obeyed the law and only took $600.00 dollars worth of merchandise, two hundred under the legal limit a theft is deemed malicious, and walk the other way, while the victim of the robbery is still asking for justice.
Then you have the other police officer, who has had to deal with the stress’s of others and those of his own making. He is dedicated in enforcing the law and is no coward. He receives the call, no matter if it’s to assist the stranded traveler in changing their tire to get out of the way of the approaching eighteen wheeler, or as large as raiding the home of the local drug dealing rapist. He lives for the moment to brandish his badge and let the world know, justice comes from the point of a barrel.
The coward of a police officer will see a person is in no position to care for whatever issue has encouraged them to ask for assistance and instead of delegating a means to absolve the problem effectively, he will sit behind his desk and stall by asking the person to file a complaint, and throw the grievance the moment the person leaves, who is then deflated by the burden of having to deal with their exhaustive circumstance alone.
Then there is the officer who encounters the fourteen year old, troubled teen in the street. Not in school but carrying a backpack. He investigates and finds the kid is a gang member, was robbed that morning and is looking to kill the man that robbed him. He sees the .45 in the bag. Instead of taking the kid and the gun in he asks “Where is the man that robbed you?” The kid shows him. The cop retains the money, takes the thief to jail and takes the kid home. Talks to his mother and brothers. Finds there is no father and the brothers forced him to carry his own burdens in life. Did not encourage him to achieve an education and desire more out of life than the chance to go to prison like his father and brothers and earn his strips. He mentors the boy, keeps him out of trouble and since he knows where the drugs are coming from, sends a team to keep the degradation quarantined on one half of the city. His plan makes him Sheriff, he is elected year after year, and retires, without ever having to fire his pistol once.
In my personal experiences I’ve witnessed the African American officers use his color as a wedge between the races, bribing and currying favor with those of his color and completely ignoring the pleas in the night for security of the white communities, the coward.
Then you have the officer who is color-blind and listens to the small voice in the back of his mind that insists he puts his neck on the line in the name of honor to help his fellow man. I’ve separated the class of officer in two, the coward and the valiant because I have friends that are police officers and I know deep down they chose to serve because like me they wanted to help people that could not help themselves. I am inclined to be kind in this report, for their sake. They are friends, but if I won’t sacrifice the truth for the sake of my mother, I doubt it would be respectable of me to do so for others.
I was eight years old in Wharton Texas when I got my first taste of punishing men who forcibly turned their wives, sisters, aunts, cousins, and children into prostitutes for the city. Their was a little motel, made famous for these acts, called the “Tee-Pee Motel,” you can Google directions on your own time: 4098 E. Business 5 R, Wharton, TX 77488. Giant concert buildings made in the shape of Native American tee-pees and home to some of the most notorious borderland degenerates ever known.
Since I don’t know who my father is and no one dares to tell me the truth, I could almost surmise I was conceived there. A child of whores, is there any wonder as to why I have a love for the “Lady of the Night,” and can relate to her cries of humane-rights?!
When we were boys, dealing with the generational curse of lack of fathers in the home or any man our mothers chose for the moment to be on hand as our fathers, we did not have police to aid us in the midst of domestic violence or child abuse and never called upon them, where taught not to. We adhered to the Italian philosophy of ‘omerta,’ which suited me well and I still encourage many to keep to it’s grace; when faced with the choice of involving the police of obtaining justice.
Place a police report you say. Sure, call the police and this is what you’ll hear.
“You know if we arrest him without the rape-kit, and the evidence found there, we can only charge him with assault and battery. He’ll get a smack on the wrist and be out as fast as it takes you to collect whiplash from a car crash.”
At this point I am scratching my head trying to figure out what I pay taxes for, excuses of glorified babysitters with pistols, set to shoot blanks.
“Listen Jerry, you could easily detain a known rapist for what you clearly have evidence for and press more charges before he can post bail, especially for a career, serial rapist like Dino. Your stalling is only going to make me dawn my hat.” says the Dream Weaver.
“You do what you want, just know if we catch wind of your interference with our investigation and you pull that trigger, we will be coming after you. Let us do our job and file him in by the numbers.
Your sweet on the girl, your mad she took a beating, none of that justifies you taking the law in your own hands.” Jerry does not like being told how to do his job. “My job was just to inform you of the situation, your free to do with that information, what you like.”
The Dream Weavers rage is boiling.
“This is why everyone in this country is shooting one another, robbing, maiming, killing and why you have a rape case on your hands! There is no fear of God in a man like Dino, for 35 years you’ve allowed that rabid dog to attack as he likes and now he’s touched someone that’s made you call me at 2:00 in the morning and you tell me to do nothing…”
A heavy sigh on the other line, “When the kit comes in…”
Click: Dial Tone.
The Dream Weaver is on the move!
APT: 1012 Page 6 ~ 5 Stages of Triage ~
Local law enforcement let Dino go but the Dream Weaver did not have to. Of course after finding him, the coward began to rant and rave about how she made it all up. She beat herself, tore up her own home, scratched her own legs and called the cops, after taking her daughter to her neighbors house. Couched her friends in what to say and she is setting him up.
The Dream Weaver had to ask him, “For What?!” Not that it would change his mind about his fate. But he wanted to know what he believed would drive a woman to kick her own door, stage a break-in and put a baseball-sized knot on her already enlarged forehead and blame it on a man who’s been to prison five times for rape?
“I don’t know man, cause she is crazy.” Was Dino’s reply.
That would not satisfy a judge, jury or the executioner, so why should the Dream Weaver be?
“Look Dino, your really out of time, I can care less about what you think happened in apartment 1012, Victoria’s friend has no reason to lie for her and the only reason your not behind bars is cause someone in the department thinks black people should handle their own damn problems and black on black crimes is the best way to purge such a blight on the world. When they talk about blights, roaches and plagues to the human race, mind you, they mean you Dino.”
The Dream Weaver thought prison would be too good for someone like Dino. He was too accustomed to the catch and release process, he knew all the right things to say, he had people giving him alibis. The only way to deal with a rabid dog is to put it down.
“I did not do anything, she is lying, she has always been a little liar!” Screams Dino is the .45, is placed to his head.
There is only one way to deal with a rabid dog. Only one way to deal with his kind.
You might be asking yourself, “Why was the Dream Weaver so harsh with Dino, what if it was true and the woman lied?”
I tell you for the benefit of the future of man kind ass it is, anyone willing to cause harm to a woman, sell narcotics in the neighborhood of black people and aid in the deprivation of the African American and they are African American, they need no longer exist.
Granted I have room for doubt, I would not be human if I didn’t, but when you see family or a loved one in the hospital and she says, “Dino did it.” Another woman can be a witness to it and others know you have a thing for fucking over people at some point the sight of unprotected women with daughters, bruised and battered and raped, gets to making you love sleep and only the silence after the crack of a
.45, can ease your mind. Erasing the memory of what happened in Apartment 1012.
“Every Foe is subject to the healer of dreams.”
This page is to illustrate a side of the Dream Weaver, I’ve alluded to but never really had a chance to expound on. Oh he could have expressed his rage by a few upper-cuts and lower-jabs. He could have given the hero’s taunt like, (The State of NC’s Attorney General Josh Stein, stating that rapists, sex offenders, will be hunted down until the end of time, with DNA samples and rape-kits), but it’s not his style. When Dino asks the Weaver, “Would you shoot an unarmed man in the back?” That sets him off. His anger boils and the hammer falls. The satisfaction on the Dream Weavers face in fulfilling his promise to Victoria, shows his pride in being ‘dependable.’ He would never allow the notion of ‘honor among thieves,’ or keeping the playing field even or being above cheating in order to win.
He does not mind being an opportunist when it is his favor and he is alive to tell the tale, so by his vantage point, who would blame him.
I could have broken the second panel into three shots of the Dream Weaver putting holes into Dino, for asking for mercy from him.
“Did you give Victoria mercy?” ~One shot!
“When she begged you to stop, Did you?” ~Second shot!
“For every beautiful woman in the world, who has had her back against the wall, made to choose life over death, you get a bullet.” ~Last shot!
In the manner of which I ended this sixth page, the overall story could have ended and that is fine.
Leaves the seventh page as an alternative bonus ending. The discussion can be furthered. Regarding the best way to deal with a serial rapists, we could infer the notion that if your not willing to do what it takes to win, you’ve merely aided and abetted more attacks on women that have risked their lives by choosing prostitution as a means of making a living.
APT: 1012 Page 7 ~ Alternative Ending
I am sure by now I’ve said all that is needed to be said on this matter. The Dream Weaver has seen to the death of Dino and though in real life Dino remains at large and Victoria must wait for the results of her rape-kit to come in before she can ever hope for closure from the courts. At least in my dreams it can be said, something was done for her.
This page was inspired by a conversation I had with my son’s mother in college. (When things were good.) I may have brought this up before, so for those that have read my journals, books and articles, bare with me. The little aside relates, I promise.
Well one day, I say around 2007, it was late and my son’s mother wanted to go to some club and her boyfriend would not take her. So she called me. That was after she called this guy I could not stand to give us all three a ride. I was supposed to go to make sure she stayed out of trouble and the driver was going, looking to score. Which made me, the guy that had scored enough to get her pregnant, the third wheel and expendable. So when I found that she did not expect me to drive her but to sit in the back seat and go to a party at the mercy of “Can’t Keep His Dick To Himself-Driver,” I flipped out. I told her I am not going and I forbid her to go!
I could not tell her I did not trust out driver, cause he was her “friend” and I would not tell her to stay because I was not her boyfriend or husband. So I told her to have fun, if she was going , but don’t call me at no two o’clock in the morning for a ride cause your driver is wasted.
She went and of course she calls me at two o’clock in the morning. Except she is not at the party. She managed to make it home,but her driver was not going to let her leave without some form of payment and he wanted her mouth, on his dick. She called, She texted, she was desperate and distressed and so I made the ten mile journey on foot to her place from my own, at two o’clock in the morning, to find her still in the car, trying to stall and fend off the driver that I could not stand in the first place.
Needless to say, I knocked on his window, pulled him out of the car and beat the snot out of him. Only my rage did not end with him alone. I was pissed that my son’s mother put me in a position to have to fight over her and she refused to say we were dating, to call me her boyfriend, to marry me. I am paying her rent, I am caring for her, I am fucking her and still she gives me the cold shoulder and only calls me when she needs protection.
After getting her in the house, I laid into her as well. Her boyfriend was in the other room but, ‘fuck him,’ he did not even look out the window to see she needed help or to help me as I am beating up a would be rapist!
“The next time you put me in that position I am going to tie the balls of who ever it is you are fucking with by a telephone wire and make you watch as he hangs there!”
I threatened, in hopes she would have the decency to not let me see her with any other guy, including her boyfriend.
“Just one time, if I see some guy on your arm and you’ve not told him to look the other way when yall see me, I will castrate him in front of you!” I am not the one to play with and you might sleep around with other guys now but not when you have said “I am the one you want to be with.”
Needless to say she was not having it and said we need to be away from each other for a while if I am going to be violent and act like a spoiled child.
I agreed and for months I stayed away from her. She called me later and said she missed me and I fell right in again but the thought of catching one of her boy-toys that went to her and did not know how to take “no” for answer, was always in the back of my mind.
That is how I had planned for the Dream Weaver to deal with Dino. For putting him in a position to be made to get out of bed and stop loving on Euriidice to assist Victoria, a woman that chose the money she could acquire from men over the love the Dream Weaver could offer her, Dino would have to hang by his balls from a telephone line.
“If they can hold up Spider-Man they can hold up a Dead, one!”
It was that thought alone that had my son’s mother deny my son the right to carry my last name. That night she determined I was too violent and had the ability to carry out what I set out to do.
I mean who runs ten miles in the night to beat someone down when they could have drove or called the cops.
That is what she asked me. At the time I suppose it was because I did not want my car traced, I was angry and I walked to the University and back all the time so the landscape was not intimidating to me, I guess.
I was young and silly at the time. I also wanted to stay the night and if she had allowed, which she did, I would take the bus to class and save on my gas. She had my son three years later, after that night and never did I have to hang a man by his balls in front of her. She never let me catch her with a man.
Well I hope you all have enjoyed my illustrated short. It was a joy to work on. There will be more adventures to come. If you happen to be on my side of town, stop by, lets drink some coffee and talk shop about how to make the world a better place.