well... the event of yesterday probably would have severly disturbed my sleeping patterns had they not already been pretty skewed anyway. i find that every night i have been in this hostal i wake up periodically throughout the night. it is comforting in a way, but strange, because i have never so consistently had interrupted sleep for no apparent reason. maybe it is from sleeping in a stagnant air, musky hostal room, or maybe it is from sleeping next to someone else all the time (i guess that is when i had most consistently experienced periodic wakeups in the past). but anyway, last night was a little different i suppose only because the actual getting-to-sleep part was hard. i couldnt close my eyes without images of the dog come into my mind. very vivid, disturbing images that i cant unsee.

i remember when we first saw him. dazed in the road, limping and wandering out into traffic. i remember my immediate instinct to put myself between him and the cars. i remember shoving his body out of the way of a bus barreling toward us.

i remember looking backwards. i remember speaking, instead of shouting. i remember not doing anything but watch and hope as his body was dragged to the ground slowly under the barely moving tire of the truck. i remember every reaction of his body to the force including the initial bump to the...

fuck... there are no words to describe what it looked like. but it will stay with me forever. with much precision to the chain of movement as reaction... i with never forget it.

i remember hovering over him, sheilding the sun from his eyes. my eyes were so hyper aware of everything related to him. i noticed every detail of his eyes and skin and patches of fur and scar tissue; his skin crawling with ticks and god knows what other bugs. his mouth damaged at the sides. and of course his ribcage coated perfectly with what remained of skin tissue. there´s more, but you dont need it in your mind.

my eyes were the only thing working so hard. my mind was locked in my dream state... this cant be real. my instincts were on, but strange. i felt as though i was navegating blindly, and trying to figure out a problem obscure and alien. and i guess that it was...

(we looked around at all the eyes on the ground...)
we begged and then we waited
(theres no comfort in the waiting...)

i will never forget what it felt like to touch him. i cant escape the noise of his body as it convulsed on the wet, dry, dirt, shit ground.


every detail.


as we wandered away, once his lungs had made their final rise and fall, i thought of him walking in the road. so damaged, so alone. no hope or chance at more life. only death, looming in front of him. one way or another. all i could think of was The Road and the decrepid ancient man limping along, completely decaying, starving, alone in the world of anger and scarcity and pure survival. no compassion. how the man had left him even though the boy wanted to help. how the boy finally convinced the man to give him something. how they did help, the only way they could, even though it wouldnt make a difference in the end. except the gesture. except that then, their hands were as clean as they could be. and that in the midst of anguish and suffering and the reality of death, there was compassion... in some form.