Post by John yuma on Nov 25, 2009 6:01:57 GMT -5
It has been a week since I left Glenrowan to follow John Yuma. At first he was hesitant to speak with me, although he did nothing to stop me from following him. The storm season set the perfect picture as he stepped from the doorway of the pub; a moment I will surely not forget. As I followed him, the rain shot down like bullets of a rile, slightly stinging the skin of anyone in its path. I wore only my ragged blue jeans and a dark worn out collar shirt. It was my usual attire for being a retired war veteran. Fighting all those years back in that dismal land of Vietnam did take its toll upon my body. I never did feel quite strong after those long and agonizing years in duty. And to top of a perfect retirement, they gave me a small one bedroom house in Glenrowan. I often ask myself ‘where would I like to be?’ here in the godforsaken place of Glenrowan or back in Vietnam, where at least I served a purpose to the word. Now I find myself in neither, following a man whom I know nothing about.
Yuma strolled through the rain as if it was a sunny summer day. This I found was interesting, it showed his resilience to the weather and believe me when I say that the stormy Glenrowan weather is something you want to avoid at all costs. I followed as fast as I could, still trying to avoid the storm above but failing miserably. Yuma reached a car, one that (from where I was standing) looked like an old, run down Holden (common in Glenrowan). He then opened the door and climbed in the driver’s side. The creek of the door barely made it through the cluttering of the rain on the tin roofs upon the houses. His engine, on the other hand broke over the rains embrace by roaring louder then any Lion could ever achieve. His headlights glared at me as if they were the eyes of god. The car jolted forward, gaining about 3 or 4 meters to my calculations, although I was still intoxicated at this point so don’t take my word for it. I stood still, frozen as his silhouette outlined the windshield of the car. I was in a great state of regret at this point; I don’t think I need to explain why.
His car jolted forth once more, this time without stopping, quickly closing in on my frozen still body. As I was ready to meet my maker, I cringed myself, ducking my head and squeezing my eyes shut just awaiting the rusted steel of the car to clash with my skin and bones, breaking me into small fragments of human remains (An over exaggeration of my intoxication coming to play). As the roar of the car got closer, I said to myself “God almighty, take me to your side” words I know I wont forget saying. As I was prepared to die, the car of Yuma came to a somewhat incredible halt, stopping just right of me. I jumped back, falling back first into the muddy grounds below. As I looked at the car, I felt rather relieved. I quickly got up, only to slip once more and land face first. Believe me when say this, alcohol and mud do NOT go well together. The door of the car creaked open; I wiped the mud from my eyes and pulled myself up. I saw Yuma’s dark figure gazing at me. I didn’t know what to think, so I just stood still, much like I did when I first lay eyes on him at the pub.
“Why did you follow me?”
Spoke Yuma in his dark and husky voice. I was still trying to take in what had happened and decided to go with my instincts (which had so far proven bad) and replied
“Be…Because I need to who you are”
Yuma laughed as if what I had said was stupid, and when he replied I saw why.
”I am John Yuma; I take it bad memory runs in your veins old man?”
This made me even laugh a bit too, but I knew what I meant, I just didn’t get my message across.
“I know your name, but not you”
I replied, hoping to gain some sort of leverage on the short conversation taking place. The rain had calmed slightly, although it was the only thing washing the mud from my body.
“If you want to know old man, then come for a ride”
Yuma’s offer did scare me to be honest, I wanted to follow the man, but a direct offer does tend to make you think twice. Never-the-less, I was not going to back down now. I had already made a fool of myself, and I did prepare for death, so I stepped into the car, slopping my muddy boots onto the floor of his car. I still didn’t know what car it was but it was not my focus at the time which is what you would surely expect. I closed the door, the creek somewhat rung out the clash of rain on the car. As I slammed it shut, he put his vehicle in clutch and without hesitation drove down the muddy road, past the pub and onto the Old Hume Highway.
“Where are we going?”
I asked him as we reached the first and only turn on the Old Hume Highway.
“Wherever the road takes u; direction is irrelevant. It’s what we find at the end of the road which helps us prosper.”
He replied in his husky semi-toned voice. I stared at him, his eyes did not move from the road. I did not know what exactly to say to a comment such as that.
“And what’s at the end of the road?”
I asked hesitantly.
“There are two possibilities that lay ahead old man…”
“The names Roland”
I quickly spoke above him for I did not take kindly to being called old man. Age may be against me, but with age comes knowledge, something I cherish to the utmost.
“Well, Roland. The two possibilities that lay ahead are: we will find a bright rainbow with a pot of gold at the end. The other is of course we will find Nero, the man who withholds the pot of hold from us.”
Two things sprung to mind at this time, the first being what the hell is this guy speaking about? A pot of gold? Leprechaun named Nero? It was all too confusing for me.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, it was maybe his way of allowing me to take in his words and hopefully decipher his words. I replied
“There’s a leprechaun named Nero who could or could not be protecting a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow? Yuma I am sorry but that sounds all too…”
Before I could finish my sentence, I interrupted
“Strange? Well Roland that is life. Nero is no Leprechaun, he is a stepping stone. You see this road the road to the pot of gold can stretch on forever if you do not be cautious. That’s why it is handy to have these stepping stones in place to get to the pot of gold. We will soon enough meet Nero, in which he will be our stepping stone.”
At this point I had more understanding to what Yuma had been saying. Nero was a man in the way of what Yuma saw as his pot of gold. But I did not understand the endless road. I know these roads well and the Old Hume Highway was only around 880 kilometres long. But then again, nothing had been anything BUT strange with John Yuma so what was ahead was definitely something I had to wait and see. Do I have any regrets at this stage? Yes, that I did not fall over in that fucking mud TWICE before I entered Yuma’s car; it is all throughout my boots and thoroughly annoying.
“Well Yuma, make sure you point out Nero when you see him. Oh, and you might want to open your window unless you want your car to smell of stagnant water and mud.”
I said as I wound down my window, but to my surprise, the window only came down half way. I was a bit disappointed that I had to put up with the smell of both Yuma’s and my dirty clothing. But then again, what did I expect from a car like this.
It was nearing about 4:30 in the morning on my calculations. We had been driving for nearly 2 hours now. I could feel the weariness creep inside my body, causing a constant flow of yawns. I had always found the road soothing, and it was at that time I managed to doze of. I do not remember what dreams may of taken place inside my head that night, but what I do remember was the shock I had upon waking. The sun was brightly shining through the car; the birds could be heard chirping from the outside of the vehicle as I realized we had stopped on the side of the road. I took a deep breath and turned. It was then I went into sudden shock to see Yuma was not there. I quickly looked around, my eyes strafing left and right, but he was nowhere to be seen.
I thought last night was strange, but what is set for the future? Hell, as far as I knew, Yuma could have been a ghost rider on the highway (my grandfather used to tell me tales of ghosts.). Life was about to get a whole lot stranger with John Yuma in my life.
-Roland Gilead.
Any feedback is/will be appreciated
Yuma strolled through the rain as if it was a sunny summer day. This I found was interesting, it showed his resilience to the weather and believe me when I say that the stormy Glenrowan weather is something you want to avoid at all costs. I followed as fast as I could, still trying to avoid the storm above but failing miserably. Yuma reached a car, one that (from where I was standing) looked like an old, run down Holden (common in Glenrowan). He then opened the door and climbed in the driver’s side. The creek of the door barely made it through the cluttering of the rain on the tin roofs upon the houses. His engine, on the other hand broke over the rains embrace by roaring louder then any Lion could ever achieve. His headlights glared at me as if they were the eyes of god. The car jolted forward, gaining about 3 or 4 meters to my calculations, although I was still intoxicated at this point so don’t take my word for it. I stood still, frozen as his silhouette outlined the windshield of the car. I was in a great state of regret at this point; I don’t think I need to explain why.
His car jolted forth once more, this time without stopping, quickly closing in on my frozen still body. As I was ready to meet my maker, I cringed myself, ducking my head and squeezing my eyes shut just awaiting the rusted steel of the car to clash with my skin and bones, breaking me into small fragments of human remains (An over exaggeration of my intoxication coming to play). As the roar of the car got closer, I said to myself “God almighty, take me to your side” words I know I wont forget saying. As I was prepared to die, the car of Yuma came to a somewhat incredible halt, stopping just right of me. I jumped back, falling back first into the muddy grounds below. As I looked at the car, I felt rather relieved. I quickly got up, only to slip once more and land face first. Believe me when say this, alcohol and mud do NOT go well together. The door of the car creaked open; I wiped the mud from my eyes and pulled myself up. I saw Yuma’s dark figure gazing at me. I didn’t know what to think, so I just stood still, much like I did when I first lay eyes on him at the pub.
“Why did you follow me?”
Spoke Yuma in his dark and husky voice. I was still trying to take in what had happened and decided to go with my instincts (which had so far proven bad) and replied
“Be…Because I need to who you are”
Yuma laughed as if what I had said was stupid, and when he replied I saw why.
”I am John Yuma; I take it bad memory runs in your veins old man?”
This made me even laugh a bit too, but I knew what I meant, I just didn’t get my message across.
“I know your name, but not you”
I replied, hoping to gain some sort of leverage on the short conversation taking place. The rain had calmed slightly, although it was the only thing washing the mud from my body.
“If you want to know old man, then come for a ride”
Yuma’s offer did scare me to be honest, I wanted to follow the man, but a direct offer does tend to make you think twice. Never-the-less, I was not going to back down now. I had already made a fool of myself, and I did prepare for death, so I stepped into the car, slopping my muddy boots onto the floor of his car. I still didn’t know what car it was but it was not my focus at the time which is what you would surely expect. I closed the door, the creek somewhat rung out the clash of rain on the car. As I slammed it shut, he put his vehicle in clutch and without hesitation drove down the muddy road, past the pub and onto the Old Hume Highway.
“Where are we going?”
I asked him as we reached the first and only turn on the Old Hume Highway.
“Wherever the road takes u; direction is irrelevant. It’s what we find at the end of the road which helps us prosper.”
He replied in his husky semi-toned voice. I stared at him, his eyes did not move from the road. I did not know what exactly to say to a comment such as that.
“And what’s at the end of the road?”
I asked hesitantly.
“There are two possibilities that lay ahead old man…”
“The names Roland”
I quickly spoke above him for I did not take kindly to being called old man. Age may be against me, but with age comes knowledge, something I cherish to the utmost.
“Well, Roland. The two possibilities that lay ahead are: we will find a bright rainbow with a pot of gold at the end. The other is of course we will find Nero, the man who withholds the pot of hold from us.”
Two things sprung to mind at this time, the first being what the hell is this guy speaking about? A pot of gold? Leprechaun named Nero? It was all too confusing for me.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, it was maybe his way of allowing me to take in his words and hopefully decipher his words. I replied
“There’s a leprechaun named Nero who could or could not be protecting a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow? Yuma I am sorry but that sounds all too…”
Before I could finish my sentence, I interrupted
“Strange? Well Roland that is life. Nero is no Leprechaun, he is a stepping stone. You see this road the road to the pot of gold can stretch on forever if you do not be cautious. That’s why it is handy to have these stepping stones in place to get to the pot of gold. We will soon enough meet Nero, in which he will be our stepping stone.”
At this point I had more understanding to what Yuma had been saying. Nero was a man in the way of what Yuma saw as his pot of gold. But I did not understand the endless road. I know these roads well and the Old Hume Highway was only around 880 kilometres long. But then again, nothing had been anything BUT strange with John Yuma so what was ahead was definitely something I had to wait and see. Do I have any regrets at this stage? Yes, that I did not fall over in that fucking mud TWICE before I entered Yuma’s car; it is all throughout my boots and thoroughly annoying.
“Well Yuma, make sure you point out Nero when you see him. Oh, and you might want to open your window unless you want your car to smell of stagnant water and mud.”
I said as I wound down my window, but to my surprise, the window only came down half way. I was a bit disappointed that I had to put up with the smell of both Yuma’s and my dirty clothing. But then again, what did I expect from a car like this.
It was nearing about 4:30 in the morning on my calculations. We had been driving for nearly 2 hours now. I could feel the weariness creep inside my body, causing a constant flow of yawns. I had always found the road soothing, and it was at that time I managed to doze of. I do not remember what dreams may of taken place inside my head that night, but what I do remember was the shock I had upon waking. The sun was brightly shining through the car; the birds could be heard chirping from the outside of the vehicle as I realized we had stopped on the side of the road. I took a deep breath and turned. It was then I went into sudden shock to see Yuma was not there. I quickly looked around, my eyes strafing left and right, but he was nowhere to be seen.
I thought last night was strange, but what is set for the future? Hell, as far as I knew, Yuma could have been a ghost rider on the highway (my grandfather used to tell me tales of ghosts.). Life was about to get a whole lot stranger with John Yuma in my life.
-Roland Gilead.
Any feedback is/will be appreciated
