MARCUS SEBASTIAN SUMAC (RAIN ON GLASS)

The Brothers, The Toy Soldiers, and Race Cars 

He remembered the old friends, from long ago, the ones that were able to build skateboards when nobody else seemed to do things like that. He thought it was because their father, an engineer, had given them long boards and tables on which they built army battle fields old style and racetracks at other times. The fields had plastic figures but somehow, they had painted each one and intricately. Who had that patience and skill? When it came to the racetrack, each top or body of every car was painted and done well. This all seemed quite normal to them. But Marcus Sebastian secretly marvelled at all their ingenuity. For instance, the army fields weren’t just a board but rather endowed with trenches and bits of dirt, moss and little hills, and the whole thing looked quite realistic. 

The Lady in the Dream

She showed up with a necklace that she had purchased and handed it to him and said, ‘Now you hand it to me and it’s from you,’ and he felt reluctant because she was being clever and even conniving and that’s not how it all was supposed to work. He did not really do anything. Then she said, ‘Also, you will travel away with me now that you have given me this jewellery,’ and he didn’t know her game and even felt a bit sorry for her. Finally, he woke up puzzled at that dream and some of the other strange ones he had had as if late. 

Raisin Bran Muffin and the Rain

He was beginning to read The Thorn Birds. By Colleen McCullough. He read many different things and could learn and discern from various sources. This was a novel famous from a long time ago. The cover was very 1970’s somehow and even read, NOW THE SPECTACULAR TELEVISION EVENT in black bold letters on a yellow banner. His mother had read this book in Florida, southern Florida to be more specific, when he was a kid and always observant, he had looked at and remembered the title. He sometimes took a piece of his muffin and a sip of coffee and also glanced out at the rain and overcast sky. There was rain on the industrial grade glass of the coffee-house. It was nearing night. Would be dark soon enough. It felt and looked more like a gloomy October day than the warm spring one that it should have been. 

A Novel with Pen and Paper

There kept being the vision of the generic spiral notebooks. The ones that came in all colours. And pens. Maybe he would write a novel in printed letters or else cursive and do that project in that manner. The freedom of it was that it could be his choice as to the contents and the style. He could go very inward but keep a plot for the continuity of things. Yes, subjectivity and inward dynamics was really the goa and soul. Plus, the paper and pen thing. Why was he drawn to this? Who knows? Maybe just something different or perhaps his generation or even spirit guidance. And if begun and completed, he or someone would have to make it into a print or computerized copy at some point. That is an extra task. Why not just write it to begin with, digitally? He didn’t know. He just knew he was drawn to pen and paper again.