Death in the New Year

Death in the New Year

G. Miller

Word count: 1135

The mountain air blew cold, gusting and cutting like a knife, colder tonight then Private Aguilar (“Agui”) Morales remembered and tonight he had been assigned to security detail outside the Governor's Palace. Morales was pissed; tonight was New Years Eve and the town would be aflame in fireworks, music, dancing and heavy drinking. A night when parents were too busy celebrating to take mush notice of what their daughters were doing or who they did it with. Morales had plans involving the daughter of a minor magistrate, but now they seemed remote. Lighting a cigarette he sat staring idly at the bright lights around the plaza. Isolated fireworks etched white claw marks into the night sky then exploded. Focusing his gaze on the Palace facade “Just like the photo ", he thought. The image was a little 4x5 black and white that had been clipped from a contact sheet, framed and proudly placed in the most prominent position on the mantle over the Morales family brick fireplace. Very old and somewhat faded it lived in an old silver frame that his mother used the feather duster on faithfully and with great vigor everyday. There were other equally faded framed images of a man, tall, straight backed with a solemn look of Death in his eyes, wearing the uniform of the uprising of 1920. In several he wore a civilian suit, but one the of the solemn figure dressed in the traditional Suite of Lights of the matador was always Aguilar's favorite . It was the image of a man who believed he might die soon.

He had grown up seeing theses images and of the Palace with all it's shell pocked skin, missing windows and the lone figure sprawled like a rag doll a small river of darkness seemed to flowing away from the heap as if on it's way somewhere. “Your great grandfather Ramon Aguilar Morales” his parents repeated. “A true hero of the uprising of 1920, a brave man!” “Hell, You look exactly like him”, his father would say aloud every time he passed the fireplace. “One day you will be a great soldier like your great grandfather!” his mother whispered during her daily contrition with the feather duster at the holy alter of honorable family. Sitting in the dark Morales felt the heft of the AR- 15 and imagined what it meant to be "brave". If Death was involved he wondered just what he would do if faced with an enemy; only today there was no enemy, no one in need of Death, only the chill and dark of the night sky.

He fired another cigarette and reached for the whisky left in the little flask that had belonged to the man with the look of Death in his eyes. Pulling his collar high up and leaning back against the a wall hidden from sight he sat for a moment. Eyes closed he summoned the magistrates daughter. All laugher and swaying to sounds of a melody that she alone could hear. She was so close he reached out to caress her, she laughed harder and with cat like quickness avoided his starving arms and hungry fingers and vanished as quickly as she had appeared leaving Morales with a hot dull ache in his loins. On the edge of dreaming he allowed himself to slip deep into the crevice of warmth and soon he could be heard snoring softly into the night. It was New Years Eve December 31, 2019 and the world seemed quiet and orderly.

Morales stirred slightly wondering if he was dreaming or dreaming a dream. There had been a soft tugging at his shoulder and for a moment he tried to shrug it off wanting to slide back into the warmth of the dream, but the tugging only increased in determination. He opened

his eyes trying to focus on the shadow pulling on his shoulder and heard for the first time a hiss, “Shhhhhhhh, silencio...” , a soft whisper; soft but insistent and well defined. A long finger emerged from the dark pointing toward the Palace. The shadow began moving away indicating that Morales should follow. He hesitated, aware for the sound of boots hurrying across the courtyard. The shadow, insistent, came back and took him by the arm and pushed him toward the courtyard. Morales could just make out the Captain's insignia before the shadow disappeared into itself.

Stumbling half-awake through the darkness Morales sensed a difference in the air; it seemed warmer and he smelled a hint of gunpowder, but saw no fireworks. Only when he reached for his cigarettes and instead found a half-smoked cigar it's moist end well chewed did he realize indeed something was very different about this night. Out of the shadows the Captain reappeared. A tall man with imposing manner and a strong will to command, his normally relaxed look now took on a mask like appearance that instilled both fear and loyalty within Morales. “If we ever need you it is now!” He handed Morales a torn sheet from the front page the local news paper upon which he had scribbled a few brief words. Morales did not read the words. “Get this to the General Now! Do not fail us or all is lost!” The Captain pointed toward the dark across the plaza facing the Palace. “There! Go now!”

Lost in total confusion Morales left the safety of the dark; he was the fasted runner in his unit and he knew the meaning of the Captain's order and he was determined not to fail. He could not fail. To fail would mean a dishonor on the memory of his grandfather, a stain on the family honor. And fail he did not, right up to that fluid moment in time when he felt something punch him hard in the chest. Running faster then ever he covered almost the entire open space before he realized he was floating, his feet no longer pounding against the cobbled courtyard. Then things got hazy. A fuzzy warm feeling pulsated from deep inside rising from somewhere in his bowels it finally reached his consciousness and he realized he was laying heaped on the ground not in pain yet, that would come soon, the Captain's paper clutched tightly in his fisted hand. Private Aguilar Morales, great grandson of Private Ramon Aguilar Morales, felt very strange indeed. For an instant he saw the daughter of the minor government official, hair all flowing in the warm air, smiling, beckoning to him, her hips moving to the beat of music coming from somewhere, nowhere and everywhere, and she gesturing and laughing. Private Morales noticed the paper he still gripped in his closed fist. On the very top, in the right-hand corner, in small print he read the date; January 1, 1920.