Editilla tells his story on the Ladder

I had not thought of it this way until now, that each day after the 29th marks a particular movement through this history until 7 days hence when I escaped New Orleans.

So, I hope to post “memories” or a “memory” from each day. There were no good days, no art, no music, birds, safe laughter. But some days there were happenings which did not rise to the level of trauma. This day is a nightmare.

Please forgive me for this truly gruesome tale.

Editilla told part of this story here on two occasions but on the Ladder last night he vividly describes what New Orleans was like after it’s descent into anarchy. I know how he feels about Katrina being only the start though I thank God it wasn’t nearly as bad on the Mississippi coast.

She (Editilla’s dog Flora) has to go outside, and frankly so should I, but the dog just won’t do it in the building for obvious memories of Hell House Training. It is around 9 pm and I know she’s got to go.

We don’t want to go out because of the total darkness, where it was not the procedure to shine your flashlight as that would announce your presence to whoever might be ahead.

You had to be Very Quiet at night. It is hard for me to describe such an awareness of the quickness of death. I had already seen 3 people killed all by gunfire………..

So step by step we needle our way into the neutral ground –not onto, but into the scene.

It was so dark my eyes were sweating.

About middle of the block I smell humans, more than one, at least two different scents. They were drunk too. Gin. Then I hear their blades click open on either side of me and dog Flora, limbs breaking as they advanced. It happened that fast and I drew my sabre across the chest at my left and into a thigh on the right. Back again to the Left into a human shoulder I think. Down, crouch, sideways to the right into probably the same thigh this time screaming from the right, running through the limbs away to the left… I raise my sabre and begin hacking down into probably the head of remaining movement. They never laid a hand on me or dog Flora, but their blood began to drip down my cheeks and all over my arms, warm. Yet I continued to swing my sabre now calmly intent on killing this person. My soul seemed at a distance unconcerned. This person was now on their back on the ground screaming crawling backwards beneath some limbs when I believe I saw their face in that darkness. Perhaps it was a reflection from a Ship in the river. I swear I could hear them bleeding.

I swung between their eyes and hit a limb just above their head. My sword stuck in the wood and it was in that moment that I came back into my body as if sliding into a base on my ass, a long fast slide down a tunnel of broken glass and fire in my ears.

I smelled burnt rubber and tasted copper beneath my tongue.

I fell to my knees, listening, as the “person” slid away through the brush, and hearing this “person” I used to be falling deeper into Hell. I grabbed dog Flora still on her leash and also covered in blood though I don’t remember her joining in the fight, goddamned wet with it all over us…and headed for the river a few blocks away.

God bless us all on the post Katrina coast.

sop