(1)

I rushed to the bathroom, turned on the light and stood in front of the sink while turning both faucets. Staring face down into the white porcelain, I dared not look up for fear of what I would see in the mist-streaked mirror that peered into my brain.

(2)

The noise of splashing water rushing down the drain filled the void of the unsettling silence that echoed throughout the three-story Tudor erected during the first Great American Depression of 1929.
I put my hand in the water. It was still cold. Curiosity and compulsion made me look up.

(3)

The glowing reflection of a ghost stared back at me. The man I saw in the mirror was not the man I claimed to be. My face was pale. I looked haggard, worn, and exhausted. As I stared into my reflection, a vision of the Holy Spirit stared into my sobbing eyes.

(4)

The same vision that had saved me from my frightful slumber, was now instructing me to splash warm water on my face, to make myself realize that the nightmare was over and that the indescribable vision glowing before my watery eyes was not a dream.

(5)

An official looking document materialized onto the mirror as four large black electrical tape strips flowed from out of the medicine cabinet and mounted paper to surface. Mist in the mirror above the letter spelled out the words, ' RANSOME NOTE '. 

The mysterious document read:

DEMAND TO CEASE AND DESIST THE PUBLISHING AND DISSEMINATING OF DEFAMATORY, SLANDEROUS, AND LIBELOUS INFORMATION 

Dear Mr. Victor Hugo,

This South Florida Law Firm hereby makes a formal demand upon you, your companies, affiliates, partners, and any other entity in which you are involved in to cease and desist in the publishing and disseminating of defamatory, slanderous, and libelous information that portrays this South Florida Law Firm and its attorneys (Conde, Cohen, Gaeta, Shakur, Martinez, Weinberg & Biggie-Smalls) in a false light by any means whatsoever including, the world wide web, city search reviews, blogs, print, verbal, etc. We are also considering filing suit against you for malicious prosecution; i.e. your numerous baseless Florida bar complaints filed in bad faith against this South Florida Law Firm.

Mr. Victor Hugo you have already lost one law suit to this South Florida law firm; owing us in excess of SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY BILLION DOLLARS ($750,000,000,000)- plus interest. In this new lawsuit, presented by Conde and Cohen as lead counsel, we will be seeking damages from you and your cohorts in excess of ONE TRILLION DOLLARS ($1,000,000,000,000); which Conde and Cohen, intend to prosecute and collect vigorously. If your actions do not cease immediately we will no doubt be forced to indulge your proclivity for litigation.

Be forewarned, Victor Hugo, we, intend to call in a professional witness to actually count out every dollar of the amount we are seeking in damages including legal fees. No doubt, the expert accountant's counting from zero to one trillion dollars will require several days and hours of testimony before the court. 

We will set forth a motion to the Court, that you be forced to pay, with interest, the cost for bringing the motion, all court fees, including expert testimony, court reporter and transcript fees as well as our reasonable legal fees of One Million Dollars ($1,000,000.00) per hour for traveling to and from the Court.

( 6 )

"I urge you to seek counsel." A hooded man spoke to me from behind the mist streaked mirror in the bathroom.

"Your callous, wanton and gross attempts to defame the law firm of Conde, Cohen and its attorneys are well documented."  He said with foul breath. "So far you have done a great job exposing your ignorance and contumacious disregard of the law in court."

I paused to wonder exactly what the mysterious hooded figure was talking about.

 "The law in court?"  I asked earnestly. "Isn't that, and justice for all?"

The hooded figure felt cold on my back as he breathed his thick putrid breath down the nape of my neck. 

"Let me assure you that what you have experienced so far in court is nothing compared to what is about to transpire."

Without explanation, Tommy Chong of Cheech and Chong fame, appeared out of the mirror. He  began to sing, "Up in Smoke" as I stared into his bearded face. The white-haired comedian,  wearing a green headband, stopped singing as a mist began to envelope him. He spoke to me through the clouded mirror while staring intensely into my eyes..

"You want to know what I tell people when they ask me what jail is like?  I tell them, this is Chimerica and as long as the Witches control the Courts and government, you'll soon find out for yourself what jail is like. Esclavos unidos, is what we are. We have become the united slaves of America."    

I rubbed my weary eyes until I witnessed speckles of light dancing inside my eyelids.

"Beware of false prophets and lawyers on your journey, Backpacker." Tommy Chong said before being swallowed into the mirror through my dumbfounded reflection.

He disappeared into a thick fog along with the intimidating letter and electrical tape. When the smoke cleared, I noticed the letters ATT and AIG had been scribbled in red lipstick underneath the written warning from the law firm of Conde and Cohen. A dark shadow began to take shape behind my reflection in the mirror.

"The case against you,  Mr. Hugo, has been carefully evaluated by Conde and Cohen." The  figure said as it grew with the sounds of crackling bones and stretched ligaments into a grotesquely familiar shape that taunted my memory. 

(7)

"Carefully?" I asked confused. "How carefully, that's not even my name. I'm not Victor Hugo. You've got the wrong man. Victor Hugo is dead. I'm not dead. Am I?"

"The facts and the law are on our side so there is little doubt that we will prevail. Make no mistake Victor Hugo that I will defend the reputation of South Florida Lawyer's, Conde, Cohen and their associates zealously; without temor nor retreat."

"Who are you?" I asked the hooded figure standing behind me in the contorted mirror that began to melt like a Salvador Dali clock.

"I am the Poor Jew."

"Why are you calling me Victor Hugo?" I said into the mirror. 

The Poor Jew stood silent as his mass contorted loudly behind me.

"Victor Hugo was a brilliant poet and artist who penned Les Miserables and The Hunchback of Notre Dame. I'm just an average "Joe-the- Plumber"  trying to find the American dream in this modern-day wasteland!"

My fear turned to curious wonder and amazement, when I realized, that I had recognized the face hiding behind the black hood.

"Hey... wait a minute. Didn't I hire you to protect my Constitutional rights and business interests?" I said while talking into the mirror.

"Victor Hugo this is not a game. Your, 'I have nothing to loose attitude', will prove to have lasting consequences." The disturbingly familiar entity said while making quotation marks in the air with his pudgy milky white fingers that looked like raw sausages.

"Loose? Don't you mean lose?"

I paused.

 "Wait a minute."

I paused again.

"You look familiar. Aren't you..."

Red eyes glowed out from the madness hiding inside the hood.

The face of a specter I would come to know in memory as Crackhead Jesus was revealed to me as he yelled, "Silence! I will not let you meddle with magical realism to rewrite fabled history." 

All my personal fears were revealed in Crackhead Jesus's eyes. His gaze brought me to my knees.

"Consider your actions carefully." He said, before making me witness the visual of him, punching  babies in the streets of Tehran, Iran, for kicks, while women around him sobbed and their spouses did nothing.

Crackhead Jesus pumped my cranium full of violent visuals and sounds through his reflection in the mirror. I passed out on the bathroom floor in an emotional puddle of fear and dread when I felt his negative energy tap into my subconscious.

(8)

Minutes later I awoke, listless, my body drenched in a cold sweat, as a strong voice in my head spoke of secret messages and instructed me to pack my belongings with great urgency and little thought. I watched in wonder as The Three Muses flew out of the bathroom mirror. They flowed through me and  landed peacefully on my psychic chi.  

"Let faith guide you on this journey." They sang in unison. "When you close your eyes for the last time before going to sleep, you, and only you, will know who you truly are. Have faith. Not blind faith, have faith in yourself. At the end, that's all that really matters." 

The ethereal vision evaporated into thought leaving me with tremors of great energy and determination. 

(9)

I picked myself up off the floor and rushed towards my bedroom. A months worth of clothes and necessities were hastily shoved into a black backpack I had once toured the world with. Bright colors invaded my vision when I paused for a moment in front of my collection of acrylics and oils before tossing rolls of virgin canvas into an antique black leather trunk. 

“It’s a living thing. It’s a terrible thing to lose. It’s a giving thing, what a terrible thing to lose.” I sang into the horsehair of the assorted paintbrushes clasped in my trembling, tightly clenched hands,

The memory of ELO’s “Living Thing” played incessantly in my instinctive brain. Jeff Lynne sang of bad dreams as I realized that I was about to embark on a long and daunting journey that would change the course of my life forever. 

Apparently, I was on a mission from God and that mission was to tell the world about the false prophet Crackhead Jesus, creating beautiful chaos throughout history with a coven of witches, disguised as lawyers, in  the new Age of Aquarius.

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