Saturday, October 04, 2014


"Sleep," she commanded, putting her fingertip to my forehead, and instantly I fell backward into the black. But how could that be when I was already asleep?

I started to ask her but all that was left was her fingertip, still pushing, still guiding. That, and her voice, the one I had forgotten in the daylight.

"Here," she said, and I saw: a rabbit warren of corridors, each one a universe with a slightly different warp but the same outcome. In every direction there we were, and were not, crazy-house reflections with our backs to each other.

"Here," she said, and I saw: small splotches of vivid color in the darkness, the chroma so bright I could not look away. On those saturated islands I saw women I had loved, glowing in the purple and yellow and pink.

"There," she said, and I saw: the red island was uninhabited, and I knew that was where she had once lived before leaving her blood mark.

"There, there," she said, and I saw: a comforting forest on the side of a mountain abundant with life, and I knew I wanted to rest here, at least for a little while, at least until the next sunrise.

But the forest rushed past me as her fingertip kept pushing and now we were back in black, seamless and endless. I tried to stop falling but there was nothing to grab hold of so I gave up the struggle and relaxed, and once I did her voice fell silent and the roar of the rush filled my ears.

When I finally hit bottom I was falling so fast there was no time to say goodbye.

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