Strange Paths Traveled. (18.12.14)

Shivers run down my spine and across my skin, prickling hairs and cascading in the air around me.

Darkness envelopes me, lights spilling out in front and shadows around all the rest. I can feel the speed and motion deep in myself, but the world is still. Going by fast, faster sometimes.

There’s rain and wind swirling, mixing with the shivers and cascade of sensations.

Can’t tell what’s within or without now, which twinges belong to me and which belong to the wind in the trees in the world.

When the rabbit runs across my lights, motion and momentum jerk at me, warning and reaction in one. Its eyes dart through mine when it turns and runs back into the darkened storm.

Omens and protections set about me, taking turns. Shivers of demons skittering, looking in my bubble of light and movement, then prickling warmth of protection earned, given, even stolen. Rabbits innocent or no, truly omen or simply crossing paths; nape of my neck demands answers I do not have.

My vision swings through the shadows at the edges of my light cast and for one split second there’s giant bat wings, nearly missed, almost imagined.

Caution, anxiety, of travels increase, but the speed steady. Shadows flick and fade, melting up and over me aimlessly back into themselves behind.

I don’t look back at them.

Raindrops scatter across my vision, my light, but are gone in an instant.

Dark red stains in odd patterns disappear, sweeping beneath me on the blackened path.

I don’t look down at them.

The music swells at the background now. Beside the turn there’s twisted remains, flayed limbs of inordinate numbers, all connecting back and shining with sinew and muscle. The viscera that should accompany such a display nonexistent, only clean cut grass, fading into pine needles and dirt of forest edge. Whatever’s inside stays there tonight.

The body’s piled together and barely hidden under a piece of black plastic, stretched taut and shiny over odd, protruding angles.

This is normal, not to be given a second glance.

***

The sun is shining brightly when I wake, sun streaming across my cheery curtains, my blankets, my bed.

There’s a colds sheen of sweat all over my body, and my blankets looked like they’ve been tossed aside.

I can remember only a warped echo of my dream, but even the brightness of the sun, the chirping birds, with sheer normalcy to comfort me, I can’t shake the dread that grips me.

I can’t remember, in my dream, what was I becoming?

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