run down my spine and across my skin, prickling hairs and cascading
in the air around me.
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.
rain and wind swirling, mixing with the shivers and cascade of
tell what’s within or without now, which twinges belong to me and
which belong to the wind in the trees in the world.
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.
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.
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
anxiety, of travels increase, but the speed steady. Shadows flick and
fade, melting up and over me aimlessly back into themselves behind.
don’t look back at them.
scatter across my vision, my light, but are gone in an instant.
red stains in odd patterns disappear, sweeping beneath me on the
don’t look down at them.
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.
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.
sun is shining brightly when I wake, sun streaming across my cheery
curtains, my blankets, my bed.
a colds sheen of sweat all over my body, and my blankets looked like
they’ve been tossed aside.
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.
can’t remember, in my dream, what was I becoming?