5/5/09
I walked the city I knew, took for granted it's curves, turned in a way that shifted diagonally the red sheen of our prism prison. My head turns, the camera pans up as we gaze upon the Crimson City, bloody-black archs with gothic spires.
She was a nexus, a living harmonic sigil that radiated paranormal extrasensory pulses of sensation, making the impossible align with our reality. I lie beside her, basking in the brilliance of a supernova soul igniting in spontaneous explosions, dreaming like never before.
Inside the shoppe, a bespectacled man glances over the frames and lenses to inspect your intentions. He sees you worthy, and produces a rat and a rat bag. With a thin blade he draws a line of blood down the chest and stomach of the paralyzed rodent and places it within the rat-skinned sack.
His fingers squish about the body, running the tips along the delicate twistings and turning of its intestines. He gazes down thoughtfully as he searches for meaning in the cruel, viscious act he just committed. What was the purpose of this rat divination?
"Erase everything that came before."
I awake with a start as she is spent. Exhausted from the transference of my spirit to the realm of her people. Her fairyness is cranky and wants breakfast.
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