5/5/09
I walked the city I knew, took for granted its 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 arches 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 his frames and lenses to inspect my intentions. He sees me 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 turnings of its intestines. He gazes down thoughtfully as he searches for meaning in the cruel, viscous act he just committed. What was the purpose of this rodent divination?
"Erase everything that came before."
I awake with a start, and 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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