Shaky Sight
by Nicole Clevenger (c) February 20001
He has
come back again, returned to his place inside my head. He fits there,
belonging. Warm. Filling the empty spaces inside me and quieting all the
noise...
There
is something wrong. I can smell it on him. He is not well, not all here with
me. "We've missed you so, lovie," my heart sings to him. "We've
all been so lonely without you." Around me, all the pretty dollies nod in
agreement. Without him, we get so very bored sometimes. Until the butterfies'
wings whisper some delicious darkness to us, and we go out to play. But never
like we played with our Daddy. He always knew the most wicked games.
"Daddy's
home now, Pet. You don't have to be lonely anymore."
I can
feel his arm around me, holding me close like it used to be, before. He smells
of age and death, and the sweetness of sickness. I want to make him better...
I tell
him about our travels, the things we've seen. The pictures dance in my head,
flickering in and out of focus like a match flame in the darkness. We wandered
the world for some time, my dollies and I, with no idea of where our path
should end. We went where we wished, following the directions of the wind. The
wind scented our sights, teasing them along on an endless string. Smelled like
flowers, it did. Like the dead.
Trafalgar
comes into my mind, looming up over all the little thoughts to cover everything
like a blanket. I try to send the picture to him, through my thoughts. The snow
falls thick around my boots, but I don't get cold anymore. We chase her for
blocks through that deep snow. She doesn't scream until the very end, that one.
Just moves faster and faster, trying to get away from the hunters who are after
her blood. Blood that spotted the white ground like rose petels.
So
pretty, that color. Deep folds of silky red, spreading across the frozen layer
of water that hides the world beneath. Her hair is the same color as mine, and
I hold her and brush it with my fingers. She trembles so! Such a little bird,
shivering under my fingertips.
I can
feel your heartbeat, little bird.
My love
doesn't have a heartbeat. It has been long since we felt such a thing, alive
and pulsing in our breasts. He quakes like the birdie, though, here in my arms.
He is too warm for the snow -- it melts and flows from us in its watery form,
disappearing into the ground again.
His
warmth grows, until he begins to sear my hands with his heat. He is fire,
consuming me. An angry, hateful fire, swallowing me in its frightening flames.
He hurt me. He left me alone, crying in the darkness. Burning. The crackling
whispers tell me that I was a bad girl, that he has left me to punish, to harm.
They
are laughing, some of them. Miss Charlotte scolds me so. Miss Annabelle sings
and sings, her notes tangling my thoughts and dirtying my ears. They all blame
me for the fire. Their voices never stop, not when they truly wish to make
themselves heard.
And
then, blackness.
~~~
Those
girls are there, with him in the room. I can see them through his eyes. The one
looks familiar, a breath of a name that I've long since forgot, if ever I knew.
The other is new, but he doesn't see her clearly. She is out of his sight,
nothing more substantial than a blur. In his thoughts as well. The
titian-haired one holds a fond place in his mind, which surprises me a teensy
bit. My Spikey has made friends with the humans? How silly of him.
~~~
He's
dreaming again, back in my head. The beautiful old vase had been telling me its
story, but it fell to the floor and broke into a million tiny pieces. Too tiny
to ever be whole once more. It was quite a sad story, and I wished I had heard
the end before its voice was silenced.
But I
am with him again, with him in his nightmare place. He is running, trying to
find his way through the greenery. The jungle smells like crawly things and
fresh life, scurrying and hurrying away from my handsome invader. They will do
well to avoid him. He is a killer, after all, and he hungers for death.
He is
chasing someone up ahead -- someone he has lost. A tease of red from the
leaves, then gone. The moonlight casts the strangest shadows. Things become
other than that which they seem during the day. Or so I remember. It has been
so very long. But sometimes, in my dreams, I walk in the sun again. It does not
burn me, and I do not argue with it. We are friends. But only in my dreams.
The sun
is my enemy. Our war will never end.
There
is laughter in the air, in the trees. Music, to my love. He searches for the
laughter, desperate energy as he strives to find the source. It is music in a
key that I know, though I can not now see the singer. He will find her though.
I am certain because he is certain.
Then
the ground shakes like a giant's fist, and the known girl falls on top of his
ailing body. She pins him to the jungle floor, unable at first to recover her
balance. The other reaches for her, pulls her to her feet, and I can see the
energy between them. Pretty pretty greens and yellows, reds and whites, all
mixed together in a stunning rainbow of light between their hands. These two
belong to one another, I see. Two pieces of a whole.
Then he
is standing again, my Daddy, and the leaves have filled the world. The girls
are gone now, though I can still feel them there, on the edges. Their voices
are almost able to be heard in all the silence around us. I feel him stop,
realizing that all the creatures have stopped talking. They no longer have
anything to say, it seems. I spin, invisible and noncorpreal, swallowing all of
the silence in my dress and my hair. It enters me, taking over for a long
moment. Only silence. Peace.
But it
can not last for long, my little game. All too soon I am pulled into him, into
his feverish dream skin. He is frightened, I see. The peace does not me the
same to him as it does to me. I welcome the calm. He feels it as loneliness.
The
crying begins. It howls around us, the pain of a soul. A lost soul. But I
realize, as he does, my mistake. It is I who is crying, a mirror friend image
of myself. I watch, fascinated by the streaks of red that paint my cheeks. My
friend is unhappy, but not souled. No, it sprouted cloud wings and flew away
long ago.
My
friend is beautiful. This is how he sees me, how he pictures his Princess in
his thoughts. I have not seen myself for so long. Is this how I appear? How
lovely... I move toward her, the poor sad girl, and reach my hand toward her. I
want to touch her, to see what her skin feels like. To see if I will be able to
feel it myself, inside this real-me.
My love
is struggling, I hear. I turn away from my mirror self and face him. Two
spectacular snakes have slithered along and caught him in their grasps. Quick,
quick, slithering along. They are red, like the dress my double wears. Like
blood. Like life.
Hiss...
Quick
mean snakes: they bite him. Fangs into flesh, except this flesh is dead,
bloodless. He has his true face out now, struggling against the slippy
creatures. He screams, tearing through the darkness of the leafy surroundings.
I can see the pain on his face, in his body. I can smell it. He burns, like the
fire, yet he still tries to reach his Princess. She is the only thing that cuts
its way through the agony, and he holds to her tightly, reaching with his
thoughts when his arms can not. He hurts, he burns.
I
delight in it. And I suffer with him.
The
Prince touches the Princess, resting his gentle hand on her sobbing head. Her
face turns up to him, and it is as if a torch is lit in the night. His hurt
eases at her smile. She is what he has been looking for.
She
leaps to her feet, no longer unhappy. Taking his hands, she pulls him
'round and 'round, dancing a dance of
joy. The birds sing again. The moon is glad at the sight. I dance with them,
dizzy with the pleasure. We are giggling, our thoughts spirals of golden light.
~~~
He is
fading now, his energy so faint that I can hardly hear him. I fear that he
might not last through this sickness. I do not wipe away the tears that
threaten to spill down my invisible face. I can not help him anymore. The girl
who has been tending him is kind, and I wonder again how this came to be. She
is receptive to outside influences, but I do not allow her to recognize my
presence beyond the subconscious. There is great power in this one. She would
be interesting to watch, to see where she will go. I hear a murmur about her
importance, a hint at a role she will come to play.
I do
not wish to listen to them. I wish to be with my love. She is gentle with him,
caring. A small push encourages her to continue. After everything, he is
leaving me. The final step to forever. What will the world be like, if I can
not taste him in my memories? If I can not reach for him in the darkness, when
the missing is at its most painful? He has been there since almost the start of
it all, my brother love. My Daddy.
The
words come, drifting through the waves of my mind. He will continue on, they
hiss in sprays of sea foam. He is not over yet. Your paths shall cross again.
Delight
hums through my cells, vibrating my body.
I leave
him to his rest.
end