Title: Like Oiled Silk
Author: Bant (bant428@hotmail.com)
Version 1 Notes: Page break indicates the shift from past to present and vice versa. // indicates talk through the Force. Italics indicate internal dialogue/errant or drifting thought.
to whom, I implore should I implore to?
the sordid heat of night stretches its bloated body over all the Light and that which blinds me from what is Truth that which haunts in uncertainty and in sooth that which taunts
to whom, I implore should I implore to?
the facade of confidence liquid in its fickle form begins to condense becoming cool from warm becoming solid and warm becoming solid and real into that which haunts in slight and fancy I feel that which taunts
to whom, I implore should I implore to?
the cold soft winds blow and tickle the heat's bloated skin the way receded rivers flow the way backwash emotion's din drones out all of my thought that which forever haunts me the love that Love forgot that which forever taunts me the love that Love forgot
[Part 2]
I lay on my back, unable to comprehend that which I was feeling. The sordid thoughts and dreams of my virgin mind were nothing - paled in comparison to the flushed face of my new reality. It was as if I was made to do this, as if I had been consecrated for this long before I could remember, perhaps in another life.
//That may be. I know you more than anyone else, Anyeh. More than anyone could.//
I did not start at the wordless exchange of dialogue. It now felt natural, now that I knew what purpose I had in life.
//That's true, love. We understand each other.// I felt smug when I thought of the world that came before that we. I had never truly belonged before. Not completely or on a deep level, as now. My smugness only grew as I thought back, further into my life.
I was born into a trading family, where one's business associates, subsequently, etiquette, were foremost. If those born into politics complain, they have yet to meet traders. The issues at hand with us were more important than politics - traders deal with economics. Though my family had money, I was raised with more austerity than some poor Nubian farmers were. Traveling across the galaxy, I learned tolerance without sincere compassion, disdain without hate, straightforward talk devoid of frankness. The general attitude was detached, without any heartfelt sincerity.
Trained in these arts from the time I could talk, I was always surrounded by people. In the beginning, these were the children of traders, like myself. When I began to assert my independence, I "chose my own friends." Looking back, I realized that I had picked people just like myself: small-talkers who could converse for hours without saying anything - in short, people my parents loved. I had a few "best" friends, but lost contact with them. I had never admitted that I had lost touch with them; instead, I kept deferring contact.
I realized then that each "best" friend was easily replaceable - and was replaced by the next one. But I could never replace him.
//Nobody knows you like I do.// He pulled me towards him and kissed me as if he would never see me again - as if he could never get enough. Any intelligent thoughts I had melted away.
There was coldness, ice everywhere, but there was a song that was melting the ice. I follow the direction of the notes, and they lead me to my love, but he shatters into shard of ice, like the rest of it all. But I shouldn't be thinking these thoughts. If I think in words, then I may articulate the words, and that would break a Pact made long, long ago.I am bound to an Oath, that I may not express to others, that says I may not articulate the Oath, because that's what the Pact says I must do, not to say anything, for talk is Betrayal, and could there be any worse crime? No, I shall stay dumb, dumb as a fish - but fish open their mouths and I won't, I won't, except to receive my Love.
//And that's what you shall do.// I felt an inexplicable longing satisfied, as well as the pain of the death of a part of me I was born with.
I mourned for a short period of time. Short, indeed. For I have someone to replace the something I once held dear. Dear, oh dear. My dear is right here! That rhymes! I ought to write a poem. It could be a parody, written by me! Yes! It will be so funny! I began to compose it mentally. It was a riot, and I could not control an irrepressible giggle, that grew to a laugh, a sob, a cough. Convulsions rioted through my body. I soon realized that I wasn't breathing - that I couldn't breathe.
Otim watched me. He seemed.fascinated, in a trance. NO! He just doesn't know what to do. Mental rebuke taken into account, I continued coughing, but my throat felt pinched and dry, and even seemed to shrink.
Suddenly, Otim fell out of the trance, looking boyish and silly, unlike himself. He proceeded to grab me and kiss me in an oddly desperate way. It was as if he wanted me, which he did, but couldn't have me. But he had already had me! I felt a smile trying to uncurl on my lips underneath his ferocious kiss. I gently pushed him away. "What's the matter, love? I'm not going anywhere."
By some trick of the dying sun, his eyes seemed to have changed color, from solid green and gold to a liquid brown. His voice was husky and unsure. "You said no. stop playing games."
"What ever do you mean? Otim, what's wrong?"
"I - I don't know. How did I?" He looked at me, as if noticing for the first time that I was next to him on a warm sofa. The scared look on his face told me that it was time for me to go.
I pulled on my cloak and began to leave. I thought I knew what was eating him. I had mourned for my purity - albeit shortly - but I had mourned. He was just feeling the passing grief that had so quickly passed over me.
Suddenly, I heard a slurred voice that, amazingly, managed to mutter and scream at once in its speech. "Otim! Whaddya doin'?" A door opened and I heard feet padding feebly on the floor. The odor of spice was rampant.
His gaze turned fierce. "Go! Now."
I hurried out of the door, as my deepest instinct had told me to do long ago. I can't tell you where my mind was, but I somehow reached the Trader's Block. My feet took me to my house, up the stairs, past the screaming parents, to my bed. Every bit of resistance in my body evaporated, and I let the fuzzy warm blackness take over my reality.
Author: Bant (bant428@hotmail.com)
Version 1 Notes: Page break indicates the shift from past to present and vice versa. // indicates talk through the Force. Italics indicate internal dialogue/errant or drifting thought.
to whom, I implore should I implore to?
the sordid heat of night stretches its bloated body over all the Light and that which blinds me from what is Truth that which haunts in uncertainty and in sooth that which taunts
to whom, I implore should I implore to?
the facade of confidence liquid in its fickle form begins to condense becoming cool from warm becoming solid and warm becoming solid and real into that which haunts in slight and fancy I feel that which taunts
to whom, I implore should I implore to?
the cold soft winds blow and tickle the heat's bloated skin the way receded rivers flow the way backwash emotion's din drones out all of my thought that which forever haunts me the love that Love forgot that which forever taunts me the love that Love forgot
[Part 2]
I lay on my back, unable to comprehend that which I was feeling. The sordid thoughts and dreams of my virgin mind were nothing - paled in comparison to the flushed face of my new reality. It was as if I was made to do this, as if I had been consecrated for this long before I could remember, perhaps in another life.
//That may be. I know you more than anyone else, Anyeh. More than anyone could.//
I did not start at the wordless exchange of dialogue. It now felt natural, now that I knew what purpose I had in life.
//That's true, love. We understand each other.// I felt smug when I thought of the world that came before that we. I had never truly belonged before. Not completely or on a deep level, as now. My smugness only grew as I thought back, further into my life.
I was born into a trading family, where one's business associates, subsequently, etiquette, were foremost. If those born into politics complain, they have yet to meet traders. The issues at hand with us were more important than politics - traders deal with economics. Though my family had money, I was raised with more austerity than some poor Nubian farmers were. Traveling across the galaxy, I learned tolerance without sincere compassion, disdain without hate, straightforward talk devoid of frankness. The general attitude was detached, without any heartfelt sincerity.
Trained in these arts from the time I could talk, I was always surrounded by people. In the beginning, these were the children of traders, like myself. When I began to assert my independence, I "chose my own friends." Looking back, I realized that I had picked people just like myself: small-talkers who could converse for hours without saying anything - in short, people my parents loved. I had a few "best" friends, but lost contact with them. I had never admitted that I had lost touch with them; instead, I kept deferring contact.
I realized then that each "best" friend was easily replaceable - and was replaced by the next one. But I could never replace him.
//Nobody knows you like I do.// He pulled me towards him and kissed me as if he would never see me again - as if he could never get enough. Any intelligent thoughts I had melted away.
There was coldness, ice everywhere, but there was a song that was melting the ice. I follow the direction of the notes, and they lead me to my love, but he shatters into shard of ice, like the rest of it all. But I shouldn't be thinking these thoughts. If I think in words, then I may articulate the words, and that would break a Pact made long, long ago.I am bound to an Oath, that I may not express to others, that says I may not articulate the Oath, because that's what the Pact says I must do, not to say anything, for talk is Betrayal, and could there be any worse crime? No, I shall stay dumb, dumb as a fish - but fish open their mouths and I won't, I won't, except to receive my Love.
//And that's what you shall do.// I felt an inexplicable longing satisfied, as well as the pain of the death of a part of me I was born with.
I mourned for a short period of time. Short, indeed. For I have someone to replace the something I once held dear. Dear, oh dear. My dear is right here! That rhymes! I ought to write a poem. It could be a parody, written by me! Yes! It will be so funny! I began to compose it mentally. It was a riot, and I could not control an irrepressible giggle, that grew to a laugh, a sob, a cough. Convulsions rioted through my body. I soon realized that I wasn't breathing - that I couldn't breathe.
Otim watched me. He seemed.fascinated, in a trance. NO! He just doesn't know what to do. Mental rebuke taken into account, I continued coughing, but my throat felt pinched and dry, and even seemed to shrink.
Suddenly, Otim fell out of the trance, looking boyish and silly, unlike himself. He proceeded to grab me and kiss me in an oddly desperate way. It was as if he wanted me, which he did, but couldn't have me. But he had already had me! I felt a smile trying to uncurl on my lips underneath his ferocious kiss. I gently pushed him away. "What's the matter, love? I'm not going anywhere."
By some trick of the dying sun, his eyes seemed to have changed color, from solid green and gold to a liquid brown. His voice was husky and unsure. "You said no. stop playing games."
"What ever do you mean? Otim, what's wrong?"
"I - I don't know. How did I?" He looked at me, as if noticing for the first time that I was next to him on a warm sofa. The scared look on his face told me that it was time for me to go.
I pulled on my cloak and began to leave. I thought I knew what was eating him. I had mourned for my purity - albeit shortly - but I had mourned. He was just feeling the passing grief that had so quickly passed over me.
Suddenly, I heard a slurred voice that, amazingly, managed to mutter and scream at once in its speech. "Otim! Whaddya doin'?" A door opened and I heard feet padding feebly on the floor. The odor of spice was rampant.
His gaze turned fierce. "Go! Now."
I hurried out of the door, as my deepest instinct had told me to do long ago. I can't tell you where my mind was, but I somehow reached the Trader's Block. My feet took me to my house, up the stairs, past the screaming parents, to my bed. Every bit of resistance in my body evaporated, and I let the fuzzy warm blackness take over my reality.