Thursday, 4 July 2013

I had a dream...

I had a dream last night, and you were there.

 

And you.

 

And you.

 

But, not you.  Unless you were the night.  Unless you were the darkness that crept around me like a skulking fox, waiting for the moment to leap and catch its prey.  Killing not just for sustenance, but for the taste of blood.  For the crunch of bone.

 

For the pleasure.

 

I had a dream last night, and you were there.

 

I felt your pain.  Felt the impact of the bullet and the slicing, burning flesh.  Saw the look of fear on your face.  Saw the blame.  Felt the guilt.

 

Not your guilt.  Mine.

 

And in my dream, I saw myself.  I stood.  Watched.  My face bore no sign of pleasure.  There was no indication, either, of horror or sorrow.  Merely acceptance.

 

But I am sorry.  I awoke to find my pillow wet from tears.  I still hear your scream and I can still feel the fading warmth of your hand in mine.  I held it as you went.  Tightly.  Hoping the pressure would keep some part of you alive, trapped.

 

It didn't.  You were fast cold.  The chill is in my own hand - it lingers to remind me of what I did.  What I do.

 

Often, when a dream that is a nightmare stays with you once you wake, the brightness of the morning washes the dark stain clean.  The sun uses its rays as a spear to impale the tainted heart of your mind's subconscious horrors.

 

Not this morning.  Not this day.

 

Not ever, really.

 

I feel the cold hands and hear the cries.  Yours and my own.  Except, yours are, most likely, my own anyway.  And vice versa.  Crying out together, in sweet, sadistic harmony.

 

You weren't the fox.  You weren't the night.  That was me.  As much as I watched, I also participated.  I can pray forgiveness and beseech that it wasn't my intention or fault.

 

It doesn't matter.  It was still me, the blame wrapping itself about me so I am unable to shrug it off.  I put myself in here, in this asylum, so I may prevent, or at least avoid, such things.  So that darkest part of me can remain caged.  So that, when I dream of you - whichever 'you' you may be - you do not die.  You smile.  Breathe.  Dance, perhaps.  Be alive.

 

But, I am the night, in my dreams.  I am Sin when awake.

 

Forgive me, for I am Death.

 

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