I get odd dreams. A paradoxical sensation of things that happen in this flat, spiraling universe of never-ending conspiracies and thought-assassinations. We fleet into this realm in and out of existence, escaping into worlds by our own design.
In one such world, the earth has shattered. Things that could have been, the Ghosts, rose from the cerebral depths. Or perhaps, these Ghosts have made themselves real – real as in, the personally-designed world – their hands held up high, waving. They were there, watching me alone in the harbor, them, sailing off to some distant coast into farthest reaches of oblivion. Never to be seen again. Locked inside some copper chests and dropped down to the sea. I’d like that. I waved back to them, and I awakened, always feeling a part of me has been freed.
On the other hand. Camaraderie has fallen. Washed away by tides from a velvet sea. A new band of exiles had picked up a small, distraught crew in flames, leaving behind two, all ready burnt to ashes. A shadowed group of people, wearing purple cowls with strange bunny ear headbands in shining bright pink, gathered the ashes of one of the two burned crew. They had taken, the mother-that-will-always-be. She birthed to the world pollen that drove people mad in grief. She too, has gone now, with those bunny ear-wearing cult.
Meanwhile. The girl seen through the Dusty Glass. She too, is among the Ghosts, and the only one that has not set sail yet. She is still here, haunting. She smiles that terrible smile with lips bright red as if she had kissed the bleeding hearts of those she had ripped from. Dried, to a deep dark red, it burns to see her. This day, of all days, she had donned the clothes that made her hard to find. The clothes she wore, you see, was designed for a game meant to damage the eyes, scouring vision into a spiral of whiteness and blood. I might as well call it for what it is, Where’s Waldo?
She too, will fade, in time. Not now, maybe soon. It won’t be her sailing, waving. She will be in the tower behind the two faces of the sun, a malevolent grin in her dark red lips. For now, she will be around. The odd dream of her, has only happened once, and it had been, unsavory. She had been the only one, where I had come too close with. And, well, it involves of some mixtures of saliva, tongues, and massages between lips. And strangely so, her lips and tongue tasted bitter. It had, for certain, dawned on me that it was all a dream. But that bitter taste, felt all too real. Much too real. And I am stuck, between thoughts. What. The. Fuck. Was. Crawling. On my lips. And somehow, touched my tongue?
That, is something I never, ever, want to find out.