(Continues from Fantastical)
For the second it took my noncorporeal body to pass through his, I saw myself lying in a coffin. I touched dead fingers, patted a dead hand and leaned close to whisper something. Grief crushed me, and I saw red while I struggled to pull in enough air for speech. But physics is a bitch, and she slapped me hard. One of its laws catapulted me out of his body breaking our connection and leaving me to wonder what he might have said to my corpse.
Forgetting the phantasm on my tail, I pivoted, caught a glimpse of gelled black hair, a trim waist, and gray slacks before the elevator door closed. Oh God in Heaven, I knew him, and he knew me. His tears lingered on my tongue. They were bitter with recriminations and acidic with unspoken words. But I savored them and rolled them around my mouth like the finest wine. He had known me in life.
He knew my story, knew the thing I’d been chasing all along. How had I died? What had led me to this shadowy existence? Why was I cursed to shamble through the world seeking the one story capable of setting me free? What had I done to deserve this lonesome hell? I had to know. Fluorescent lights dazzled my eyes, forcing me to squint. Too much electric light reflected off chrome surfaces. I rushed across the lobby, but the twister caught me before I reached the lift.
Caught by the cyclone, reality clove
and it revealed a stygian alcove.
Lightning lit me up, turning all to red.
I fell through blood-soaked images and dread.
Find the earlier parts of this series here.
For OctPoWRiMo, 31 poems in 31 days–all part of one story. Watch me do it.
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