(Continues from I prefer my Cupid without his Gun)
Images bloomed, scattershot
then in a barrage caught
and reflected on the knife
slicing the air, ending my unlife
of ignorance and giving life
to memories rife
Leaving me struggling to breathe
the air rushing through a sieve
taking my conscious sleeve
away when the universe seized.
Light limned a door sliced through reality’s fabric. Framed in the doorway, she stood regal, Queen of all she surveyed. She extended a branch dripping star fire while her roots undulated, moving her closer to the threshold. Behind her, a snow-covered field extended. Man-shapes clashed in silent battle fury. And I stared until the door closed. Her disappointment slapped me hard upside the head.
Blink. Take a breath. Blink. Clear the fog.
I woke, head throbbing, face numb and dented by the book I’d fallen asleep reading. The words ‘Death of a King’ stenciled on its cover captured my eye. She stood there in all her sylvan finery giving me an eyeless glare. The artist had rendered her branches in loving detail and spared expense. Silver accented her giving her imposing figure a reflective edge.
An alarm sounded, but I pounded it with my fist shutting it up. The scent of brewing coffee dragged me from my bed and carried me to the kitchen where I touched down solid and alive. An agenda lay open on a desk, and the day, November 13th was circled in red. Crabbed writing squeezed into the box listed meetings and other boring professional engagements.
Blink. Breathe. Cold slides through my limbs, grips my heart in ice, crushes my chest—
I’m standing in an alley facing a white-haired ice princess leaning against a gnarled oak. Moonlight drenches her blade-like profile. She’s all sharp angles under her tight clothes, and the sight makes me edgy. She turns, her hand’s out palm up with an offering—a bejeweled dagger. Her eyes say I can run, but her taut body informs me I won’t get far.
Blink. Breathe. Remember. Assimilate.
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