S3:E82

 There is little to know. It’s dark and I’m thirsty. It’s quiet. A soft, steady wind coming and going from different points of my compass. I’m floating on my back in water as warm as the air. It moves like the sea, lifting me closer to stars I don’t recognize. Lowering me down like it’s a living, breathing thing I’m inside of. Pain comes with those fake stars, stays too long, and wears out its welcome. If I think about place, position, or perspective, I get dizzy-sick, so I try not to think ‘there’ or ‘where’. At least pain is an anchor.

There’s touch and smell. Kind, caring strangers peck at me, busy but gentle, all sharp with antiseptic over sweat. A woman who smelled like fresh dirt and green things held her hands to my face and bargained with strange gods. Another touched my hands, my hair over and over. She smelled like a party. I’m washed, dried, stabbed, dressed, undressed, stabbed. Repeat and again.

Then he comes, holds my hand. A life force, a dragon. Steel, flesh, and fire, I hear my name in his breathing. A lover? Don’t go. Flowers? Sweet sugar wisps across my face that make me hungry and there’s no food. I’m so hollowed out if I think too long the echoes hurt and push me under. The pain exhausts me, but he pulls me back from the edge of oblivion.

Am I dead?

No, because I can feel time passing. The rhythm and cadence of the touching. The quick and caring touches, coming and going like hungry birds scurrying along the shoreline. The long and loving touch again, a hot tide that comes in and stays strong. Day for night?

There are others who never touch. Like paint on the walls, I forget they’re there, then one or both will intrude, stir the water, but never touch me. I smell midnight snow and something sweet, dark, and poisonous when they come close. He’s grave and sullen, strong like wood. She’s sensual, ethereal, wise. They whisper together sometimes. He wants me to stay with him here in nowhere. She wants…I’m not sure what she wants. It’s complicated and I get tired thinking about it. Lose my place. My grip.


I dream about watching my feet as I walk in shallow, running water, annoying tiny fish and water bugs that skitter away from each step. Gold and flashy. Do I have this memory, or do I just want it?

The long, loving touch returned. A click and a hiss. Music! It wraps around my questions and squeezes them all away. Be. Just be. I remember that I know how to fly. Wings. My breasts ache. His heat comes again like a beach day. Low sounds vibrate through my hollowness, filling the spaces. His voice. A strong and tender touch. Love and prayer words. Mary. His energy blazes up, then slumbers, restless. I can feel my heart again. The pain wants me back, but he pushes it away from me and the music rocks me to sleep.