You've really got to get your demons under control.

It thrives in darkness.

It grows and sings and dances in the shadows, and quite by accident, it finds you there. It likes you. It makes you its lover.

You like the firm grip it has on you. It feels an awful lot like support, security, strength.

You dance with it.

And the grip loosens and changes into a caress that slinks its way around your skin, around your bones, around your eyes.

And you are blind to everything else.

And it's so cool.

Too cool really, and you shiver.

and it doesn't like that.

and it recoils just long enough that you  can see it for the slimy, disgusting thing it is and you try to escape.

All you need is light to rid yourself of it, because of the way it lives. You eliminate shadows. You remove all things with a dark side. You cast a glow onto everything around you until there is only you and the bright, blinding light, and there can be no chance that it's lurking around now. There is no darkness here.

It must be gone.

There is no place for it to go.

Unless...

Unless it found it way into the only dark place left.

The place inside you.

You hate me

The right arm was mangled again. Mine, that is. Some kind of tendon or muscle or arm gut tethered the forearm to the elbow. Most of the fingers had been ripped away, and the remainder was a bloody, stumpy mess that was barely recognizable as my arm. Still, I wanted to keep it, so I held onto it with the left hand while I tried to run to safety. I heard the whoosh of bricks and wood as they flew past my head. I might have been breathing  in fire, or perhaps it was the heavy plumes of smoke that burned my lungs.

Dark clouds rolled into my periphery. It took a moment for me to realize I was suffering some sort of weird tunnel vision. I could only see a small circle of asphalt under my feet. I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other without tripping over gremlins. When I finally did fall, it was you who caught me.

I rolled away from you, cradling the damaged arm against my stomach. It had been you who had broken it in the other dream. Had you returned to wrench it away completely?

You dragged me across the lot, ignoring the rocks and twigs and other detritus that were pressing into my tender skin. I didn't want to see you. I couldn't stand to think of the rage you were feeling. I didn't want to see the anguish in your eyes.

You lifted me up. For a moment, just a small moment, I thought you would embrace me, and I was happy, relieved, even. But that was just a brief moment. The bestial cry that came from somewhere deep inside you (or maybe it was from me. Thinking back, I can't be sure) frightened me back to reality. I couldn't look you in the eyes.

I went blind just before you tossed me over the edge.

Out There

Blind.

That's what I was, and I was thankful that I'd practiced being blind as a child...just in case.
But this, this was not the same as toe-ing my way across my safe bedroom, bumping into soft, upholstered furniture, giggling at my own awkwardness.

I crawled sightlessly across a strange, cold, cement floor on my stomach. The coppery, pungent smell of thick blood filled my nostrils, and I realized that the blood was mine. There was little pain at this point. I'm not sure if that's because I wasn't hurt as badly as I made myself out to be, or because my subconscious was repressing the pain in an effort to keep me sane enough to escape this increasingly perilous situation.

Somebody had done something bad to me, and now that it was over and the Bad One had gone away, it was time to find my way back home. Blindly.

My fingertips traced the cracks in the floor. I pushed into them, using them for leverage to pull my weak and damaged body along. The slipperiness of the warm blood helped me to slide myself more hastily.

I had no idea where the exit was. A welcoming waft of air blew past me. I turned my face into it and smelled the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked blueberry muffins.

Mom. 


Home.


Safety.

I followed. I grunted as I scooted, scaring myself by not crying. Surely I should be crying. How inhuman could I be that I didn't think this was worth a few sobs?

Fuck it, I thought. I'll cry later when I'm safe at home with my mom and a basket full of muffins.

But that couldn't happen either. Mom was already gone. Much more gone than I was at that point, and I almost cried at the memory of that, but stifled it when I remembered that I was wasting time thinking about this nonsense. I should have been concentrating on getting the hell out of there.

A wall. I bumped into it and felt along the bottom, struggling to reach a doorway. It seemed to take a very long time, but the closer I came, the louder the low hum of an air conditioner became. I don't know why I didn't notice that before. I could have used it as a guide.

I think I was in a garage. I began to notice the stench of my father, like motor oil and cigarettes swirling in my head. This made sense to me, because he had been a mechanic all the years I lived with him growing up. Nowadays, he's a truck driver, and I have no idea what he smells like.

Irrelevant!


The passageway was there. I felt along the bottom where the door meets the threshold, and I pulled myself up by grabbing the knob and hoisting my body against the wall. I was heavier and weaker than I had ever been. I wasn't sure if I would be able to walk after this. Just my luck to be blind and crippled in one little outing. This is why I should never have left the house. These are the kinds of things that happen out there.

The light spilled over me like pink, silk ribbons.

Mom.


Home.


Safety.