In The Midst of a Red Field

Beautiful red poppies as far as the eye can see. Her pale fingers brush across the velvety petals as she walks through the endless field. The sky is covered in white cloud, not a gap of blue in sight. Just the way she likes it. A slight breeze kisses her skin as it dances with the flowers in the most intimate of ways.

A moment in pure perfection.

It’s the eye you know. You’re in the middle. You think you have found your way out but you haven’t really. And I will tell you a secret, I will. I don’t think you can get out. The little girl whispers with such drama.
She has no face anymore.
What does that mean?
She frets for a moment, scared she has undone too much.

She’d though to have some time to herself, some time to lull under the cloudy skies, smelling the flowers and all that crap. But no. Time stands still for no mortal. She hates that word. Mortal. She is determined to live forever, will live forever through her stories handed down to her kin.

Nothing was ever going to be the same, she always knew that. A lot had been lost, not all of it valuable. Things that once were needed were now no longer required, space needed to be made for the new things that would aid in the next step of this intimate journey. She had no idea before the ‘eye’, as the wee girl called it, passed and it was game on again. The days seemed to be moving too quickly and she was watching in a foggy lull.

The direction is clearly unclear. A desire to be simplistic but ritualistic draped all in chaos. A butchering of words and creation of prose to suit. A dark shadow draped with lust wrapped in a red dress. Throwing away of books and tried true trails, drawing ones own blade to carve ones own way.
Or maybe nothing at all. Or something more. The road never ends, the abyss forever yawns, there is no “crossing” once you’re in, you’re in baby. No turning back.

And who would want to?

The dreams are coming back, a darkness follows a ribbon of aqua blue, weaving its way through the unknown, seeking searching hiding. Spots of light blue light scattered into an endless night, some shinning awful and bright, some dying and flicking red before going out, some making shapes and sigils and symbols and seals, doorways to places unknown and gates of heavenly desire or devilish fire.

The night is not it’s own once again. The twilight has been lost in the nothingness. Shadows are lost in a sea of pitch black. The white bunny shines like a fucking beacon of light, red beady eyes and teeth a little too sharp glisten in the night …


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