Part VI

sitting in the corner of the web, legs attuned to the quivering of the vehicle shuddering to a stop at the curb outside. she feels strangely alive, lucid, luminous. she can feel her eyes large taking in the meager light sifting through the blinds, objects phantomed, rising ominous, featureless out of the void. everything seems to say something. specks dancing before her vision. the network of my body interfacing with the unseen world around Me. things passing in, transformed, passing out. this is not a plot. this is a center of gravity. a hole where things fall in and disappear, arriving someplace unknown. multiple surfaces charging through me. slice. where am i? who am i? slice. chop chop. you consume my exhaust, you suck from my pipe. we pass. we pass. we circle, we move around the sun.
the jingle of keys. the slam of a door. this is information. things are moving. she senses the lines pulling in to herself., breathing becoming conscious, filling, emptying. light cutting through the darkness. a sudden shock, dilation of emptiness, she squints, hands clutching her knees, toes curling. her stomach pumping like a heart in a workout. the attack as the new world opens. the closing. awareness of herself in an altered situation. she has been waiting for this moment. she stands. he stops, keys in hand. looking at each other. revelations flooding his brain. a knowing that must be stopped.
“what are you doing here?” accusing, territorial, frightened.
her eyes glittering, focusing. her body heated, balanced. she knows why she is here. she has come for herself. there is nothing more that she wants. walls around them. skywater running down the creases of his coat. inevitability. the attraction that in the beginning made him aroused. plunging into slickened yearning. losing himself. filled with blood. breaking into someone else. life bursting through the cracks. a moving against together. now he feels sick. now he feels tired. a desire only for escape. she knows too much of him, and knows nothing. how it takes a stranger to show us ourselves, lost in fantasy, our time limited to how much we paid. she draws out a gun, flashing in the living room light, pointing it at his face, clicking into readiness. she is serious. he believes. he raises his hands and drops his keys. the threat hangs between them, heavy, wordless. she is crazy. she has lost it.
that’s right. now he understands. he took her, entered her, left with himself swimming, eating into her and growing, taking everything she could feed. left before she was ready. leaving her empty, leaving her hungry, leaving her waiting. now he has opened the door of his shelter to find her there, facing him with the barreling vision of his death. the tunneled end of their ties. it is bound. no. seeing himself sacrificed. this does not have to happen. no. this does not have to happen again.


Author: manderson

I live in NYC.

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