Against the Sword
remembering at 8:47 p.m. on 2003-08-01
His steps traced after mine, indistinct in the compilation of moonlit shadows, washed against the newly paved street.
We wandered through the empty housing area. These skeletons of buildings, standing like a graveyard, and yet, this was the beginning of their creation. The lives and echoes of voices not yet imbedded in their bleached, white drywall.
He stumbles, and I catch the sleeve of his dusty leather coat. I am in silent control, though my fingers let the pale green, glass bottle slip between them, shattering on the pavement.
Not because I was too drunk to stop it, but because I was caught up in these silent fascinations. Cause and effect, as powerful as the indefinite life and death.
I find myself caught in the amusement of it all. The hopelessness of it all. The seduction of the night against the cool mist of sweat on my brow. Even at night, the air is thick and sultry in its summer mask.
I can feel his lack of conviction, I can feel his eyes boring into my body. This too amuses me, but for the moment,I am safe. I am free. The warm bodies that lie in their beds (my protectors), cannot reach out and pull me away from my wingspan of self-determination.
These houses, carved out of the cusp of a densely wooded span, led us into the true explanation darkness.
I laugh nervously as he collapses on the bank, a pale, bony hand reaching up to pull me down beside him. I curl into a folded ball, pulling the borrowed jacket around myself tighter, as I gaze up at the moon.
A strategic distraction.
His quiet stumble of words, and he is made so innocent here.
And its so strange to me because I know the monster that he is.
This thin, sickly looking boy-of-a-man. Eyes wide and empty from the depths of his bottomless addiction. And yet, I ride my passive aggressive nature. I play with the dark one, as if I could never be touched.
I was wrong.
Ground into the dirt. Over powered in the thinning air. The tips of the black, looming evergreens, seeming to shake their heads at me in disapproving sadness. I try to cry out but I am paralyzed with astonishment. His weight born down upon me like a wild animal. The sweet, Smokey stench of the alcohol, fermenting in his mouth.
Soft fingers, painted in wet n' wild glitter. Clawing at the dirt...but it only crumbles beneath the tips. A handful of escape.
Choking on fear. I scramble back. I can hear his hollow foot steps behind me. Distanced, but still there. That imaginary fear that pursues you, feeding on your darkest creations.
Crawling into bed beside her, I hear the door slam behind him.
From her window, she is sleeping in the subtle light from the patio, its flickering beacon, soft against her half-blanket covered face. That soft dark hair, tangled around her obscured features.
All I can hear in the humming silence that follows is the soft outline of her breath, and the drowning of my thoughts.
I had to take the pain away...
never was � never will be
