The Deep

I awoke the searing pain of incredulous movement flitting about the curves of my skull. It was raining so I moved to the window, catching a glimpse of you in the courtyard. I opened my mouth to let out the stale air in my lungs but the thoughts lingered. Awake, I drifted to the door, finding it sealed. How long it had been. Between you and I, one thousand kaleidoscope frames hung like sheets. The knob creaked. The floorboards moaned. I let out another breath at the top of the stairs. This time, the thoughts escaped, taking my essence with them. Desiccated, I cascaded down the steps, imploding into a dusty cloud. Evaporated and reformed, I collected myself and slid into the kitchen. Cracking joints resound off walls like snapped piano strings. I froze before the screen door, a hundred broken smiles and creeping tendrils held me in place. Collapsing through the glass and erupting onto the patio in a seizure of color, I found you sitting by the water. As you turned, I gasped and the world fell away. Six steps separated you and I. Six tiles of withered stone. With my first footfall the void beyond you flashed white and I was blind. Alone on the rock you found me. Your touch led me over each stone to the opposite side. My vision restored, I saw your hands for the first time. Digging into my flesh, my arms compacted like sponges and cracked. You released me into the abyss, floating. Your face, a mess of crimson feathers and obsidian grins, disappeared behind the veil.

 

The cool waters of the stream washed over me. I was alive.