Only What I Remember by Jessica Levin
Wake up slug. Time to dream. Let’s chat in space, let’s suspend. A casual leap into gravity like you tasted the glass eye and dove like a slug. You wanted to. You said let’s go. So you did and I had no clue where to, but I gripped you and we fell back so hard it stung like a violent hiss and felt crazy good too.
Colors dragged. Made a slow motion blur come real. Somehow we ended up in control. We hovered over bluish for some time then gently settled back.
We didn’t die. But maybe we did.
We found ourselves coastal, wandering somewhere in the Netherlands. No questions were posed. I didn’t know why we were there but it was right. We stroked the streets and it was beautiful and I wanted to stay for a while but a dark call salted our scene and took us out of that warped stroll. A ridiculous haze started to clear. Fear became real. Words hollered out and floated through the air in the cold distance. We remained.
Our world muted.
Another weekend away, another bed full of people.
Another lost decision and panicked gasp of awareness. I slinked down the hallway. The depths of the soggy corridor seemed mirrored. Endless. The place was nothing short of dimly lit chartreuse and stale SPF – the stuff of pure holiday.
I found you and you found me. We never touched, but our gazes seeped through each other. I felt trapped and turned on and fucked up.
This is how it always is.
I made my way into the sun where there was a pool. I crept in like a lady would and felt you watch me. The brightness outside was deafening, but I kept on through the water, hoping you would approach. You never did. The tension built, bonded in my belly and I wanted to cackle all the way into a watery vault.
Take heed now, this might be the end of recurrence.
There was no getting around it. This garment was meant for beds.
The streets flushed full with uneven faces, I tried to make sense of my placement, which seemed only to serve some comical illogic. Strolling on, I tripped over the floral throw draping my nudity. Did people notice my folly stumbling through the damp streets at this hour? Did they care?
Packs of cliques and tricks droned by. It occurred to me that I had a phone. Where it came from I could not say. Perhaps the blanket I sported had a pocket. I rang my sib and tried to explain or understand or somehow choose the words to define.
I slid onto the misplaced pavement, weepy and demented. But oh? Near and dearly came a troupe of men, brightening the spastic haze of anxiety suspended on the corner of Damen and Schiller. Their words rang the air clear and gave a glow, straight through to the gut. They slowed as they approached, and I knew who was at the center. One of the gents took the mobile out of my limp grip and handed it to the chancellor. He took the call.
Feast of Worms
It was either some unreasonable orb created by piles of sheath or it was all an illusion, but it felt like a robin’s egg. Seated on a tuft of pale blue and my upper bod wrapped fully in the same shade, I nestled in and looked over with the slightest of side-eye indulgence. A delicate chuckle slipped and there was a pause.
The most fainted feminine tease.
Daylight poured into our space and it was too sunny to be comfortable.
Infectious gagging laughter snarled up then, from my confidante, and vibrated the entire room. It seemed it would never break, speeding up into a frenzy that could induce acid into the esophagus, then continuing into some slow vile drawl of hilarity that began to disturb my senses. The room waved in and out of levels of shrill delight.
I found myself lost inside of it.
A blissful parting malformed. Heavy doses of underlying arrogance and vulgar mischief turned around quick. I couldn’t help myself; rascals sustain.
Cruising proper down a highway unknown, the splice bubbled up and hit me as I saw the spectacle on the shoulder of the road. Vehicles slowed for a gander of hot bloody sparkling transience. It was you. I couldn’t stop and continued on in silent lethargy, ascending into an industry of ragged channels and turnpikes.
Another disjointed shift,
then manic swells dragged us to a violet shoreline.
Bodies piled up through the briny mess of ocean and a scrambler tore through, nearly crushing us all. You choked it back. You were the demon and the hallowed and the grimmest of reapers.
Wasn’t I here before? Hadn’t I turned these corners?
The quiet passages of a slanted construction. A fastidious front adrift. I meandered through the squares and found only an echo of the same submission. Gratuitous looms of gray and steel coiled my route. The ceilings, and my breath started to wane as I paced the flickering trance. I choked suddenly, trying to catch a sense of natural. The bowels of this deserted place clogged my whole ego.
The air escaped, it felt,
and the building lurched.
The nasty screech of metallic crumble pulsed all around me.
It shifted me upwards, to the crown.
There were no ledges. No seal to the menacing openness. Only the surge of space and the sway of doom.
Today’s forecast: 296 degrees. We mulled over the inevitable combustion and stalled inside. A foul ringing hung in the air and pricked the ambience of even the heartiest knack.
Rhythms billowed into a feverish high.
Everyone doubted the truth, but the hours idly rolled by and all avoided stepping into the torrid daylight. Into the melt. Into the decisive nuke.
Into the vacuum
The sun was setting.
Sound the alarms. A few more minutes left and the place was in shambles. I couldn’t get a grip on anything or anyone. All prospects started to dissolve.
How did this happen.
The light was going
and made such an intense shadow as it did, it twisted the sharpest pang of miserable lust in my chest.
I had to move.
Pressuring myself through the bits bent backwards in this manor on the edge of a crag,
I surveyed the view.
cascaded down the hills below
spilling over each
other into a swirl of plasmic splendor.
I ran through rooms of splattered orange silk and sly freaks of coolness. The Basque girl brushed me off. Absurd pockets of detachment spread through the confines of yet another chance that escaped me.
It was then I realized.
It’s come to me twice thus far. A vision of transition, of a new age. Bloodlines venerating a grotesque energy. Trapped in a domestic darkness, I exchanged glances and turned cheeks into freakish drivels of dawning power.
Emptiness in a crowd,
almost as horrid as the ones of being tormented by an acquainted stalker.
Thick piles of velour skin cased the blackened floorboards, filling the whole room with a crusted panic. But they kept on. It was only in my head. I knew all the players, though I was alone in the turn and everyone else dimmed.
Attempts at seduction looped over and over.
Summon the fiend.
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