Since the dawn of time, we have existed. And breathing out fire and brimstone are the ones below us, but we live on a middle plane, known as Earth, where soil is beneath our feet and the endless sky is a twinkling seascape in our curious, admiring eyes.
The singed beings, they wish to harm us, to draw us into their world, of fire, smoke, of fire, smoke, until all our brittle bones will cry out NO MORE! And everyone, hands held in a circle, crumble to the ground. Only some will rise, and the others will remain face-down, unable to snatch that moment, that last breath of life, that fleeting air, because they could not rewind. We can never go back in time, what is done is done, it is dusted. It is history, as I call to the little returning memories which niggle in my ear, in my head, in my eyes, as I recall those confusing moments – did they mean something? Had something occurred, or really, not even at all?
I confront these sizzling, smoky demons, stopping them, now stagnant, in their tracks. What they do not know won’t hurt them, this I understand to be true, because these cold, unfeeling beings are exactly that: emotionless and malicious. They enter dreams and make me toss and turn and bore holes into my heart until I feel the dire attack, and that there is nothing left within my former safety, due to their ability to arm.
I manage to walk up to one, my face inches from his, and I hiss and hiss because this is the language that they are familiar with. And now he laughs, he cackles, he is unmoved by my display and with a sense of cruel poetic injustice he bites my thick thigh, inserting his poison. How I adore the chill as it enters my muscle, those two puncturing fangs. Though I know this can only mean certain death, I relish the coldness entering. Strangely, it makes me feel alive.
He then removes his weapons from my skin and carries on, passing by. I am left to handle my damaged outer and slowly disintegrating inner layers which burn and itch incredibly. I am left unknowing what to do, unknowing how to handle this vile situation. But, it seems that this is meant to be my fate. I lay down and shudder, cold and hot chills, there may not be a second left to waste. I huddle into a ball, attempting to retain the remaining heat I have within my form, and lull myself to sleep with pleasant images in my mind, my wanted dreams, my dispelling of those nightmares which perpetually plagued.
With a sense of melodramatic finality, I heave my final breath, my ostentatious sigh, and pass into the spirit world, where I can finally access the information I would like. I am here and now, yet not here, and this is something I must contend with, between worlds, floating, my body upon the ground, my spirit rising, free. I will return to myself soon, but I am yet to explore this new realm presented unto me.
At this current moment, I am the only one permitted entry. I silently thank the being who harmed me, for he allowed something great to transpire. This opportunity I will not allow to pass me by. I will connect with my past beings, with knowledge and gracious gratitude, and a feeling of fine ardour.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock All rights reserved.
Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay
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Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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