I stand in my mother's kitchen, a few gems glowing blue scattered atop a sheen white cloth draping the countertop.
"Will you wear it?" She asks.
Shortly, I feel a cold breeze on my skin, as the walls of the kitchen peel away from the curtain of reality and my mother fades with them.
She calls "brett? bre.." and I am alone.
Slowly, eventually, silver glints of moonlight find their way into my eyes, reflected from grass, and bark. The night wind whoops softly, chilled with cricket chirps and a celestial twinkle. I pull a leather collar up to protect my exposed eyes and ears, and the nose snugly wrapped in scarf for the night as I walk.
As the wind blows against me I see the glowing of
stained glass, and a flag of colours fluttered by the distant breeze.
Something calls me there, urging me forth from inside
the building, protected from the elements that torment
I feel a small, tended fire from inside as i approach. the brass handle is cold with night, but the wood radiates a warmth.
Inside is the basic structure the Century III, the movie theater where I used to spend evenings with homework, threading movies. it is modified a bit in recurring dreamscape, and makes a private walk on the aisles securely tucked from the eyes of the consumers.
People are there.
People I know, dressed too nicely.
Ready for something.
I know that I am not ready like them, but feel confident that I am to be here, now, prepared or not.
Relatives approach. Close and distant. They smile
and hug, congratulating. Many people I don't know are
there. They are different, somehow. Blond and red
hair with striking blue eyes, each. Nobody I know,
with only a few words of english between them. They
outnumber all of my family by twice. Something is strong about them, not threatening though, as a serenity hangs in the air.
Another group, three altogether... a strong family,
lightly represented, but with whom I am familiar.
They smile too but don't approach, and seem slightly more
standoffish than I do with them.
I have done something to them, long ago perhaps. It is
forgotten, probably, to they and I alike, but the pain
lingers slightly. I tinge at it,
As suddenly a door opens, erupting with light. A
dark, elegant figure stands before it, casting
silhouette onto each of those invited, as the consumers pay no mind.
My head turns, hypnotized suddenly by the grace and beauty of the situation, the doorway, the portal which gave
such a display, hypnotizes my mind and heart and i
walk helplessly toward it.
As I approach, the light dims. I start to recognize
features. Your features. You are here, staring into
me and there is nothing I can hide, and I tremble.
A child is in your arms. You hold it out to me. "His
name is Champ."
His features seem a perfect mix of the elegant beauty which the silhouette embossed into my eyes, and the unknown strangeness of this overwhelming, unfamiliar crowd.
I hold him and he seems heavy, very heavy. Also
incredibly smart, with a confident passion in his eyes. He
stares into me as you did, as a tear falls.
An organ begins playing something ancient and
beautiful, that sings a song through my entire being. You disappear, and the crowd is arranged in rows, with a
sharp aisle cleaving them.
To one side is the family I know. Mixed with them is
the family I do not.
To the other side, the beautiful strangers, who seem
to resonate the organ's tune even more perfectly than the fire resonated in the door or in the stained glass as I walked. The entire scene calls to me and I am there, wholly, feeling, being, waiting.
Your dress an odd mix of colors, white, black,
flashing somewhat inbetween in a Rorschach pattern,
blindingly fast, seemingly translucent.
I clutch your hand, standing next to you in a white
tuxedo, with patterns stitched into the vest. and glowing blue accents. I look at your face again and it darts to the side, to the far side of the same room.
Champ walks between us. Your eyes avoid, darting.
The ceremony is instantaneous, not finishing.
Suddenly a commotion erupts. The families begin fighting with the strangers, with each other. Champ is pulled into the crowd and you grasp the air, desparate for him, as they take him, and the consumers pay no mind.
Fear washes your face, and tears begin carving
canyons in your cheeks. You crumble to the floor and
shiver in agony and defeat, weeping.
I kneel beside you and take your hand. Your head
raises to meet my eyes.
Your eyes are vacant. Cold, alone, and wilted. I
stare at them not believing, music plays again but
older this time, phonograph scratches interrupt the
unconvincing, dwindling tune.
As I loose my grip on your hand, I feel fear and feel anger coming towards me from all directions.
"What have I done?" I think.
I pull the leather collar up around my features again. "I have done this."
As the door opens the cold pulls me out with it, heat chases behind as I walk again, into the formless night.