Thursday, March 25, 2010


He dreamed he was falling slowly through prism-cracked swirls of clouds; swirls, tails, clots of iridescent vapor danced around him in soft, chaotic beauty. His own axis seemed as random as his surroundings; it was impossible to tell if he was turning, spinning, looping, or if it was all happening around him and he remained static. There was no self, no memory, only this moment of serene whimsy. Here and there he'd see little vignettes of activity, of discrete forms in pantomime; walruses at tea in noble 18th century finery, a space-suited figure with its arms around a half-moon, goat-headed faeries circle-dancing on daisy petals, a ball of rose-tinged blue worms with angel wings turning barrel rolls and trailing a corkscrew of lavender smoke behind, and other such whimsical oddities.
His panchromatic visions slowly congealed into a smoky mirror. His image lay before him, bloody and bandaged with shreds of odd fabric. In his dream, his heartbeat became heavy and reverberant; a swooshing rush, a thunderous climax, then Doppler-ed echoes fading into the next rush. He reached out to touch himself, to caress his own bloodied, matted fur, but the arm he extended was covered in bare, pinkish-tan skin. As he raised the hand, a stranger's hand, to examine it, the mirror image changed and he was gazing on the form of the stranger; naked, repulsive, weak-looking. As he moved the ugly hand, he saw his motion duplicated in the smoky surface. He was the stranger!
His eyes hazed yellowy-orange; his breath came in gasps. The dream went dark and he found himself laying on a strangely soft surface, tangled in thin fabric. On either side of him lay a female of the same repulsive type he now seemed to be. There were strange lights flashing through the glass window of the small room they occupied; an oddly-shaped outline of a glass with glowing words scrolled underneath; words which were in a language that he shouldn't have been able to decipher, but he could; "Food and drink".
He pulled back the sheet and looked down at himself, noting that there was a trickle of seminal fluid leaking out. Memories of the previous evening came rushing back. He'd gotten quite used to inhabiting this body, it seemed; the three of them had stayed for last call, then come back to his companions' motel room and romped gleefully until they'd passed out. Disgusted, despondent, but resigned, Furge let his thoughts again swirl down into unconsciousness.

No comments:

Post a Comment