A Chapter by CharlyeMonroe

You woke in Center City station tucked into a comfortable corner of the South Bound terminal your head resting easily on folded arms.

You woke in Center City station tucked into a comfortable corner of the South Bound terminal your head resting easily on folded arms. A plush pad of heavy black silky animal skin was pillowing your slumber; the brief thought you anthropramorphized into warm fuzzy. The taste of apricots in your mouth this time. You still wore the gear taken from your adventures as a stowaway on the train. You wiped the sleep from your eyes with your paws, felt around for any other animal features. You slid a hand from inside the glove, a small key dropping into your lap. You hadn’t noticed you were sitting two feet off of the ground. A pair of trunks served as your perch from the tiled terminal floor. Joshua, Luca, and Michael found it fit to leave you dressed as fan fiction character, maybe even left the mess you made in neat boxes at your feet. Nothing leaking from the edges, you opened the lock for your prize. Weaponry, of course. They must have taken a real shine to you to divvy up a portion of their goods for your revenge. A little note tucked down the barrel of a sawed off shot gun said, “I’m not rich, till we are rich.” Eye for an eye, on equal footing. They were strange enough to have been involved in taking you out of the city but the unlikely didn’t imply intent in your mind. You opened the other case, knockouts, explosive and the chemical kind, a few you had seen before. The patches that put you under and a host of other goodies that you wondered what would happen if employed. Too bad Ren wasn’t here, her tolerance was sky high, but that’s what ended you up in this spot in the first place. Kidnapping seemed appropriate after your unscheduled adventure time. The voice in your head, “Serves you right f*****g c**t,” you tried to pin down the source from inner rolodex but with the water buzzing around your head it was useless trying to recall. You would make short work of your problem soon, but Center City called, and you inched your way to the exit, tools dragging over the floor.

Outside the station was warm; the night radiated the heat of mechanical energy generated through the day that had absorbed into the concrete now seeped up out of the buildings and sidewalks. There was a constant bustle of people flowing from
place to place. The nightlife moved in rolling lots, soaking up the warmth of the town. The sky, an orange and white glow in the patches between buildings. There was a thick citrus smell that was everywhere, disinfectant orchard sweetness. You hadn’t visited the city in a long time, only for openings and formal events; otherwise it was a ghost town to you. The airwaves spoke of it, the boards on walls posted over, pied pipering towards some unspoken space, if it wasn’t here then where lone wolves still fed on buffalo, or when you were beyond the blackout voyaging on the sea, places that never existed, perhaps places you’d see when you closed your eyes.


You had a memory of a hotel top skyline, the sunrise outside of the balcony window wiping the sleep from your face. He was already awake, half dressed, room service on the way. Your perfume hung in the air; you could see your house from here with binoculars. Dead flowers on the patio table, vase filled with sand you scooped up after tripping through the locks that fed each of the MAGs. You took him on tours of a life underground. You pulled things from the earth and reported the findings, saving the small ones for personal growth.

“My mom bought it for me,” you walked him around the corridors toward the exit where you entered the city under the city. “I tried like hell to get this thing stolen. It’s too, pink.”

“It looks like something they ride in Malibu.” He eyed it warily, “you want another one?”

“I mean, it works fine, you don’t have to do that.” You dawned your pointy helmet, tossed it off, let your hair down. You didn’t look good as marquee for the imperial storm riders; your hair was too thick. You revved the engine on your bike and ripped out onto the salted earth. Blue smoke and dried soil spit into the wind of your wake. Your vision tunneled with speed. The flecks of earth darting into your face bothered you little as you waited for him to catch up to you. Like a streak of chrome jetting out of your cloud he split through the dust and pulling beside you at break neck velocity. He reached across the rush of air, flight goggles in his hand, you gripped on, throttling down, he released his grip, the exchange slingshot him in an arc looping wide around you. The wall of exhaust shut you in; you slipped the goggles over your head. The cloud broke. You tracked his glowing dot orbiting you in the haze. “WHERE DID YOU GET THESE!?” You shouted in the direction of the whipping top. He coasted around you in a slow loop. Your eye trained on the glowing blackness on the other side of these lenses that in reality held coffee, shot of cream, colored skin. He pulsed through the earth around you rippling into to atmosphere. You removed your glasses; he stood close enough to touch.

“Do you like? You can track relative magnetism with these. Cuts out a lot of that fuzz you get with all that cobalt in the air, but you know how that stuff works.”

“Where did you get these?”

“Hand engineered at Happiness Inc. by yours truly.”

“What’s Happiness Inc.?” You wanted more.

“It’s a joke, it’s defunct now.”

“You’re just full of tricks aren’t you? Where do you come up with this stuff, pumpkin head?” You leaned across and kissed him on the lips and cranked your bike for the dramatic get away, motor crashed. “Can I get a ride?”

“Anywhere you like, darling.” You put the glasses back on and tucked your head into the nape of his neck, arms secure around his waist ready for take off. You stared into that piece of ether you held close to.


You hailed a taxi, two cases sitting vertical under you, no cash in your pockets, your first test subject for the adhesive squares stashed away in case number two. The wait was dragging on; maybe you should hijack a bus. The thought fleeting, a black on red SUV pulled curbside, the driver exiting, license plate TX9311. “Miss, you would like a taxi, come with me please,” he loaded your cases into the back seat. You climbed in after them as he made his way to the driver side door. “Where are you going today Miss?”

“How much does it cost to get from here to Our Lady?” You readied first stamp, the windows tinted limo style, no one could see in. You leaned forward past the front seat. He turned and you slipped the sticker onto his neck, readied yourself for the effects. He struggled at first, quickly slipping into docility, pupils growing to take over iris in the rear view mirror. You climbed over the armrest and slid him into the passenger seat, this one worked quicker than needle point. You rifled through the arm rest for cell phone, taxi license in the vanity mirror read “Your Driver’s Name Is Nadar” You clicked off the station radio, clicked over to KKZP, a piano and jazz harp rendition of, “My Favorite Things”. You rolled through the Overhill tunnel onto the expressway west. 40 minutes till home sweet home. No traffic on the expressway, a flood of headlights in your direction petering off as you made it out of the Center City limits. The windows down you could hear the wind rushing past mingling with the strings. The MAGs leading out to the Green Blue Line left real ghost towns in their wake.

Hi, I’m Chelsea Rodgers and this is KKZP News. At the top of this hour we have coverage of DeeMc’s disappearance from camp Orial. No Reports on the whereabouts of Bartiland Ashby, dubbed Ms.Zero but we have new information linking her apparent kidnapping to the Outland Separatist Party. In closing tonight we have reports on the Third Coast Tragedy live from the remains of the Coral Laid Hydraulic Separation Facility. It’s 10 PM Thursday April 2nd; this is KKZP, and a word from our sponsors.

Bartiland? Speculation of your ordeal was the second story, no mention of Ren’s whereabouts, save the pretty white girl, she was probably fine, they could have at least gotten your name right. You turned up the volume, checked the vital signs of your passenger. Nadar’s eyes fixed on the horizon line, faint pulse, and low breaths, you got a small static charge touching the patch on his neck, he was the living dead, you snapped in front of his face, no telling the cognition levels, you closed his lids.

It’s the main reason I haven’t settled down and got a wife yet. You owe it to yourself; your freedom is the most important thing you have. Schedule your appointment for Milk and Honey Male Sterility Solution today at M&H.com. Instant operators are online 24 hours a day; why not do yourself the pleasure?

Hello I’m Chelsea Rodgers and this is KKZP. Our story now, the strange disappearance of Dorece McKinnley from Camp Orial. Dorece was admitted into the facilities at Camp Orial last Wednesday for felony drug possession and further violation of her probation and contractual violations under her representation with Jordan Productions and Consulting. Under her contract, Dorece was to report once a week on the progress on the treatment of her cocaine and amphetamine addiction as well as continue with her regularly scheduled series Double Takes. In breaking this along with the violation of her probation for driving under the influence, Dorece was sentenced to spend 36 weeks in the Camp Orial Treatment and Detention Center reduced from 2 years. It is reported that Jordan Production and Consulting sank 2.4 million dollars into Camp Orial’s security and surveillance in order to produce a weekly program chronicling Dorece’s incarceration and redemption. Dorece was making progress until Tuesday evening when she met her new cellmate, Ren Von Yoshida, of Bernal Flats. Ren was sent to Orial in connection with the disappearance of Ms.Zero, Bartiland Ashby. Upon her lock up in Orial, Ms. Von Yoshida quickly received attention from Dorece.

“She’s a pup, I’m not a monster, I’m not going to destroy the girl, I’m just trying to wise her up a bit so she doesn’t become more of a victim, ya know.” Ren. You chuckled, at least she was in one piece, you tuned back into the coverage of D‐Day.

Ren Von Yoshida has been placed in Star Seven Containment after several violent altercations inside the camp. In displays of over the top self defense and defense of her cell mate, Ren has broken the noses of 3 guards, permanently blinded 5 inmates in an altercation prompted over reading material and left another seven of the class six violent inmates in critical care facilities after a riot Monday morning, the morning of Dorece’s disappearance. We have an exclusive audio clip from D­-Day, Dorece’s new series telling the extent of Ren and Dorece’s relationship.

“Ren has, you know, never laid an unkind hand on me, you know, I love her, she’s been my savior in, you know, this ordeal.” Dorece. You could hear the vacancy in her tone, the same syrupy tint that rolled off of Ren’s tongue on Dorece. Your friend was carrying weight heavy enough to sink the good ship McKinnley and she was having all of it.

Ren Von Yoshida has become bronsonesque in her reverence for violence and her utter disregard for authority in her so far very short stay at Orial. Rumors abound that she has connections to a number of terrorist organizations inside and outside of the continent, but none of these allegations have been proven. Jordan Productions and Consulting are allegedly in talks with Ren in the absence of Dorece for the production of her own series WMDG: Worlds Most Dangerous Girl. Ms. Von Yoshida has yet to issue a statement on the authenticity of these claims. I’m Chelsea Rodgers, coming up next on KKZP. Bartiland Ashby

Again with the Bartiland. You scavenged for Nadar’s cell phone, it was already in your lap; you pulled to the shoulder and dialed the station number. The phone rang in your ear the call back tone, Dixie Lox and James Flame “Je T’aime Mon Non Plus,” you sang along for a few bars. The phone clicking over to busy signal, you hung up and redialed. Busy. Je t’aime,je t’aime. Redial. Oui, je.

“Hello, this is KKZP. How may I direct your call?” an androgynous voice, synthetic, overly smooth transitions slipping into blurred speech.

“Personality,” you held the microphone in front of your face, “I’m sorry, I could not catch that. Please repeat that.”

“Personality,” your patience snapped, you could hear the radio tune back into the voice of Chelsea Rodgers.

“We are directing you to an intern, please hold the line.” Why they couldn’t have the interns answer the line in the first place was lost on you, who calls radio stations anyway, the hours of giveaways had passed, that was the moment for mechanical advantage, cycling and cutting the lines on callers one through one hundred. You sighed and kicked your feet out the window, a normal ring now, examining the stains under your fingernails. “Hello KKZP, Christy speaking, how may I help you this evening?”

“Cut down on the formality, but I guess they give you a script. This is Barty Ashby, I want to talk to Chelsea Rodgers.”

“Her name is Bartiland Ashby. Do you know how many calls we’ve gotten asking to talk to Chelsea since Bartiland disappeared? A f*****g torrent, she’s only been gone a week and a few days. This is ridiculous, who gives a f**k about a little c**t from Our Lady.” Christy seemed pissed off.

“Yeah, really they can’t even get my name right,” you laughed.

“They care about the c**t of Our Lady, that’s what it is. 90% of the time its boys being girls on the phone or planting stories of how horrible she was, but they keep calling. I guess its not 90% more like 35 to 55%, I was exaggerating.” You listened for a break that wasn’t coming. “The girls are bold, most of them can’t even get her name right, like you, I don’t get paid for this s**t. Every f*****g night, I’m Bartlbee, I’m Bertrand, I’m Bartis.”

“Wow, you must be a terrible judge of character.”

“WHAT!” You put her on tips, the hairs on her neck pinging; you could hear her smoothing back down her bristles. “What do you mean by that?” she was composed again.

“I mean, I bet you have a face for television. I mean, we’re all a little self‐righteous but not enough to be broadcast. Let me talk to Chelsea.” You stroked the ego on the other end of the line.

“F*****g nutso, hold please.” Christy

Our intern, Christy, has just passed on a special treat. We have the real Bartiland Ashby on the line, Bartiland can you hear me?

“It’s Barty, not Bartiland, How are you doing Chelsea?”

“I’m well, but how are you, Barty? You’ve kind of become a viral vixen around these parts. You disappear one day and now you’re all over the airwaves, just where have you been, beautiful?”

“In the ether, I was really out of it for a little while. Don’t call me beautiful, you’re pandering Chelsea, but anyway I just wanted to let you know I’m back in Bernal, you can call off the dogs. Where did you get Bartiland from?”

“Honey, I thought you were a fan. Well, I guess you were in the ether, so I won’t hold it against you. So, rumors abound as to the ones responsible for your little magic act, is there any truth behind the front?”

“Honestly I don’t know where you come up with this s**t sometimes. No I don’t know anything about the Outland Separatist or the Mayers.”

“What about Ren Von Yoshida?”

“I’m going to see her tomorrow and I’m getting her out of Orial, they really fucked up in putting her in there with Dorece.”

“Is she a bad influence?”

“I don’t bake hand grenades.”

“Barty it’s been a pleasure.”

“I’ll let you finish your regularly scheduled program.” You clicked off the line. Cranking the engine you didn’t notice the tank levels when you departed, but now it was obvious Nadar let this one slide down to fumes. The starter fired and died. Dragging his body over the retaining barrier of the off ramp you dialed Kaite, more mangled french in your ear before.

“Who is this?” Kaite’s voice coming through in slight static.

“It’s the f*****g Boogie monster,” you huffed into the phone.

“Barty! I heard you on the radio, I knew you weren’t dead. Whose phone is this?”

“Damn near, I’m stuck on the side of Russell Expressway, I stole a taxi, and I’m about to bury the driver.”

“You killed him?”

“No, just to give him something to think about next time he’s running low on gas. I’m between Vulcan and M.”

“Haha, you’re the devil. I’m on my way.”

Rhythmic car horn honking woke you from dozing in the spacious backseat of the SUV. One gun loaded just in case you rolled down the window and checked the mirror. It was Kaite swinging her arms frantically, body half way out the window, she was nearly clipped by an oncoming cargo carrier, she cursed loud breaking into laughter before hailing you again. Her heavy brown hair whipped in the blowback around her smiling face. Pointed canines pierced the darkness that her head floated in. The lights of her azure convertible bounced off the back of the SUV throwing shine across over the expressway shoulder. Both of you throwing open car doors, she sauntered over, oversized night shirt breaking high on her thigh, slender shoulders and large breasts bouncing towards you, she gave great hugs, of your friends she was the first to fill out into her female figure but maintained the baby fat in her cheeks with deep dimples. Her eyes sleepy pinched shut, she kissed you on the cheek.

“Baby, I missed youuu!” She kissed your other cheek, baby powder freshness on her skin, “Where ya been you crazy ghost?” The highway was empty for miles in both directions, “Can I see the body?”

“He’s still breathing, barely. I left his head above the ground.” You took her by the hand out into the dark, the light from your cell lighting the walk. You zeroed in on your path out to the small hump in the sand, “See.” Your light showed the half dead dome sticking out of the earth. You rested his neck on a bed of rocks, the mass sunken into the dugout, it would have been easy to miss the sight and mistake it for a pile of stones in the daylight.

“You should mark it, you know, sign your work.”

“I think burying someone alive is mark enough.”

“You’re such a fudd.” She knelt down next to his head and stole a stone. On her hands and knees she cracked the dry layer of earth. She worked fast moving over the ground possessed scratching something you couldn’t make out in broad gestures, her whole arm working to put the touches in sync with the sentiment. “There.” She dusted her hands and stood up at the foot of the body, a light wind dusted out some of the chalk from the surface into the air.

“What does it say?” It was too dark for you to make out the strokes, your phone shadowing the divoted edges and breaking the shape of her hieroglyphs.

“It says ‘goodnight sweetheart, until we meet tomorrow.’” She spelled her hand over the marks as if you could read the scrawl in daylight. You started on the walk back to the car. Quick footsteps over the ground, you barely caught them before Kaite leaped onto your back nearly knocking you to the ground, “Carry Me! I don’t have shoes!” You stumbled forward into near run, her legs hooked around your waist. Catching your balance you looped your arms under her knees securing her to your body.

“You’re such a spaz,” you carried your nearly nude friend across the earth toward to car lights on the expressway, “and heavy as f**k.”

“Rolly poleys don’t complain, cuzzo. Just make that a*s move, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. Come on now.” She draped her head over your shoulder nuzzling your cheek. “We though you were gone. We knew Ren didn’t do anything, but you were just gone, evaporated right out of the blue. We thought the Hunters and Cliffson found out about our little spree and they got you, but Jane was all ‘they wouldn’t be that fast’. She thought you killed yourself, not on purpose or anything, we were just worried after.”

“Where’s your other half anyway?”

“PA meeting, I think it’s the last one or two or something.” You forgot about the weekly pharmaceuticals anonymous meetings Jane was sentenced to after falling asleep at the wheel of her car in the middle of Downtown Our Lady after breaking the no drive zone donutting and parking in a patch of violets. Every Thursday from 9 till midnight for the following two months she would sit inside the civic center classroom surrounded by the elderly addicts of the Green Line. You snuck in on a meeting and it was as you imagined, the withered husks of dementia, white haired shuffling corpses. They all sat a stones throw from deaths door, rocking back and forth, Jane eyeing you from her corner, your skin stretched wide in grin, you mimicked the stance of the rest of the guests here, holding your tongue in your head, the bursting sobs that would leap from your chest in amusement at the recounting of that weeks horror story. A mighty wind kicked up, billowing the back of Kaite’s shirt up into the air. She laughed tickled at the gust blowing up her back. You put her down on the outside of the barrier and unloaded your things from the SUV.

“I come bearing swag.” Kaite sat on the shoulder wall sparking a cigarette. She leaned forward to fling open the rear passenger door; you met her face with pistol pointed at eye level. She jerked back throwing her hands into the air, she broke into laughter eyes shut. “Come here.” Kaite crawled into the backseat opposite you, one case sitting on the seat, the faux first aid kit at your feet on the floorboard. You popped open the lid showing off the treasure chest laid to you by your terrorist friends.

“What the f**k were you doing while you were gone?” Her eyes lit up in excitement, hands sinking into the box with a gleeful grim. “There are about 15 guns in here, so many bullets, what the f**k, is that a grenade, are these grenades?” She squealed with excitement retracting two perforated bricks wrapped lined with stripes of slim black and gold wire.

“Some bodies tried to deep fry me in the pool, I woke up naked on a train heading up north.”

“Did they, rape you?” Kaite

“God no. I don’t know who the f**k the were, but you know we’re gonna find that out.” You pinched her on the cheek.

“Mmhm,” She fingered through the second case.

“Be careful in there, I don’t know what everything does,” you adjusted in the seat.

“Huh?” Kaite.

“There are a lot of chemicals in there, that’s how I made sleeping beauty.”

“Oh. So wait, how did you get this gear?” Kaite

“I don’t know, I met some people on the train that said they were terrorists, acted like carnies, I woke up in the train station downtown on top of these boxes. They gave me these gloves.” You slipped on your paws.

“Kitty!” she pet your hands dropping the bricks back into the box. “Looks like you’ve got 8 lives left. Wait, you met the OS? ”

“I don’t think so, they said they had corporate sponsorship, and there were only three of them, and they were f*****g each other with big fake dicks, and real ones.”

“Are you sure you weren’t raped?” Kaite

“I know right. Grab that case, lets get the hell out of here,” you hauled the weapons crate from the backseat and lifted it onto your shoulder; you heard Kaite’s case smack the ground.

“Nothings fucked.” Kaite

“Be careful. I don’t think anything is explosive in there, but I don’t want to come falling down in a million little pieces, you know.”

“Got it boss,” Kaite. The sound of scraping over the shoulder pavement then stopping. “You know I’m f*****g up your luggage right?”

“I’ll get it,” you sighed loading your box into the trunk. She slapped your a*s and hopped into the drivers seat. You hauled your other case to the trunk and climbed into the front seat. You were tired. Kaite pulled out onto the expressway, you left the doors on the SUV wide open, Nadar would be out of power and gas when he came to. An explosion ripping through the air, you avoided turning to see the fireball arcing up into the sky. “What did you do?”

“I left one of those blocks with the wires in the backseat I think. It was like the size of a caramel, seriously.” Kaite

“Must be proximity, just make sure you didn’t drop anything else when you drop me off.”

“Definitely. What time are we getting Ren tomorrow?” Kaite turned on the radio

“F**k. Come pick me up around 10. Wake me up when we get to my house.”

“Goodnight princess.” Kaite


“Welcome home c**t,” Richard’s dogs, Bruno, Boris, and Barney, trained on you in full body lean forward pointer position. They were never happy to see you. The albino pit bull terriers never had the playful puppy nature about them, they found your presence tedious, inedible for the most part, you didn’t exist until orders came down from their master. He puffed on an ebony pipe with gold inlay, its bowl glowing with embers as you stood at the threshold to your family property line, the mirrored finish of his sunglasses granting you surveillance over your shoulder. He wore a three‐piece black tux, a future cocktail party perhaps; your loops were out of sync after the ordeals of the last week. “You know Ren is in jail, some friend you are, running off like that. Have you no... honor?” He barked out a laugh, “I always wanted to say that, but on the real she is in Orial.” He gave a tug at the leashes and turned toward his wing of the house.

“I know, I gave a press conference on KKZP. Hey Dick, when did you get so f*****g gangster, on the real.”

“That was you? I thought it was a doppelganger.” His interest was gone, the dogs nipping back and forth at each other, “Check the internet and holla at me Bartiland.” Still walking, he shot you a peace sign. You drug your half human sized cases through Zen gravel towards your backyard villa. Kaite would be back by in the morning, visiting hours in Orial started at 9 AM. Your spectral sister stood out of the open sliding wall way window of the living room, backlit white nightgown see through only her silhouette lean, hair glowing, leash around her wrist, your hound over half her height sitting. She let go and he bounded to you over the hot rocks sliding to a stop at your feet.

“He missed you,” She yawned.

“I wouldn’t expect any less.”

“We’ve been on vigil ever since you--- went shopping?” Boo

“Yeah these, I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Good idea, I’ve got something for you too.” Boo


“My bey bey cey.” Boo danced over the stones into you arms, kissed you on the cheek. “I’m going to sleep.” She paraded back across the earth into the woody halogen glow that she came from. Oreo looking up at you, perched on paws, long tongue hanging out of his mouth panting, such a good dog. You threw yourself on his fluffy black frame toppling him with ease. He didn’t make as much as a squeak.

“You miss me boy,” your hair mixing in with the dense fur as you rubbed your face into Oreo’s neck. Genetic engineering cut down on that dog smell but he maintained a certain pure bread scent. You tugged at his floppy ears rolling him over onto his back and lay onto the pillow side. “Who can you trust, Oreo?” The stars seemed a little closer to the earth, the sky dimmer on the edges of your panorama. Your gaze turned over the pages of high fluff tumbling through the air, breath becoming heavy, matching the beating rhythm in the beast. He nuzzled your skull and licked the side of your face mass moving from underneath you. Your head hit the ground. You watched the massive paws move soundlessly into the house. You beat the dust from your body and heaved the trunks through the opening.


You plunged deep into amber water. It rose up from an infinity you could see. Tiny bubbles streaked up from its surface popping in streams. White foam broke over your skin. There was acidity to the liquid that ate away your wings, you were stripped to stalks; your long fingers held high as you watched the scales on your arms drip down into the waves. Wait, this isn’t right. Halfway in you hovered dry from the hips up, the surface tension thick enough for you to pull yourself over the edge, you were slick emerging on top of the waves. You gazed down on a black and green spotted body, its ribbed cover sticking down into the sink. You moved forward. A silken strand tethered you to the tack; you dropped your line and pulled forward, the top crystallizing underneath you. You inched along, breaking and gathering the tips of the high arching waves. Champagne jetted down from the fractured edges and bubbled off. You inhaled a cluster floating away. Hiccup. The bubbles began flooding from your mouth in rushes down over your chest and stomach. You moved faster, stumbling over your skin. The balloons trailing down your front left a train behind your rolled mass. You slowed as your fizz overtook you; once your feet were engulfed in the pops you stood fast at your position. Your inertia toppled you forward; you rocked on angle, momentum stretching you from your skin. You shot out of your mouth into the air. The husk of your past form sank beneath the amber as it liquefied into syrup again. You jetted through the air; your body blown upward, warmth under your new figure. You were gossamer on this high breeze, your wings lazily bending to the current. Shadows jetting by your eyes, you were inverted and broken from your flight, pinned under the grip of sharp darts. The talons edge split your skin. Drips of black ran down from the lashes in your flesh and into the endless sea, you bled staining the surface. Night, silver globes plodded up to its surface weaving tapestry across the velvety abyss. The lines glowed mapping the ungraspable sight, too wide to be consumed at once. “Higher,” the words moved through you without your lips and across this world. Your holder flapped, the downward rush of air sealed your wounds in its brush. The steady beat of wings overhead warmed your face. His talons bound you as the scene opened up to your eyes. The curvature of the orb dipped back into a white field, the eye. You lay clutched around the torso, arms and legs draped down. You melted through his grips falling back down through the air a liquid net, reorienting, you caressed your carrier in your web. His wings stretched wide and immobile across you, feathers tipped black. He dissolved through your hold, backing out into the opal blot of the eye.

“You’ve got me where I want you.”

© 2013 CharlyeMonroe

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Added on January 16, 2013
Last Updated on January 16, 2013



San Francisco, CA

Writer/Artist/M**********r I'm from America, all of it. Monotheist, believer in the one true G-D Every poem is a love poem. more..