the machine sleep overtook me. the calm quiet noonday winds blowing across the desert. her sleeping quietly next to me, after everything that had happened. the generator idling outside. however many days it had been, i couldn’t remember. i had a dream where i whistled a tune i hadn’t heard since i was a kid. i couldn’t remember the name of it or where i’d heard it. just the sort of sunny afternoon vibe it lit up inside some part of me.
broken wagons in the hayfield. a hundred thousand scarabs rolling giant turds up the hill. i heard they’re building an inverted pyramid out of them.
the river’s dried up. and now we’re covered in clay. let’s go wash ourselves in each other’s whispery hands. will that clean us? probably not, i hear whispered back. but i’m ready to die trying.
candles on bookshelves. burnt down to their hilts. wax covering all ten volumes of the encyclopedia of “who are you and what the hell are you doing here?” i picked up one at random, and read a passage aloud:
- “swords, wives, yellow fever. all up against the wall. our heights all marked behind us. they were making some kind of graph before they shot us. it was going to be a long winter. everybody hold on tight.”
it tickled, as the clouds rolled themselves around us.
- END -
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