charloft thursday - nightscapes
The last time you slept was it a pleasant dream or a nightmare that kept you company? If you can't recall your dreams, tell us about your bedtime ritual.
Nightmare.
When she sleeps, it is so:
They are in the forest, she and her quick-wet brother, and she cannot speak.
Whoever drinks of this water will become a tiger, the river is whispering, tepid water like thin blood curling around the shell of her ear. Thick blood coming from between her teeth, where her tongue is gone, but oh, not lost, it is in her tiger-brother's mouth, and he chews it like the tough meat it is.
There is something she needs to say, there are words that could avert this, this cold world where the light comes not from the sky but from below their feet, and the blood clots on her dress, there is something she needs to say but she cannot open her mouth or she will die, pinching her veins shut with her flat back teeth, wisdom teeth, teeth for the grinding.
"Where are you? I am so lonely."
I am here.
You abandoned me.
I never. I would never.
You did.
There is blood all over her, even between her legs, there is so much old slippery blood, there are feathers in his mouth and feathers in her hair and she is sick to bursting of feathers.
She wakes up.
She opens her mouth.
Or the other way around.
She was never supposed to speak. Why would she want to?
She is full of words. She is full of her voice. It is too late.
She wakes up.
She goes back to sleep.
Nightmare.
When she sleeps, it is so:
They are in the forest, she and her quick-wet brother, and she cannot speak.
Whoever drinks of this water will become a tiger, the river is whispering, tepid water like thin blood curling around the shell of her ear. Thick blood coming from between her teeth, where her tongue is gone, but oh, not lost, it is in her tiger-brother's mouth, and he chews it like the tough meat it is.
There is something she needs to say, there are words that could avert this, this cold world where the light comes not from the sky but from below their feet, and the blood clots on her dress, there is something she needs to say but she cannot open her mouth or she will die, pinching her veins shut with her flat back teeth, wisdom teeth, teeth for the grinding.
"Where are you? I am so lonely."
I am here.
You abandoned me.
I never. I would never.
You did.
There is blood all over her, even between her legs, there is so much old slippery blood, there are feathers in his mouth and feathers in her hair and she is sick to bursting of feathers.
She wakes up.
She opens her mouth.
Or the other way around.
She was never supposed to speak. Why would she want to?
She is full of words. She is full of her voice. It is too late.
She wakes up.
She goes back to sleep.