Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Upon The Sleeper's Head

The tall girl’s train of pre-sleep thoughts continued eating away at her.

where is your brother you can’t even keep track of him for two seconds you little good for nothing lord jesus christ preserve me from these wasteful, sinful children

shut up hate those thoughts

not my thoughts

No future, no point, worthless in the face of evil, and

just

dance

until lights out

just help me sometimes

No longer lucid, she kicked a boot towards the lightswitch, catching the green light, missing the black.  And, waiting for her friends to come for her, fell into dream alone.

Time passes, fast-forward style, little objects jittering in the rush of accelerated air, the clock rushing ahead like an industrial music video.  How alienating and creepy, the sight of fast-forwarded footage.  How little we enjoy the notion that our experience of time is fragile, that other, more horrifying and brutal and quick experiences of time exist always out there, just beyond the range of our perception.  

Anna, scarecrow frame in bondage pants and black longcoat, sleeps for now, beyond time’s cruel reach,

until

at a certain point, there is vibration, as the speakers begin to kick bass and the floor begins to accept the shake of inebriated feet marching in, and then

They enter silently.  The first one enters, swinging the door wide, then stops, shaking her head, turning to leave before she notices the shape on the couch.  She pauses, considering.  She disappears, closing the door slowly and quietly.  And then she returns, accompanied.  Three shapes, three females, furies.

They are shadowed under the black light.  Hands to mouths, stifling giggles.

One of them reaches into a box and pulls forth a costume set of goat horns, attached to a wire hairband.  She places these upon the sleeper’s head.  Anna, too slowly, awakens devil-horned and attended by three grinning shadows.  In the black light, all she can see are green teeth and green glow-in-the-dark paint markings where their faces should be.  They remind her of snakes.  

“Hi!  You’re Anna, right?”

She rose, slowly, to an upright position.

“Yeah, this is her,” crooned the shadows.  “That bitch that bit Tyler.”

“Isn’t she ugly?”

“What did he see in her?”  And giggling.   

Anna knew without seeing anything else that there was a weapon in the room.

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