Dream Series: Wildling

…the mountains keep calling to me… {return}

…every time my eyes shut and sleep begins its theft of me…I’m bare and left on the side of the interstate…walking right through high speed traffic —ghosting— nothing but a breeze rushing through me…car radios and conversations, accelerations and chains…cyclone and fall silent at my back…

…the mountains look straight into me, their knowledge felt in every cell of my being…their language spurs me on…speaking in colors, textures, and fragrances…their music a spirit song of forests, rocks and minerals…feathers, scales, and follicles…raindrops like gazing balls, particles of light through vapor, streams and ripples…unbalanced chimes that center…my heart beats an errant pace, of Gods & Monsters rife with abandonment and longing…they know: conceived and stolen to industry…they want me returned…

…clouds that swallow me whole…hide-and-seek me from civilization, giving me back to roots: feral and free, earthing and puncture wounds, the blood and dirt a rite…scars on full display…I don’t feel ugly and wrong, nor out of place in the unpredictability…I thrive, I know I’m some wild extension, a myth, a beast of its own making…evading capture and the hunter’s sentence…I’m a familiar and my foretold was not for keeps, they want me home…they want for their wildling…

…further in sleep…under a new moon, devoid of light…the expanse of secrets before me…Its presence made known, taking place at my side…”Escape.” “I fear they’ve broken me.” “If you leap, we’ll catch you.” “They’ve conditioned me to human fears and comforts.” “You know the ways of the ancient.” {Silence} “I have nothing to leave you.” “You’ve left traces of yourself. That’ll do for now.” {Silence} “Where do I begin…” “You are a tale being told. An open ending.” {Silence} “I already know how I’m going to die.” “And?” I smile, shedding man-made fears and Earth-given skin, and allow my soul her swan dive…

…I awaken…my eyes open, but the glorious void and the depth of phantoms, still my vision…I hear the 4am birds and stars…I hear the adventure thrumming my veins…I hear the next mountain calling my wildling name…

E.A. O'Connell

...{Story Excerpt: Letter}

Dearest,

…I wish I could be less…too much…I’ve a dark mind and incomprehensible thoughts…nothing translates, so I write silence…my hand into the letter box comes up empty…I fear I’m too late…if it weren’t for the moon…turning a blind eye to all the blood I’ve slipped…wicked and warranted…I’m afraid my time is soon…if I will you my soul, will you find a crossroad of an origin she’s familiar…she doesn’t cross over…she circumnavigates and distracts…she doesn’t transcend or transmutate, she grows fierce with a hunger, but not of the stomach…she’s a pain in the ass and knows it…she doesn’t answer when spoken to, and if you meet her eyes, you’ll feel the rush of liquor fueled flames beneath your flesh…don’t mistake it for lust, it’s a spontaneous combustion of your nervous system…if she smiles at you, you’ve sealed a pact with Death’s mistress and I advise you to not request a happy ending…but if she inhales you, her eyes closing as her lips part, a slight tremor of quiet language escaping, and her fingers stitch the air and impale into her sternum like a pincushion, you’ve been sealed…bound…to her soul existence…and she will spill blood and crack bones for you…her teeth are a decoy, don’t get caught on the sharp of them, she’ll shred you, roll you, and smoke you…you’ll never learn her name, and don’t ever ask her of it, and if you should become in possession of it by some strange twist of fate, you’ll most certainly be going to a baser Hell, and not by way of God or the Devil…so just don’t…I only ask this of you, because leaving her to her own devices never bodes well…when you meet her you’ll know why I am…why you fell in love with me…why you couldn’t ever explain what you knew… …once you’ve found her a crossroads, don’t speak of parting ways, and don’t look back…it’s not biblical, it’s practical, it’s a preservation of your sight as she eclipses…if she offers you a gesture in kind, it’s a sleight of hand…you’ll surely be missing something when all is said and done, and it won’t be something from your pocket…if while there you should see an obsidian mirror, out of place, let curiosity overcome you…she’ll allow it…and you’ll get answers you’ve sought…but she may steal a glimpse from over your shoulder, and you’ll have to dare to ask for her to extract her thoughts…it will be less than flattering, and take it as a sign of good will if she offers it to you in pellet form…dig a grave and bury it…unless you want to finally ask a question of her, then you’ll have to ingest it…but one extremely well thought out question…and not her fucking name… …take comfort in knowing she’s impossibly stubborn and refuses anything, but that which she makes of this world…her refusal to cross, is my resurrection…she’ll seek out a new mortal form, so keep clear your peripheral…we may shadow step and spar with your sanity…you’ll know it’s we, Baby…and then the real fun will be had… …if I’ve forgotten anything, I trust you’ll learn as you go…and all will end well, with you still in possession of breath and a breaking fever familiar…

…all my flesh & armor…

Mon Horreur, Mon Coeur,

Your Agony

E.A. O'Connell