The Delicate Balance of Terror 25

“Always in your stomach and in your skin there was a sort of protest, a feeling that you had been cheated of something that you had a right to.” George Orwell

I saw her dying there right in the middle of the road and the first instinct was to place my boot there and not let her get up. Where was this coming from? I was always in pain, I knew exactly how she felt…she could barely breathe and her eyes looked at me filled with a fright I couldn’t comprehend. The hand I reached out to her changed everything. I could hear my heart beating once again through the pulsing of your hand and I knew right then you had no idea what was inside of you because I couldn’t overcome the fear that the energy swirling within you was causing. But the echo of my own beating heart lead me right into your hands. Please be gentle with me…that never works. The tree is waving in the wind of the powerful fall storm, attempting to shelter me as my broken wings are dissipated in the powerful force. It was the wings I first saw before I could perceive your form lying in the street, your bloodied broken wings. The spotlight which seemed focused upon your dying face, lightened as I approached. I walked right through you, but…I couldn’t remember…where I walked to. In your face I saw that child, sad, alone, the football helmet tugged to one side which you grasped so hard in that picture, I could tell, just like me that you were dying inside. There is a pounding entering my mind as I see the bunnies stand up and touch their hearts. They march for a truth we still cannot understand. And the swirling humming shadows overhead don’t know where to go as the bunnies seem to form a huge mass that the swirling shadows can’t understand. And the bunnies know something we don’t. They were built in someone else’s pain, formed with someone else’s ideas, but the cold, tortured, bleeding hands which created them, used all they had inside of them. They were trying to tell us something, but we no longer had the ability to listen. And that whirring came back and The Colonel, opening his book of fire reminded the bunnies exactly where they belonged. The Detective closed his eyes as the blood of the sun entered his eyes. As he looked into a mirror it shattered as the corridor of mirrors came crashing down, and the movie star fell further away from herself as she screamed and shattered to pieces. The bunnies stopped as The Colonel waved his claws above them. I scream no! I can no longer remember why as I feel the wings once again growing on my back. The sun darkens from behind your football helmet and I remember exactly what I am walking into as I hold your hand and walk right into the darkness. The Detective is standing by the tree, inspecting it he is holding something I can’t see…what are you holding?