by Rhee  ©


He lay in slumber. The quiet whistling of his breath, chest slowly rising and falling to the same tune, his eyes flicking and jerking to the song of dreams. I lay beside him, aware without looking that this little dance was happening. Watching little red dots appear behind my eyes, and stain the carpet red. Stain the walls and the roof; soon the whole room will be the colour of blood.


I lay sucking shallow quick breaths, feeling grey imaginings wrap about my ankles and coil towards my brain. Red flashes green at the thought of his dreaming, green flashes blue when I think of my own, blue fades to bruised plum then back to red. The room is the colour of blood.


He shudders, stirs and turns. I find myself wondering at the thoughts that hide behind his animal eyes. Red softens to rose, there’s such sweetness in slumber.


Grey creeping death is up to my knees. The room is the colour of flesh. The sun hits the window and streams between the curtains in a wall of pure light, separating me from him. Floating silver glitter I stir with soft breath. Choking grey thought stops and turns yellow, starts to feel warm and nice. Yellow warm hope is up to my thighs and creeping towards my belly. The walls are the colour of a new bruise. Soft, sickly smell of sweat – and something long forgotten.


A shiver traces my spine, raising gooseflesh. Outside a cloud covers the sun. No more soft silver glitter I can see him again, even breath and running in the land of dreams. Look about at purple swelling walls and a hole opens in my chest, great wide cavity that sucks everything in. Soft yellow hope is up to my chest and disappearing too quick to see, its falling 1000 miles deep down inside, coming to rest in the place the stone birds circle to build their nests of sharp pain. And a single tear rolls down the inside of my eyes, the thought of lost life, lost innocence.


The walls are so purple they are almost black. Rainbow tendrils of thought snake out of the hole in my chest, which is closing fast and leaving me with a wide sense of nothing.


Rainbow thought is up to my neck and starting to strangle me softly. Somewhere outside birds start to sing, but the only words I can think are dark and useless. They roll around my mouth like marbles, chip my teeth until I swallow, try to choke me on the way down and then sit there in the pit of my stomach, heavy and sickening. The walls are the colour of blood once again. Rainbow noose softens, jerks and hardens to grey, creeps into my mouth, over my cheeks and into my eyes and ears; cocoons me tight and warm, turns everything black.


I wait in the darkness for the transformation that never comes, wishing my thoughts would turn orange and warm and fly off into the sun.



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