And your destination you don’t know it :: SOTD


Keep Art Alive :: “Monarch” :: Art by Steven Kenny

Much communication in a motion,
without conversation,
or a notion.”

The first prick of the skin stung like the wasp’s sting she suffered as a young girl while riding in the backseat of her parents’ car. She remembers it now, flying in through the open window to land on her bare skinned leg, just below the hem of her brown corduroy shorts. They pulled over to the side of the road, her Mom and her latest “Father”, boosting Emily over the small barrier between asphalt and sand, and half-carrying her to the seashore. They cupped handfuls of salt water, releasing it over the reddened spot on her pale skin. The cure stung more, it always does.

The welt went numb eventually, as she did now, fading fast into the throes of oblivion. She fell out through a hole in the floor, tumbling fast, head over feet, down, down, down. It was daybreak where she landed, the haze of new morning cloying around her, and Emily could almost taste the sticky sweet pollen blowing carelessly in the air. It looked like rain, or like wishes made from blowing the down off a handful of thistles. Is this her wish then? The after party she was promised?

Crawling across freckle patches, Emily could feel each tiny leg march up her thin arms, the beetle brigade on-route to that spot at the nape of her neck. Next to her ears the butterflies buzz, their wings playing overtures into her brain, interrupting any train of thought that was due at the station. The passengers will have to take another lap, sit back and read another chapter, stow their baggage for one last go. They are on their way to Avalon, or Wonderland, or somewhere. Damn, she’s forgotten again.

The hills are green with new life and Emily takes of her shoes now, tossing them behind her, as she runs through the grass like she did as a child. He’s there hiding on the other side of the glen, behind the oldest oak tree, where he promised he would wait for her. He had gone down before she did, falling faster, harder, shaking as he fell. She wonders if he will recognize her here among the flowers. She wonders if he has changed at all. She wonders, too, if he will let her sleep in the crook of his arm like he did when they were so much younger.

Emily feels so tired now, so very tired.

Avalon :: Roxy Music

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