Premonition

I am made of tissue and sin

An amorphous blob of feelings and impulses

The universe spins around me

And then focuses

There is the boy

In the white classroom

With his dark skin and heavy backpack

He walks with two great hands gripping his shoulders

Pressing down

Demanding he falter

He does not

But he does cry

And I am intangible

Bound by nothing - to nothing

He cannot see me

But I can feel him

I am tumbling

Through a spiraling white network

Of tangled glass and concrete halls

Searching for the boy

The boy who needs me

Something stands in my way

It, like me, is intangible

Made of tissue and sin

I am the only one who can see it

The thousand-eyed creature

Who stands in my way

Beams with light shining from his teeth

He tells me the boy is fine

I do not believe him

Riddles are exchanged

Ravens, writing desks, rings

I am defeated

The world is vast and viscous nothingness

My limbs flail and kick

Grasping for something to hold

I catch a metallic hand

It lifts me from oblivion

I am in a wooden hallway

Dark panels surround me

I exhale a small breath of relief

Once again tangible and human

I lift the sword from the ground in front of me

And the knight begins clanking away; leading me somewhere

There is something that was so important

Now forgotten

Pressing down

The intangible feeling

That someone needs me

A large oak door swings open

Red carpet, a roaring fire, and an open book await me

The book glows with some unknowable power

The knight goes rigid

The fight is long

My blade is sharp and I wield it well

The book lingers on the table, patiently waiting

There is a terrible clanging as it collapses

Lifeless, terrible

Armor now black and shattered

in pieces across the floor

Pave the path I take

Toward the glittering pages

I touch the book

And there is the boy

Inches from my face

His torso is covered in blood

There is music and dancing in my back garden

The boy grasps my hand and laughs

Despite the gory visage that makes up his torso

He is laughing and demands a dance

He does not know

The hands gripping his shoulder

The carnage of his stomach

The manic flame in his eyes

The light shining from his teeth

We spin and dance and laugh through the garden

My eyes are drawn to a green wrought iron table

Beneath which a spider envelopes a bird

It gorges itself

I awake drenched in sweat

The safety of my pillow tells me I am not the spider

I pick up my phone, my fingers flashing

“Are you ok?”

….

…

..

.

“No.”