her
screaming
was
transient
as
was
her
singing
as
was
her
dancing
she
fell
for
what
seemed
like
forever
Until she stopped. And when she stopped, she stopped abruptly.
Though she was still not standing on solid ground,
merely floating in space
feeling submerged
with the aqua-smooth
liquid weightlessness
of drifting
s
p
e
c
k
s
descending quietly
toward a formless heap
She was enveloped
in translucent spheres
and became a parallactic
Stygian
diamond
revolving
among
an
a
x
i
s
of
indigo
intricacies.
She’s trapped there
for what feels like
two thousand years,
but she doesn’t seem to notice.
Spiralling brought her some joy for a time,
but never more satisfaction
than a fruitless stroll through the collapsed abyss.
Deep within her shapeless form
she longed for a sense of something
distant and far-off
some unreachable-type thing
It felt gray and heavy,
almost wet, but never large,
always microscopic in nature,
this
distant-and-far-off-unreachable-type thing.
It was warm,
and fuzzy,
and wet.
And it was gray it was fucking gray.
She hadn’t realized she was spiraling.
and soon she saw
something
something
far-off
and distant,
but not gray.
It was gold.
a microscopic gold
she spiraled faster
and soon she felt a pulse
something deep down below
she accelerated faster
and
faster
to breakneck speeds
Her soul,
melting hot,
burned as it reached its target
She began to feel something
Her skull
She could feel her skull
After an eternity
it was a skull
and it was Her's
and the light pierced the apex of her skull
and split down her entire form
and fragmented her into perfect segments
a streamlined Vitruvian woman
beaming light from limbs
Made whole.
And now she was naked
and lying,
curled,
atop the flat rock-bottom
of her Stygian cell.
Tetragonal eyes
formed the walls
of her enclosure.
It burned her eyes to look at them
She focused on the jet-black floor,
which seemed to be composed
of a thin layer of glass above
still,
black
water.
She pressed her ear to it.
The sound was a dark hum
that sounded like far-off traffic
mixed with a distant wind.
And soon the water rippled,
but so too did the glass,
and she realized then
that it was black water
and to her it was glass
and now it was gray
and now it is white
and now it’s popping
it’s sizzling with lab coats.
Now they’re buzzing
fluttering
limbs
black and white suits
black cameras and reflective surfaces
And she bangs on the glass,
crying for help,
but nobody seems to notice,
nobody seems to care.
And she pounds the glass
stamping her feet
rolling in a seizure-like
burst of heavenly fury
and crying out
she turns toward the eyes
and forces her eyes
open
with
all
of her
MIGHT
and her head explodes into an iridescent
starlike burst of color
and her body sinks backward
crashing
through an ocean
of glass
and she falls drifting heavily,
the wet streams
of her shining
color-burst
exploded
head-trails
flapping wispily
behind her like wind-waved
banners
caught at sixty frames per second
and warped
to a labored
dawdle.
Lightning splashed her eyes
with burning familiarity
she opened them to find
the sky shifting turbulently
fighting angrily with itself
one-half of it
desperately
tearing at the other
in a godless brawl
She noticed the mountain first
in the brief snapshot
of a lightning’s flash.
She felt the ground beneath her.
Wood and metal
Cold,
wet.
The ground beneath her rocked and shook.
She slid to a railing.
And glimpsed over an elevated ledge
at sharp black ray
serrated
and
explosive
with roiling edges
A fisherman grabbed her by the shoulder and slammed her to the ground.
She jerked alive in the backseat of a yellow New York City taxicab somewhere in Lower Manhattan’s Chinatown.
She felt down her body to hide her naked form,
but saw she was wearing soft materials.
She felt professional
and looked into her driver’s rearview mirror
But no one met her eyes,
but herself,
though not her
new
living-in-the-flesh-type
eyes,
the eyes of herself caught
through the taxi’s rear windshield,
a shopfront window,
and behind a plasma screen.
Though her televised eyes did not stare back at her
instead they saw something off-screen
something that seemed
to be just out of reach
and it was her
seeing herself
see herself.
And she looked back up front to tell the driver,
but no one was driving,
and she was now cruising through a desert
at a high fizzy speed
and she panicked
and looked in the rearview again
and it filled her with comfort,
seeing herself
see herself
see herself
again
in a delicious
repetitious
never-ending loop
She felt trapped between two mirrors
with a liquid itch beneath the eyes
making her sick with a tremble
to think of the thought...
About the Creator
Keenan Chiasson
"I want to burn with the spirit of the times. I want all servants of the stage to recogni[z]e their lofty destiny."
-Vsevolod Meyerhold
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