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Ruby Fragments — III

Deus Lux

By Keenan ChiassonPublished 7 years ago 4 min read
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Ruby Fragments - III - Deus Lux (Photograph by Erik Eastman)

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...

surreal poetry
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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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