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In Between Dreams

It starts the same way, it ends the same way... it starts it ends.

You are beautiful. Your hands, your mouth. Your hands though, mostly. It’s the callouses, I’m sure. At the tips of your fingers, at the base of your paws. And your mouth. The soft curve of those effervescent lips, and those teeth, those perfect sharp incisors.

The white, open faced cage is drowning me. You are drowning me. No. Not you. A ghost with white incisors that glint in the moon light. The no-light. There is no light.

Dying isn’t at all like I’ve imagined, with your cold calloused finger tips holding my head down. I don’t struggle or thrash against you; I’ve always thought struggling against the inevitable useless...
A jerk and my eyes open and my watery grave is gone, or never was; I can hardly tell which. I’ve died and now Elsewhere, clutching a knife and the priest reading from the Book of the Dead. The blade is in my hands closer and closer to my stomach. I arch away from it and then I stop arching, partly because my back has never been very limber, both mostly because I’ve always believed struggling against the inevitable useless...

A jerk and my eyes open and the bleeding stops, or is gone, or never was; I can hardly tell which. I’m falling, falling, falling but the ground isn’t any closer, any closer, any closer. But I am closer to the ground, and that’s the only thing that matters. I hold it close to me, The Thing, with pages bound to a hard cover. I think of what is called, that thing that you can open and turn its secrets, to one hundred, eight hundred, one thousand... a book. The Book of the Dead. I’m face to face with the ground and I don’t put my hands out, partly because my arms do not want to break, but mostly because I’ve always believed struggling against the inevitable useless...

A jerk and my eyes open and my bones are unshattered, or are not, or never were; I can hardly tell which. The open faced prison is glinting in the moonlight and my hands without callouses gripping the edges, my hair is sopping wet and I am shaking. I try to stand up but at the last moment my left foot loses purchase...

A jerk, a screech, a tug, a touch from your finger tips and my eyes open. We’re stopped. The leather seats feel smooth under my hands and so do my jeans and my t-shirt. A minute before I notice the commenced forward propelling motion and another before I remember where I’m going. Where we’re going.

I glance at your face and see you’ve fallen asleep too. My heart aches, a little for you because I see a tear sliding down your cheeks even in your dreams, but mostly for me because I’ll never be as beautiful as you are. My other half.
My

“Twin?”

Your eyes snap open. Your disorientation mirrors mine for a moment, and then your green irises find my purple ones.

“Did you dream?” You ask me, and for a moment I’m tempted to smile.

“Always do."




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