(Of what had been shattered some years ago due to its horror and what had been forgotten that night amidst the field of other dreams had been the phantom of a cruel mind’s subconscious which had never left it since the day it was shattered upon its horrible impact. That gray cornered room below where all beings walked that reverberated in some static panic, slowly and quickly filling with dark fluid from where fluid came from and where no one seemed to care who or what it swallowed, the jumping and skipping square frames of the bare and cruel woman’s body tacked below that glitching and skipping square frame of a young girl’s head, features indiscernible other than the long gray hair that spilled into the small tub’s waters and those large pale eyes flooded with a misery only two torturous lives–one of the young subject and the broken constructor who watched her pain in his own pain–could inspire so completely. Shelves of something, notebooks of something, pen that belonged to someone, jars of something, but all of it was blurred over and all of it was fractured at its edges, so none of it was to be contemplated, none of it was supposed to be here, it was not supposed to still be here. After standing for so long in that darkness, eyes flitting between the nothing and the barely more than nothing, watching that thing that was supposed to be a memory of a woman and a memory of a girl that never looked back, watching the nothing, watching that defect of a constructed image watch the water jumping in and out of her frame with that horrible black and white aura buzzing all around her body, soundlessly screaming into the free depth of his ears where there was no breath and no blinking and no beat of heart and no reason to stand there and no reason to exist but to remember what was never supposed to be remembered, there was the awaited interruption. A stream of light. Like a ribbon tied to the head of a divine. It was a light he had been craving without understanding what or why, not even when or how, and never who graced it upon him. It did not matter. All that mattered was that it was here. It came from what would allude to an upstairs but must have been God’s heaven or hell, and it came down in a curling stream, dangling as if daring him to reach for it, and when he complied he saw full well it’s fluorescent blue magnitude that rippled through the darkness and destroyed all before it and guided him far away from the hideous construction of poorly forgotten evil and into a space of empty potential, where it was only he and the stream and the nothingness. It kissed and bent about only a sliver of his skin like the reticent dance of a rose stem, and its kiss enwrapped his mind in some sort of memory that had been tucked behind a thousand others, one that could not be free without awakening even greater evils, so he trusted the intuitive sweetness of its nostalgic intentions and reached for its beauty. And when he ran the stream of pure radiance between his fingers, he remembered when he had first seen this saviour of a spectacle, this wonder of a muse that belonged to no world, and upon that same instantaneous moment when he felt and remembered, all of it came to an end, and there was nothing of dreams after.)            

~ Sammicakes