©2022 Michael Raven
I can’t put some things into words.
Oddly enough, when that happens, it seems to me that I am on the right track.
Lacking language means that I am reaching into places where my brain fumbles for the words to describe what I am thinking, pondering, feeling, developing. For a writerly type, I am always suspicious when the words come easy, suspect that the words that flow smooth from brain to pen to paper are thieves, stealing the real experience behind shutters that snap shut [*click*] at the slightest illumination and have painted scenes meant to make them look like well-lit spaces on the other side but, instead, utilize blocking technology to keep the real sights out of sight.
Some very basic things feel very real and I don’t know that words give them gravity, heft, weight. Communication without words, y’ken?
I had a dream… Creature breaks through my defenses like in any good old shambling zombie movie. Gets to the place where we didn’t want him to be. You, in your dark hair showing grey in gossamer threads, enough to look dignified and regal, drawing up your makeshift spear to ward it away, lips the perfect shape and color without lipstick and the dark circles around your eyes from the constant running, well, I will admit they made you more sexy than tired and the time was inappropriate for such thoughts with the beast and all. But fuck me, you were hot. Now… if only I knew your name.
It drew to it all the young vampires trying to make a scene because, not only did the young blood empower, but it gave it new dreams to eat. We were done for, even your sexy bedroom eyes couldn’t save the day when a hot-flash grey skirted under our feet. A sacrifice, but not one we would have chosen to make. There lay the little ghost and even the predator paused for the shame of the broken one — broken once again. We launched our spears, not wanting to waste the sacrifice and the howls! Oh my god, the howls! They set the concrete to trembling and the tower crumble-shaking and we ran to the sunshine waiting as the place imploded, our hands over ears to banish the howling — one of the party had ears a’bleeding and fell to the ground, dead, for that horrifying sound.
As the dust settled, we looked for words and tufts of grey, cold rain or tears falling on our shoulders as we searched and searched in vain.
There were no words there, just a fragment razor sharp that cut my hand and that is when I knew I had stumbled upon a piece jigsawed from the memories of something greater that was beyond words.
That’s when I knew.