|Published on: Aug 5, 2005|
|Type: Short Stories|
|I have been stripped of my default, ventriloquistic dependency. Here, everything occurs out of reason, not substitution. I feel my throat absorb the intangible flow of air, not because I personally yearned for it, but because I need it. What if I simply… deny it? Could I? It can’t be just me now. Only a while ago I was fine inside Her. What possessed Her or me or some juggernaught force that I should be parted from Her? Did She give Herself up for me? Will I have to do the same for the thumping organism inside me, only after I’ve been flushed out into the world?
Was I disgorged from Her mouth? If so, I will simply scream until I alleviate myself of this being and crush it to death with my gums. I simply cannot give up myself this fast. I scream so hard I can feel something skulk up through my throat; it’s acidic, mutable tentacles loitering my throat cause me to choke: the being. I am scared but I know I must rid myself of it.
But the beast stops in its tracks as I see Her. It slowly slithers back down the tube of my throat; leaving behind a trail of bitter, vomit carnage. It would’ve been a taste to which one could not ignore, but I swallowed it back down; a willing martyr awaiting it’s promised tryst with Christ. Unknowingly, tears begin to well up in my newly blurred-vision eyes and an intangible force pulls at the walls of my throat. And I forget about my fate, my inevitable self-destruction for the being, and I lay my throbbing head down on Her soft robe. And I cry.
I want to re-connect myself to her; I can feel the flesh on the restricting, skeletal interior cage of my insides swell and magnet with Her general aura. Though the skeletal cage seems to have engulfed my entire, internal body, there is an elusive pressure that I can feel devour my withstanding control, which dwells throughout my body. I realize how selfish I am being, but then I wonder what it is I’m supposed to feel? Remorse? I bang the two stout balls of flesh, connected to the independently functioning pincers that descend from opposite sides of my neck, on the pink, malleable flesh of my body. She attempts to soothe me. The various branch weights within my anatomy gravitate the focal point of my weight downwards, unevenly between the alcoves of her labouring hands. She fumbles and her whole upper body is involuntarily involved now; her torso bending in synchronization with the pressure exerted underneath me. This ritualistic “dance” fascinates me, and I become enthralled in observing this occurrence.
One would think that, these movements being the opposite polar of idleness and dependency, my mind would not be able to capacitate this abrupt, emblematic suggestion that I am no longer safe: unlike the caterpillar and the cocoon, I have been involuntarily flushed out into the world; not even aware there was such a thing. I have not been given any time for any type of assessment in order to evaluate my inclination to participate in such an unpredictable setting. But does betrayal enter into this? I consider Her to be a part of me. In Her hands I am safe. The jolt of the sudden quavering of Her joints does not trouble my naïve mind, but only provides further evidence of Her tangible existence: that She is with me now and forever.
She lends Her hand into providing support for my rocking head. I can feel each individual finger: reluctant to pursue further pressure against my fragile skull, Her soft palm erects upwards and cushions the base of my sensitive head.