[P] Somebody Went and Rewrote the Stars

[Nachzehrer]

 

“dear johnny, i can explain ”

Tiger Eyes,

I saw you at the party last night, we caught each other’s eyes, did you feel the energy or am I crazy?  I can’t stop thinking about you.  You were wearing a red cloak and standing next to someone boldly painted.  You caught me looking at them - the truth is, I was instantly jealous that it was not me talking to you.  I was wearing a silk scarf over my neck, decorated with copper and jewels.  

Your eyes were the color of the stone in my diadem that I wore last night - I know you saw it because I stumbled into you on my way out of the party while leaving.  We said nothing to each other, but touching you felt like I drank a bolt of lightning and swallowed a thunderstorm.  I wanted to kiss you, but you were on duty.

Meet me at the colosseum today, I must know your name before I leave town.


* * *


The night was not a complete disaster, I remember what happened with my date last night, she disappeared.

Yeah.

She walked out on me when she realized that I only looked expensive when in reality, I was not rich at all, I was hired help - but not for the party.  

Quite the opposite, actually. I communicate with the dead, you see.  And so, one of the house guests was having a difficult time and wanted to consult with me.  It was recommended that I come with a guest - so I found one.  Her name was Ratliffe, ( a stocky, insect-filled name if you ask me) - turns out she only wanted money.

I thought perhaps she might banquet on the voluptuous food spreads and endless rivers of spirits to drink -- but she was an escort.  Ratliffe had no empathy, she abandoned me once I went in with my client.   When I came out, I had nothing better to do than to drink and eat something sweet.  My client’s son was dead and she was convinced he was haunting her.  

He wasn’t.

She just consumed vast amounts of mind-altering elixirs, spells, and tricks - all things I consumed myself, but not enough to get myself haunted.  I can’t burn enough sage or tobacco to ward off addiction.  So then, what vicious circle am I in, to then drink until the despair disappears within me as well.  I am an empath, if you are sad then I am sad.  

  Never the less - the pivotal point of my evening happened long before all of this - I saw him.  You, and I don’t know if I believe in love at first sight but it feels like it.  Like needles working the precious metals into my skin - the feeling is certain.  It holds weight.  It remains.  It is hardly temporary.

That means that hours later, I’m still thinking about him.  There is always something mystical about a man who not only doesn’t smile, but doesn’t frown as well.  I met a man in the desert once, his face was so long he became the horizon and his eyes were the sun.  I would lay in his shadows and hear the stories of his history; both ancient and new, carrying on in the wind.  His breath burned my skin, his day time consumed me and by night I would be reborn again.  

Into the sand I die; from the sand I rise.

For awhile now I have wandered between here and there.  I pray, I laugh, I dance, I sing - I do everything in an attempt to forget about my life, or at least what I have left behind.  Hoofprints in the sand will not lead me back towards the life I lived, but the wisdom in my eyes is telling enough.  I spend all night intoxicated off of pipe smoke and fancy liquors.  

I think about the stranger whose tiger blue eyes (you know, eyes that shine gold?) held me for just a split second - I trace the outlines of his face in the words of my missed connection.  Before I know it I am navigating my way back into the streets, feverish in all ways of the word, fastening my laments anywhere that will hold my sorrow.  Parchment postings pepper the pathways I took to-and-from the party, hoping those eyes would See what I wanted them to see.

Can I know this man?

Will I know this man?

Standing in the colosseum, sober, is so ... ...

I can remember being two years old fighting for my own scratch of sand to own, how basic and primitive my life has always been.  I am an insect at the base of a giant alien creation.  All stone and drafting plans.  All careful precision and matterful intention.  All I hear are the voices of souls trapped within the walls of this venue, I keep my eyes down - I don't want to see the ghosts.  I just want to see ... ...

... ... I hear?


Hoofsteps,

They are scratching and grinding along the sand and stone, everything echoes on and on and on - like an old war story.  It never ends, and I am already walking towards the source of sound, driven by hope and curiosity. Someone draws nearer and nearer, their shadows begin to paint a story on the wall which carries their presence before them.  They are tall, they are strong, they hold their head high.  I stand there, just a dark stain against the whitewash of stone surrounding me.  If my heart is pounding I wouldn't know, I'm a million miles above it. 

Could it be this man?

Will it be him?

"I am here ..."

"...are you?"

N A C H Z E H R E R

 

@Ba'al First post in a long time, forgive me.