Waking Up, Wanting

I dreamed of her the other night.

This girl that has wormed her way into my mind. This girl that has ensnared my heart.

The dream was vivid and colorful, bizarre and outlandish. There was singing and dancing, even choreography for the love of God. It was a bona fide horror drama, a macabre musical and I was the central character.

It all took place in some kind of nightmarish bungalow which served as the clubhouse for a newfangled secret society. The space was dingy and cluttered. Around every turn some piece of theater was on display — a dramatic reading, a contortionists’ dance.

A sense of ecstasy hung in the air mingled as it were with distrust, betrayal and danger. A wild lust pervaded the atmosphere. There was a want, an expectation of sex.

This was primal.

All of those gathered here seemed to share a collective consciousness of that fact, but it was never voiced aloud merely hinted at in whispers and winks, acknowledged in smirks and sneers.

Impossibly, I bounded on all fours as a beast, dashing through levels of the structure and crashing through ceilings, sending debris raining down upon rooms and revelers. No one impeded my progress, nor did I stop to consider the repercussions of my actions. It was all impulse and instinct.

Each of us bore some costume or body paint as to conceal our identity, but the disguises were a farce because each of us knew exactly who the others were. The elaborate outfits were for ourselves — a comfortable lie, a safe charade.

I myself donned a long, dark coat and upon my head was a hideous ensemble — thick tubes and large orbital sockets punctuated a jet-black gas mask. I was more monster than man. I stood on a small, circular podium and delivered some melodramatic nonsense that seemed to please the crowd.

When that bit of nickelodeon had concluded I departed the stage and sought her out. Her dark hair hung thickly around her shoulders. Her body bore vibrant splashes of color, her breasts in particular had been covered in a phosphorescent blue.

We walked.

She spoke.

I listened.

Her voice was full of confidence and clarity, but her words belied the broken sadness that dwelt within, a sadness mirrored in my own heart.

In costume we played our parts — a would be queen and a fool.

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