A Mutual Understanding

Life trickles away, I watch it escape, like a last gasp, in the cold, frost on the air, blanking out the blanket of prospective poppies, clutching at my lungs, you can see it.

Hang there.

And it does, for a time, you watch it and see my soul. I see the end rushing up to hit me, the bottom of an elevator shaft, the sidewalk flying up to meet me, experimental skydiving, my teeth broken, digestion track spilled out onto the pavement and mingling with assorted kidney beans.

Just like the Jelly Bellies I enjoyed as a child. Wading through the weeds, stalking like a cat, on the prowl, in the creek bed, watching the winding willows. I am soaring to the tune of Learning to Fly, praying I'll never come down, drug induced euphoria equates into constant spinning, the child's high--getting dizzy. Playing Ring Around the Rosie.
Debating about the lyrical meaning--the song's origins.
Was it the plague?

In the woods where you hover above. An angel of sorts, watching me with interest--too intently--boring holes into my skull, spilling out the insides, popped, pricked, a birthday balloon exploded, pigmentation splattering across the ceiling. The clown is dead, the imposter is destroyed, its laughter lingers. A unisex transgender innuendo.

In the night, where things go bump, you encountered me. I didn't complain as you led me astray, into nothingness. I tried to find the answers to those everyday questions, haunting me, like the spirits of these lands, long withered and awaiting life to return. The prophecies held true--this end is a new beginning.

For me at least.

It's all a game--decadence or acceptance--ever the outcast, longing for the change I am unable to complete. My despair was your fulfillment, and your superiority was only assumed. For the moment. A kind of temporary fascism, worn like a glove for a full body cavity search. But then, you would like that. I try to find compassion for your understandable actions. I don't like me very much anyways. But you wouldn't know, because you never bothered to ask. Don't shoot the messenger. That's what they always say.

I begin to wander over the planes I long since attributed to an abandoned astral flux. Soothing me, but confusing me at the same time--a reversal to former selves. Shed like skin. Clippings.

You know.
Fingernails?

Or do you just let them grow? You need to cull the pack--weed out the undesirables. That's how it goes in an aristocracy, but here it's just happenstance. I feel this exchange has completed you.

But left you wanting more.
More than you can stomach.

I desire to explain everything to you.
I make my attempt

(gurgle.)

Oh by the way, did you know?

(gurgle.)

That's OK, you wouldn't understand, even if I did. I never thought it would be like this--thought it would be ages ago, all of my friends fading around me like illusions. Then the medication. Double the dosage, force feeds, eclectic electro shock, but nothing helps. You see, I preferred it that way--to remain aloof.

Did we really just meet?
Cross paths?

Have you had your eye on me? All clothed in white, the way you look at me, as these seconds stretch on forever. I commend you for your curiosity. Be careful because I am sure this could get you into trouble. Eventually. You have to think long term. Have a plan and all that. I thought about dappling in it back in the days of behemoths and dragons, leviathans the lords of the deep- giant squids. Please, stay away from sea food. If you could only read my mind, or my eyes, then you would understand. I know your strength, I have seen the fire in your insides escaping, waiting to violate me. Of its own accord. No need for excuses--I know all about it.

Why else would I be here with you.
In the space of this one breath.

(gasp.)

You should hurry, they'll come for you soon. Leave the country, dispose of those clothes, get rid of the knife. It's OK--really--you don't have to worry about me, I'll stay here. The blame will be square on my shoulders, because an elephant never forgets. But you don't have a trunk with hundreds of thousands of muscles, now do you? I like peanuts though.

I need to prepare for the climatic end to consciousness--or at least, that's what I've been told--through holy books, and scriptures, and things other people thought were right. I don't complain as you prostrate yourself before me, but really, I am in awe of you.

You could bring yourself to accomplish something.
A real go-getter.
You'll go far in this.
I can tell.

Maybe if my kids had ever come to visit, I would feel differently about this situation we find ourselves in.

Go find a job in another hospital, like the one that has become my home, playing the role of the kind orderly--but then, you knew I wanted this, even if it was just to see the look on our faces, third person, as I exit body in that divine moment, where I'll say goodbye, no longer infest the earth with poisons they sting away with needles and condemn away with commandments.

Everything is precious.
Everything is meant to be.

That's why I can pretend to smile as you finish cutting my throat.

Written by Jason Glover

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