I've never enjoyed it, occasionally despised it even.
Or rather, I thought I despised it.
I had no idea what it meant to truly despise waking up in the morning.
Or waking up at all.
But dreams are just as bad as reality, or worse.
And when I begin to fade back in, its quiet.
I expected frantic screams, running, more bangs, sirens, hysteria. Chaos.
But there is nothing.
I lie there, covered in dust and blood, i don't even know whose...
I don't want to know whose.
I don't want to hear, see, feel, do, or know anything.
Give me envy, give me malice, give me a break...
Give me denial, sweet, sweet denial.
I slip back into unconsciousness, but something pulls me back, insistent, almost desperate.
Please, please I'm begging you don't make me, DON'T MAKE ME!
I am screaming as the Cheshire cat fades away, stripe by stripe.
The rabbit insists he must go, he's very late.
The Mad Hatter and The March Hare are frantically trying to help me remember whatever it is that makes me so desperate to stay in Wonderland, or Looking Glass, or wherever we are.
The Door mouse puts the jam on his own nose and goes to sleep, I am achingly jealous.
And then Alice...
Bloodied, bruised, with a canon hole through her from her husband the tardy rabbit...
'You simply cannot stay here darling. Even I had to leave Wonderland...'
And so I am back in the real world, though it is not the same world it was when the director called 'fade to black'...
It never will be, never again.
I know this, but I can't remember why...
So I just lie there, covered in denial and a strangers blood, paralyzed by terror.
Until I feel a hand touch mine, moving of its own volition.
I hear a voice, that sounds like an actor doing voice in a cartoon.
You know that you know that voice, but it sounds different, you can't place it.
It's you, I finally realise, but not you. Forever tainted by these moments, the wounds are showing already. But you are speaking, which means you are breathing, which means you are still here.
For your sake, I'm not sure if this is good or bad.
I'm terrified that I'm dreaming and I don't move...
But then, I hear you start to cry, ever so quietly...
And I little bit of courage seizes me by the throat, as if to say
'You are making it worse, just because you're scared.
Don't you dare find a way to make this worse'
So I squeeze you back, and hear you catch your breath in response.
Is it beautiful or sad that you didn't let go of my hand even when you thought I was gone?
The Light Through Rafters
18 hours ago