Peregrination

an excerpt from OMEGA POINT

Her fingers brush past your hair, pushing into the back of your scalp. It exposes you, the vellum all but parts itself, her hand now submerged in your head. You can feel her soft touch caressing the switches and strings inside, playful, she tugs one. Your head goes fuzzy, warm, what you’ve always wanted. She flips the first switch. You can feel the stars in your eyes bleed out, your structure shifting. Another flip. Something is pulling on you now. Cushioning against your back. Flip. You can’t see anymore.

It’s then that your molecules align in such a fashion that the two of you are able to simply, gently, slip together. You become one. You fuse. You’re she. She’s you. It’s inexplicable how easy it was, how quickly the process snapped us together. It’s better this way, we think. No more fretting over who has the blankets, if I can have a bite of yours, no misunderstandings. No, I think it’ll all be easy sailing for us now. We’re in this together.

Idiot. Who said that? Huh? Is someone else there? Who are you? Huh? How’s that? Are you comfortable? Where are you? Are you there? Who’s that? What do you mean? I can’t get out. I can’t get out. I can’t get out. I can’t get out. No. She can’t. No, I can’t.

Your molecules bristle, bruise, spurn her touch. Her touch. You want to breathe. You want to feel. You want control. You revolt, you rebel, but you’re in too deep. You can’t just break apart, it’d be the end of you both. We depend on us. Contingency. Together. Forever. Ensnared. 

Please, you rasp, you gag, you plead. God, I beg you, you ask, you demand, you shout. Rip out your heart and show me. Show me you care. Show me your love. Me. Show me it. You want so much and give so little. Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

You feel so small. Not insignificant, no, but miniature. You gawk upwards, a spiraling world neverending hangs high overhead. You reach out, but are granted no contact. It flies upward, away, far away from you. She’s here. She picks you up. This isn’t so bad, you think, as she slips you into a pocket. Her housekeys are in here, and as she walks, they begin to ram their jagged edges up against you. Help! You scream. Help, please! Her hand fishes you out, inspects you. Disgusted, she tosses you aside. The fall is so long, you feel like you’ll never hit ground.

Another switch is flipped. Her hand is now tracing the contours of a wire, where does it go? You can feel her touch going up, up, up to your brain stem. Not there, surely. No? Why? Her, not me. You shudder. You feel the goosepimples climb up and down your arms. Please, one more. You ask. Please. Just one. She tugs. Harder, please, you ask again. Again? Yes, yes, so eager.

You find yourself having long abandoned any further ambitions. A miasma permeates the room, clouding your senses. How long has it been? You check the clock, but it’s only been a few minutes. She turns over, coughing up muck.  You check the clock, but it’s only been a few minutes. An hour passes. You check the clock, but it’s only been a few minutes.

You watch the screen fuzz and waver, rows of telephone poles dotting the image. The shot goes on for what feels like eternity. This pole is amazing, you think. You’ve never seen a pole quite so good. How far can we go? How deep is it? Her hand still goes further in. There’s so much of you, she whispers. You wonder if she’s there at all. Is any of this? Let me have another one.

How can I help you? You ask again. You ask a third time. She doesn’t respond. She prods you. She pokes. It tickles. Her hands around your throat. There’s only one left, she says. You cry. You dance. The flowers rain down atop you, each picked this morning, dew freshly dotting their petals; a neverending torrent of consumption. More, more, more, baby. That’s okay, you say. Go ahead, you beg. This’ll be the last time, you lie. She flips the switch.