I sit on my bed determined to make sense of this all. I’m in the hall way checking to see if there’s anyone else home. I’m in the living room at night. “Hello,” I say to the light switch, the lamp twist. The switch opens its goopy mouth in greeting and farewell. And on its tongue rolled out and slack, the Dark itself comes out to meet me, in coat tails and rags. The Night Sans Stars is breathing, edging closer; bringing the endless black as a blanket around me. I take a step, he takes a step, I take a step, she doesn’t. She’s stopped our little pleasant walk to meet our raccoon. Richard holds out his paw then leaps into my eyes. We wrestle in my head and I cry. I cry. And now everyone sees. They aren’t laughing, no, they pity me. And I vomit. I’m empty now and I feel brave again. Fill, Destroy, Release, Rinse, Repeat. Repeat. Repeat Rinse, Rinse Repeat. His hands, her hands, bend like mine. Just like mine, and they invite me to dance. We’re in my room and now he’s out to get me. We’re dancing. You bet. He ducks and jabs and tickles. He tickles and I scream, scream, oh how I SCREAM! “I’m so scared” and that makes it worse. These words that trip out of my mouth encourages Fear and she kisses me and blood gurgles from my pores like puss. I’m so scared. My tempur-pedic pillow holds my back, holds me back, and holds me forth. I want to run. I’m so scared. And with this admission I cannot move a muscle. The more I know, the more afraid I am. I see his shirt become torn apart by little scorpions in his chest. Xe* takes my hand with gusto and sweeps us to the parking lot. “Sweep, sweep, sweep” the brooms say as they as the mash the edges of light from sparse lamps together. The fluorescent bulbs never flicker and I fear I can trust them. We are bathed in light; we’re smiling, well nearly, and laughing in this light. This light, I’m blind.
