I was in high school, and I would be in for the night. And with razors I would slit open the screen and open the window.
Escape.
I would prowl the night streets. Hunting for the scent of something. Some disaster, some adventure. More times than not I found nothing. Looking to moonlight and hoping for chaos. But that didn't stop wandering. Sniffing the wind, searching for something more.
I would slip into cool autumn air, wood stoves, leaves and sometimes snow on the air. I normally hate the cold, but the freedom was intoxicating. That sense that there is something on the other side of night. Something more than morning. Some kind of new interesting world, something more than dark empty nights.
And now I find myself plunging into those dark empty nights some times. I know there is something on the other side. I just need to take the razor and open the screen again. Sneak my way out. Put my nose to the wind and hunt adventure.
I walk from the K. and smell it. Cloves and disaster, and she tells me that she loves the smell of rum on my breath. Maybe she said I smell like a sailor, or The Sailor. And I ask with all sudden boldness if she wants to come home with me. She says why not, between parted lips, that I can not seem to resist.
And then she is gone. Like a whisper. Leaving only a scent.
So I walk. I feel like I should be slipping out the bedroom window. But I escape the dark and lonely and into the bright January moon. I don't so much walk as stalk. Looking for more adventure.
And I see the person crossing to the other side of the street. I want to snarl and laugh. Give chase and tell them that they were right to be afraid. That I am the dark in the night. They probably just see a lumbering drunken fool, but my self image is all bat wings horns and blood pumping veins.
Or hunt slow and calm looking for the chance to pounce. Just to give fear on top of fear on top of fear. Spit venom and tell them to clutch St. Christopher tighter, because the journey just got a little rough. Human Sacrifice.
Tonight I want to be in control.
And what I fear is that I never am.
That the wild eyes can never really be held in.
Not when I catch that scent on the wind.
File Under Vice.
1 comment:
i think i get it better now that i read it at work after i told you i was after better words. i am not after better words, i am after a better understanding of the things that happened and why. Why have made it as long as i have? by all reckoning i should be in a puddle of broken glass and plasma somewhere or burried, fertilizing some dusty corn field in western nebraska. there is a lot of dice rolling in our life i am suprised the One hasn't called for my suitcase yet. i am glad It hasn't. there are many stories to tell. many stories to have, our lives are living fiction. it makes me think about what makes things real and unreal. i know there really isn't a prince caspian like there is a CS Lewis, but who knows. you rang the bells with this one.
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