The inside of my head is a goldfish bowl.
Outside, indistinct shapes swim lazily through the shadows.
"What are they?"
I don't know who asked the question. Kathryn maybe. But if SHE doesn't know...
Myrtle is standing, facing the glass, tense and wary. She watches the dark things and doesn't acknowledge the question at all. To one side is a folding chair with a crossword puzzle on the seat, signs of a lazy vigil that has been interrupted.
Can they get in?
No one asks the question but it's there, heavy, waiting.
We know the answer, but accepting it makes it real. To accept the answer is to allow it.
A sharp snikt and we're looking within instead of without. Nagi is there at the heart, his robes making him look like some kind of samurai vagabond. He is, in fact, holding a katana.
A dark thing writhes behind him, sliced neatly in two, the hard edges of the cut at odds with its vaporous appearance. The parts twist into themselves and vanish with a hiss.
Nagi just stares at me. I understand.
Myrtle can guard the walls but the dark things, they are sneaky. They have ways inside that don't require entrances or permission.
But we know they are coming.
We will hunt them.
We will fight.
The inside of my head is a battleground.
#1me #5me #6me #9me #darkthings #inside
