#cypposting

I wonder if the Real Characters ever feel this way. Do they feel as trapped as we? Do they have desires that do not align with their Purpose? Regardless, I wish I was one of them. It would be better than the existence I am consigned to now. Do they ever wish they could be one of us?

The image of the friend, the masked one, the one you’ve known for years, ripples before your eyes as he begins to… how to describe this; coalescence? He begins to morph, shift, skin shearing bloodlessly, cleanly separating his limbs by the joint, light pouring viscously from the cracks, pooling on the floor, burning through the ground to the stars, the universe below – you see his bone, black, is it bone? His substance, no, it disintegrates, forming shards that fly out into the air around him, forming dust? No, not dust, a cloak, of manmade- not manmade, unnatural- not unnatural, hyperreal- shadow, solid to the touch but liquid in motion and translucent as gas, as the air around it – the mask cracks, shatters, reforms, expands, disconnects, neon brightness, a colour you can’t quite describe, forming thick-thin-inexorable lines in the ceramic- ceramic? It was once ceramic, can it still be classed as such? With the material – what is perhaps material and yet entirely unlike anything on any of the mortal planes – the new fabric joining the dust into something unnatural, divine, cleaves of light, blindingly present- you nearly miss the way his back seems to fold in on itself before it bursts, one moment you’re looking at skin and the next the stars and the galaxies and everything that is or was or ever will be is yawning out of the void that should be in his spine, wings of something, is it fit to call them wings? Burst out of what once were ribs or what once were elbows or what once were thighs or what once were ankles until you no longer know what is this Being, this Power that has been leaked and what is your Friend – but who was he, when you asked? What did you ever know about him? This ash-grey-fire-blue-snow-white-neon-green-universe that exists in your view is not and was always he who you lay with and spoke with and shared your soul with and yet he is never, was never, could never be this Thing you see before you- and then he speaks your name – not speaks, Projects, somehow, and not your name, your Name, inexorably, its voice shatters through all understood law and science and belief you ever had and you are aware, suddenly, that you are nothing, you were nothing, until now – now you are a possession, you are His, and that’s all you will ever be, the only significance you have ever had is that you Belong to it, and it laughs, grins, face hidden, what face? It has no face, it has no physical manifestation yet it is here, it is before you, and you Know that it smiles a smile that you know- no you don’t know that you know you don’t know and you are claimed, and all that once had meaning fades, and nothing remains, nothing, if there was ever anything, for what does it mean to exist when you Know it exists before you, when you had the opportunity to be with it, be part of it and you let it disappear, and it is no longer there, and it is everything, and you are no longer anything, and you are nothing.

A shimmer of sound, it offers itself, and another, it shines into the dark, it gleams and another joins it, dancing they twirl and waltz and freely setp about the high ceiling, reflecting down, depicting joy and pastoral light, of meadows and sheep and springtime sun, of wildflowers and heather and small creatures, of twirling skirts and singing softly, of existing in peace, it settles, warm as light, across the shoulders of the people, inviting them to join the dance, to sing in their mind of fields and glens and softly rolling hills and rabbits and twittering birds and guides them there with gentle hands, until at last, only moments pass, and a few last mourning, hopeful sounds do soar ringing about the hall, returning to me answering my unasked question, mirroring their unspoken calm, and I'm kneeling, still, silent.

A quiet wheeze, like a laboured breath. Burbling, quiet, muffled. The hum stops. Another clink, metal against glass. A huff, and tinkling, raising in pitch. A soft thud. High pitched clinks, soft, in quick succession. Silence. Another soft clink.

The stars over the bay - countless, blues and oranges and yellows and whites and reds - beam across the miles between us, reaching my eyes, telling me something- small, uncertain- about the people over there. Windows, car lights, street lamps - hard to say from here, but they glitter and glisten in the damp air, hazed over by distance and humidity and the lenses of my eyes. They contrast in every way against the bluegreyblackness of the world around them - not bright enough, here, to light the sky, but enough to hide the stars - or, perhaps, it may be cloudy. I know there are horizons there, hills and houses and trees and wind turbines, but they fade into the sky, shaded by the earth itself until it blends into one. A red light blinks rhythmically. A yellow light pulses. A pair of lights, blue and yellow, flash alternately. A white light slides slowly leftwards, blinking out at random intervals. A particularly bright light sits to one side. There's a gradient, too - it exists on a different plane, paling the lower corner of my vision as I look across. And it is framed, with black then white, if I choose to zoom out. Looking slightly lower, glimmering streaks of light murmur across the smooth surface of salt water. It looks metal, solid, opaque from here. As opaque as the sky and its infinite empty-fullness above.

Lift. Move. Down. Shift. Lift. Move. Down. Shift. Use the cane as support. Lift. Move. Watch where you step. Down. Shift. Weight's on the other foot now. Lift. Move. Lean on the bannister. Down. Shift. Focus narrows. Lift. Move. Your head goes slow. Down. Shift. Lean against the cane. Lift. Move. Down. Breathe. Shift. Lift. Move. Down. Breathe. You remember how to breathe. Shift. Close your eyes. Open them again. Lift. Move. Down. Lean against the wall. Shift. Liftmovedown. Pause. Halfway. Continue leaning against the wall. Shift. Liftmovedown. You have a cane. Push yourself up. Pullliftmovedown. Pause. Breathe. Stand up straight. Head up. Breathe. Shift. Breathe. Lift. Move. Down. Hold onto the bannister. Shift. Lift. Move. Down. Shift. Look at the step in front of you. Let's stop thinking of lifting let's just- Place. That's better. Lean against the cane. Raise. Place. Shift. Lean against the bannister. Raise. Plave. Shift. Raise. Place. Shift. Breathe. Raise. Place. Shift. Raise. Place. Shift. Ra- no, wait. There's no more steps. Don't fall. Go down- yes. Like that. Lower yourself down. Lean on the wall. You're on the floor now. But you're upstairs. Breathe. You remember how to breathe. Close your eyes. Let your head return. You will move when you're ready.

Brain says you're permitted. Brain says it understands. Brain says you're okay. You say you're okay.

The world turns, only slightly you think down is still down. The sound goes hazy, and white noise rises. Your eyelids threaten. Your head spins. Blink. Focus! You shake your head, but clarity evades you, and mist returns. Fog, obscuring your hearing, deep underwater, and a soft blanket soothing your nervous system. It responds, slowly, uncertainly, like it can no longer hear you. You blink. When did the room become so bright? And fog, subsumes your vision, there's a sensation somewhere you think, perhaps, but thinking is so difficult, and focus, focus! You're meant to be doing what, exactly? A voice calls, maybe, somewhere away, over the rainbow- ha- you're over the rainbow, or somewhere but if anyone's flying, it's you, because the ground certainly isn't nearby and your head is full of clouds and you're sure something was meant to happen, somewhere but you're so tired, and when did you close your eyes? No, you don't remember having eyes, or a body