|He was (foretold) wrote in repose,|
@ 2020-06-23 23:47:00
|Entry tags:||*narrative, burden bell|
|It was the stifling kind of hot that made him think of his momma fussing outside, sitting on the patio with a fan and some suntea on a table long-since faded. She was praying, Bible spread open on her lap.|
It was the stifling kind of hot that made him think about Kentucky grass tall and waving in a breeze that seemed impossible, given the heat. Far off, he knew his daddy was looking for him, and he hadn't never hid before. But he was small, lying in the tall grasses, knowing the switch would be waiting on him. There wasn't any God to be found here.
They were hard and unforgiving, the rocks beneath them, and it was hot as blazes. Not figuratively, but literally, it was hot as blazes. He pushed himself up from the rocks, and he found himself surrounded by red and flames, but they were in a pool around the collection of rocks, and he wasn't being licked by the flames at all.
Ahead of him, there was a big gate, wrought iron so tall that he had to tip his head back to see the pointed top, and that was when he was already standing on his feet.
He didn't remember how he'd gotten here, wherever here was, but there was something here that felt right and safe. He understood that he should be shivering with fear, but he wasn't. His head ached, just how it always did after a spell of the shivershakes, but he felt clear in his muddledness; this was right.
He was alone; there wasn't anyone near to him, but he could sense things around. So, no, he wasn't alone, but no one was showing themselves to him. But he was being watched, and make no mistake that he was being watched.
The gate was there, and he was clearly meant to walk toward it, but he didn't do that. He stood where he was, and he closed his eyes, and he tried to focus. Folks didn't end up in places like this without something coming before, and it didn't feel like some dream. He didn't think this was the demon inside him, putting him here; this felt different.
He tried to reach for religion, for any religion, but there was nothing there for him to wrap around himself. He felt the comforting blankets of those religions fall away and onto them rocks. His momma's religion, his daddy's religion, he thought those were just things scared people built for understanding, and folks got mean about things they didn't comprehend. The religion he'd learned on that island, that wasn't his neither. That belonged to a people that weren't his own, and the kind folks on that island had been wrong about him. He wasn't sure what he was, but he was real sure it wasn't anything either religion thought him to be, and there was liberation to be found in shucking off things with a certainty he hadn't ever felt before in his life.
Standing there, he recalled a chiseled man dressed in white. His smile wasn't real nice, but he also had the knowing that the man hadn't brought him there.
That man, he couldn't come here.
And, still, that big old fence loomed ahead. Behind it, far off and higher still, he could see the spires of a huge house. He reckoned that kind of house would be called a mansion, but it wasn't a scary type of looming. Nothing here scared him. The things watching didn't scare him, and the fire didn't scare him. He wasn't scared.
For the first time, he wasn't scared.
"I want to go home!" he called out. He was loud about it, demanding. There was no demuring in the boy standing there, his Alexander McQueen tattered and dirty. His cheeks were smudged, and his pale hair was mussed and wild. His pale eyes glowed cool in this Stygian heat, but he wasn't mousey or quiet any. He bellowed.
And just like that, no warning or time lost, he found himself in the middle of his room at the Seminary. He landed hard on the wood floor, and he grunted as he rolled over onto his back and looked at the ceiling overhead.