Trust

I've begun writing this down many times in my head. For a while there I considered not saying anything, but for reasons explained below, I feel I must purge myself for fear of some unknown twitch or stab stealing my legs from under me when I least expect it.

As my older entries have divulged and the people close to me are aware, a long relationship was put to sleep some time ago. Intimacy was the first to go, affection was soon to follow and finally we were merely two close friends sharing space under the same roof. As things passed a state of no return, we took the difficult step, departed on amicable terms, mutual warmth intact, and went our separate ways. For a while I thought we'd both moved on with ease and the pain shifted quickly to mild discomfort and finally disappeared completely. Unfortunately there was more to this story, something which I was made aware of a few days ago.

For the last six months of said relationship, there were, shall we say, more than two people involved in concocting the cold breeze lingering in our shared domicile. I really don't feel like going into detail, but you get the picture.

And the end result? Confusing.

I will now admit to something I never thought would pass my lips: I don't care. Six years worth of memories have been stolen from me, tainted and soiled beyond repair by another's infidelity, yet it hasn't fazed me. Each corner of my heart is intact and the string holding my back skyward is as stiff as before. I'm not saying that because I'm shielding myself or because I want to snap back with passive-aggressive swipes. I'm saying it because it's true.

I've felt the strangest stings of guilt in the last few days because of it. This level of indifference simply doesn't feel natural. It's the first time I've had to encounter something like this (which is not to say such things haven't happened in past relationships; one can never be too sure), so I'm a bit of a tourist in all this. But I'm sure it should have affected me more. Unless...

Part of it is because I knew. Not conciously, not in a way that would lend itself to dialogue, but I knew. You can't live with someone for more than half a decade and not see it in their eyes when there's something tossing inside like a caged animal, completely torn between wanting to be released and staying in its sanctuary under lock and key. Part of it is because my desire had waned to no more than a faint simmer, something which I believe - nay, know - was a shared emotion. Part of it is because I've moved on to new things with virtually no growing pains whatsoever - another sure sign that things were well and truly over before the deal was finally sealed. Part of it is because the relationship had shrunk to a friendship, and no matter how hard you try, a mere friendship cannot function as the sole sustenance for a romantic relationship. Unfortunately that friendship is now destroyed, but that seems to be the only thing troubling me during the quiet hours in darkness.

In a striking quip of irony, Shadow Dialogue has once again played a part in this. My recent entries have painted a picture of a joyful and lively gentleman enjoying, among other things, the company of the fairer sex while waxing poetic on the lightstorm inside. It all served as some kind of catalyst for the burst of honesty that followed. My former lifemate had, after all, gone through similar experiences and (e)motions, but each heartbeat and soft touch was tinted with hues of guilt, deception and secrecy. My moral high ground is shaky at best, but at least I could walk away from the ashes without a myriad of lies pushing my shoulders to the ground. Honesty certainly has a destructive nature, but the ruin it leaves behind can also serve as fertile ground once the dust has settled.

While my words might paint a picture of inner peace & understanding, let's make something clear: I can never forgive her. This is something that will, in some way, haunt me for a long time to come. Perhaps for as long as I live. I'm not expecting or demanding retribution, but a pound of flesh is owed. Not to inflict more pain to the other player in this story, but to serve my sense of justice. That, if anything, has been violated.

Whatever insight I can draw from this is beside the point, an afterthought at best. I would've never wanted things to end on such a note, as there is no doubt in my mind it will cast a shadow on every word my heart speaks in the future. With this turn of events my trust in people is completely, utterly and thoroughly destroyed. It is smashed into so many tiny pieces it's no more than a pile of dust. I'm genuinely worried if and when infatuation turns into something deeper in the future. Whatever my reaction may be, it shall come shrouded in complete mystery.

I'd like to say this will strengthen my heart and make my skin thicker, but it won't. And I don't want it to. Goddamnit, I don't want it to! If I'm into someone, if my heart burns for their touch and my eyes light up when I see their face, if I'm into them full-steam, no holds barred - so be it. I am certainly aware that I can drive a woman into a corner by a mere glimpse of the passion inside, get her on her hind legs with the warmth of my words and drive her headfirst into the snow by being such a hopeless dreamer. And you know what? I wouldn't change that part of me for all the gold of the gods of the sun. Whether or not that's a quality worth praising or hiding isn't a choice anyone but I can make. I choose the former.

You know what? I'm actually a pretty fucking awesome guy.

Row, row

Quiet eludes me. Hammering away at some new shelves tonight I found myself unable to control the halestorm of strange, bewildering thoughts rummaging in my top floor. For a moment I thought I'd found a serene moment among physical chores, but it was not to be. I'm not complaining, but I'm growing tired of tracking down my concentration and nailing that fucker down for at least a microt. Sometimes I feel like I'm simply ill-equipped to handle emotions that haven't given enough clear indication that they're about to hit my screen.

This is all a sum of its parts, of course. Having lived in a somewhat stagnant world of knowing exactly what tomorrow will bring for so many years, these days each new dawn is a question mark. Being a single man with no day job and very little to tie me down is a lot to get used to (again) after such a long stint in the safe haven of security, not to mention resting upon the welcoming arms of self-imposed mediocrity.

As the more astute among you might have deducted from my previous entry, I'm a bit sweet on someone and it's playing hell with my already warped mind. Don't get me wrong, though: things are way, way up in the air and everything could dissolve before you can say "chemistry". I certainly wish it wouldn't, but you can never be too sure. I'm afraid I'll get burnt - as has been the norm in such situations in the past, albeit a distant past - and that friendships will be scolded beyond repair in the process, but I also want to see where this leads. I hate being vulnerable, but I also know that the safest option is always the least rewarding. Such notions have formed a strange balancing troupe in my head and the havoc that's ensued is quite a lot to take.

A buddy of mine and I had a heart-to-heart of sorts last night. Very little detail, very few words akin to true emotion and even less barebone honesty, but a fun little exchange of surprising twists and unforeseen turns behind the veil, straight from the horse's mouth. It was quite refreshing to talk about the elusive beast of relationships with someone taking notes from a very different kind of operating manual than yours truly.

Later, lying on my somewhat uncomfortable couch chasing sleep's slippery tail, I counted faces as some would sheep. How delightfully bizarre and surprising my world is; at least in terms of the people inhabiting it or making sporadic sojourns into my comfort zone. I mused on how small and thoroughly entagled all these circles of flesh and heartbeats are, their bounds drawn by desire, opportunity, chance and mere luck of the draw. I often marvel at how people find each other in the night. The protagonist in these stonewall lullabies bathed in smoke and streetlight is more often than not myself, yet I confess I'm none the wiser on what kind of turn the script will take on the next page.

A long time ago I had a dream about the nature of the social animal; of how everyone's lonesome struggle adrift upon the sea of time leads us into the arms of one another and how the ripples we generate with every single motion turn splashes into waves and waves into roaring tides. A bit of a naive notion, perhaps, but bear with me.

In the dream, I sat in a rickety rowboat under moonless skies in inky blackness. In spite of the darkness I could see the everclear stretching limitless around me, beyond sight and understanding. Endless. I heard voices nearby and afar, a veritable choir of human sounds, each familliar to me. I took to the paddles and began making my way towards a distant voice that filled me with warmth. She is there. Off I went.

As the surface of the sea began to writhe and breathe restlessly under my slowly drifting vessel, a myriad of colors and shapes escaped from all around me, filling my view. These are... mine? While I did not understand their nature, I knew these violent bursts of grandiose energy were my doing.

Each push, pull and turn I took generated a trail of light into another direction around me, and while I couldn't see their impact, I knew they would find their way to another lone soul. Perhaps a stream would disturb someone's enjoyable standstill, perhaps one would guide another towards an unforeseen tomorrow. Perhaps the ripple would turn into a tide and swallow someone. It wasn't up to me to guide the will of the sea, merely to make my own way upon it as best I could.

We row in solitude upon black seas of wild energy, driven by Ishmael's will and endlessly tempted by the sirens of desire. May your hand be guided by love and may you find, as I have, a bittersweet sense of serenity in knowing how wonderful this endless, terrifying journey in darkness can be. It won't dull the blade's edge when it pushes past your ribs, but there is something to be said about recognizing, understanding and perhaps even appreciating those force(s) that push you towards those warm voices we chase in the night.

Wavelength

The storm continues. What a delight. Overpowered by the foaming seas under an angry, spitting sky, I find myself looking up and laughing. Mouth full of salt water and eyes forced shut, my laugh still echoes in the night.

Had dinner with my ex yesterday. She thought I was a nervous wreck for some unnamed reason, since I couldn't stop blabbering on over the table. About? No clue really. My guess would be random jolts of absolute bullshit. I honestly didn't even notice that my mouth was going on and on. As I made my way home later I kept cracking up about how much of a goofball I must've seemed.

Strange things are afoot. Surprising, beautiful, dangerous things. The first two are self-explanatory to those involved, the third a necessary evil on a road peppered with pitfalls. There is quite a lot on the line. A lot to lose in the greater scheme of things, even if I'm not entirely sure what that would be.

If I'm able to find a moment of peace and clarity, it is swiftly torn apart by biting sensations of fear, joy, confusion, fulfillment, insecurity, you name it. Perhaps I'm setting myself up for a fall, perhaps I'm reading too much into it, perhaps the dreamer in me is already neck-deep in quicksand, perhaps the little poet boy is two steps away from the gallows yet again. But perhaps doesn't have a place in my vocabulary right now. I'm having a hard time giving a rat's ass about what anyone thinks and finding the experience quite envigorating.

I fight the urge to allow reason over the threshold with tooth and nail - this is the heart's domain. You shall not pass. I dig myself a quiet hole for contemplation, only to let the shovel fall with the realization that my mind has already wandered aimlessly to some other location. Off to catch the bastard, then!

Flashes of soft shadows and softer whispers, quivering bodies and hearts beating wildly. Of secret smiles and stolen moments behind the curtain. Sanctuaries in the dark, where you need not remember your name. Of moments of impenetrable intimacy amidst a sea of bodies, sound and light. Of wavelengths and words that made me want to lose control. My heart feels a small stab and I inhale violently. Terror grips me. Then my eyes open and I exhale with a smile. I am alive. Where are you? This is your doing as well. Tell me what measure of thanks you are owed.

I hope I don't fuck things up or drive any moment into a collision. I hope my mouth and usage of said weapon won't derail the train before it has left the station. I hope I'm not being pegged the fool, parading in the parlor with a paper crown and delusions of kinghood. I hope my heartbeat is understood for all its strength and fragility. I hope things will align themselves without tissue tearing and I can offer and receive a measure of something without threat or worry. I hope my lips won't tremble if I'm offered a kiss. I hope my words are heard by more than ears. I hope I'm allowed to feel warmth without knowing it's my own blood warming my exposed skin.

I hope...

LLR

The wind howls like a whimpering ghost behind the windowpane. My throat is sore from growling all morning and my eyes have a beautiful reddish tint due to lack of sleep.

Sometimes inspiration grips me like raging wildfire, igniting everything in my view with grandiose golden hues. Spiriting me onwards until my blood roars. The urge and the drive are tremendous, but resistant to the element of control. I tossed and paced around the room for hours until I finally managed to lock myself in the studio. After the long stint at aimless tinkering and doodling that followed I was finally able to get some work done on The Stranger's new material. I still feel so damn energized I'm surprised I'm able to sit still.

Sometimes the storm inside my head gets so furious I find it nearly impossible to channel it into my creative output. It feels like my heart is swelling to twice its size and my eyes burn with every sweet spark of light and dark that mold my brainwaves into streams of creative current. I don't know how to fully describe it, but it feels like the brightest light imaginable pouring out from my essence. It is a mad, grand emotion.

I feel so good it's almost ridiculous. Like I'm some sort of caricature of myself, buck-toothed, huge-nosed and all. If you're reading this, I'm pretty sure I'm in your debt in one way or another. My eyes are finally starting to open up to how many wonderful people I have the privilege to call friends. The Finnish language has more synonyms for "friend" and the emotional depth differs, but that is beside the point. I am loved and appreciated and I feel likewise in return. All I really needed to do was to let these emotions ride free. I'm absolutely horrible at trying to express my appreciation, so I'll cut the attempt short before syrup starts oozing out of my screen (or yours). But you know who you are - thank you. It's been quite the joyride these past couple of weeks.

That - not to mention a conversation or two with people whose opinion I hold in high regard - has also made me ponder whether or not I'm handling this journal business with reason. People have told me more than once that while they know the man behind the words, they simply can't recognize him from what is generally on display here. Having looked back at my entries I must agree. Shadow Dialogue has, for the most part, become somewhat of a sewage valve for the excess dark matter of the undersigned. This was certainly not my original intent.

To be honest and blunt with both you and I, these little linguistic exercises have very little value as a one-dimensional reflection of a pale and bleak glimpse into my world, so I will at least attempt to turn over a new leaf by not waiting around to have something to complain about before I pick up the proverbial pen. I assume (most of) the people who read this have at least a measure of interest in my personal life and/or have a place in my heart, and I feel I'm doing everyone an equal disservice by providing little more than eloquently illustrated grayscale imagery with very little contrast and vividity. I'll try to work on that.

Perhaps this warm breeze will blow away, perhaps I'm just a big softy at heart. Don't worry, I won't burst into butterflies or start channeling Fred Astaire. But if our paths have crossed in recent times and we've shared words, smiles or something else together, make no mistake: you've played a part in this. My gratitude is all I have to offer.

Revelations under black light

Tonight, I broke down and cried.

You might not think much of it, but to me it was like lightning ripping through the bottle. The last time tears have rolled down my cheeks was a decade or two ago. I honestly can't even remember. Through the years I've often pondered if I've forgotten how to cry at all, but to my surprise and relief, I now have my answer. As my head fell into my hands and a soft burning sensation filled the corners of my eyes, all I could think was: "This is happening. This is really happening."

The catalyst? Something as simple as a song; one that would probably mean next to nothing to you, especially after I've built it up to such degree. A song that spoke to me - to her - with words I hadn't been able to find, words I didn't want to utter... yet words I felt were written with my blood, standing as an audial mirror forcing me to dig deeper and, by effect, tear down a wall inside. A thank you disguised as a farewell, dressed in a eulogy. The act of unravelling gave way for something to flow unrestricted again, tearing itself through the cracks of this stone carcass I've unwittingly allowed time to construct around my vital organs. A painful yet liberating experience.

Though we hadn't felt the tender thorns of romance for a long time and I'm genuinely glad we can both continue our search for whatever lies beyond the horizon, I am absolutely terrified that time will gnaw away at the foundations and I will lose my best friend. It frightens me more than words can describe. As a result, my insecurities have ushered me into completely uncharacteristic, weirdsville-esque situations on a handful of evenings out and about. No doubt a byproduct of the walls and support structures of yesterday crumbling down and re-forming around me, but surprising and bewildering nonetheless. These sporadic excursions into the Twilight Zone have yielded positive and negative experiences, but they've been equally strange and alien in nature. I'll leave the gory details out for now, but let's just say I don't trust my self-control to stretch to its normal extremes during this time of shedding skin.

There is a lesson here - nay, more than one. Some discovered, some still locked away and others hiding in plain sight. That's the reasoning, if any, that shepherds me through the wilderness of my heart and grants me at least a measure of stillness in the midst of all this. I am a half-blind explorer charting treacherous terrain, an inept translator lost for words at the center of the myriad of my own nerve endings locked in incomprehensible dialogue with one another. One emotion confuses another, giving way to more questions that continue to stir the pot.

While I may be somewhat apt at exploring the stormy seas of my inward turbulence and subsequently recollecting the path I've tread for the edutainment of myself and others, I am an absolute novice at showing emotion. It's certainly not a macho thing or some such; my operating manual is simply filled with too many dead end solutions, wordplay and meaningless bravado for even myself to decipher the bottom line. From the cliché of being in touch with one's self has been erected a thicket of truly unconquerable terrain. What I know of myself I have often deducted and reduced from discussion with myself alone, often neglecting how important it is to have faith in the rewards of being bone-bare on the outside as well.

I certainly need to educate myself on where, when and to whom I open up to, but the pickings available to me are honestly too slim to fathom and sometimes I simply can't help myself. At worst, it is quite a sad sight - my tongue tries desperately to hide itself or my fists tighten in front of the keyboard, while I slip into a labyrinth of cold aphorisms and half-truths as I try - truly, truly try - to shine a light upon the bleak landscape within for others to see. My voice seeks comforting echoes, but is generally met with such disdain I want nothing more than for these shells of humanity around me, weighed down by gravity alone, to be swallowed up by the sky's hungry jaws.

Perhaps this lesson offers no depth beyond the indifference that seems to surround me like the river Styx flowing through the streets, alleyways and living rooms I pass by. Perhaps I am an alien in your world after all, simply ill-equipped to sustain myself in this climate. I don't know what to make of it all, but then again, the highest steps rarely divulge their secrets until you've climbed well past their height.

People shroud themselves in crushing disregard, stop pedaling and sink into the milk of featherweight trivialities, wrap their exposed skin in the comfort of the heartless and fill their eyes and ears with the tempest of white noise readily available to all wanting. And this I can say with all the might left in my heart - I will NEVER become one of you! I can breathe a little easier after such realizations, but it comes at a price of feeling even more like a fish out of water.

Most believe that the pale light is comfort enough and succumb to shiver in its depleting warmth, but for us blessed & cursed with wanting to peer beyond its harsh halo, it can be a very lonely existence.

Ends

We talked, briefly. Then the realities we'd finally come to grips with and uttered with shaky conviction strangled the air from our lungs and left us to dry heave yet again. Regardless of how little was said, each word still reverberates in the air like the echoes of a lonely voice from a mountaintop.

Her face contorted into nervous smiles and I suppressed not only my anger but my love for her, wilted as it may be. I tried to reconcile with myself to find some hidden jewel of resolution in all this angst and disharmony, only to find myself once again locking horns in a war of attrition between my slowly bleeding heart, the distance my thoughts have already travelled from this place and my own inability to find the mouth of this maze.

Words spun around the two of us and were left suspended in the air as blank and half-hearted statements of the stagnant status quo. A frozen prison we're both the manufacturers and prisoners of, wholly aware of these facts to boot, yet hopelessly lost on how to escape this predicament. Other than, well, abandoning everything. But after nearly six years, how can you let go without your flesh tearing off?

Perhaps there is still love here, but it's been cut into small, unrecognizable pieces and torn asunder, locked away in little boxes that litter our shared corner of the world. They are lost in a sea of similar boxes, hiding unspoken truths, slowly growing frustration, questions silenced by fear, words of endearment never uttered... So many things locked away and left to clutter the space around us. Between us. There is a very real wall here, a very substantial construct; one that stifles any attempt to speak freely and discourages the very thought of overcoming it by its sheer height. Make no mistake - all of this has been in the making for longer than I care to admit, but it's nearly impossible not to be crushed by the memory of how beautiful it all was somewhere in the annals of yesterday, no matter how sour and lifeless our gardens of stone have become.

Now I find myself living in an even quieter home with words drowning in sand before they pass through our lips, the only exception being that we've now established, vocally, that the breaking point has been reached and neither of us can draw the rabbit of salvation out of the hat. The heartbreaking feeling of warmth disappearing from our shared life is only emphasised by our civil and cordial behavior towards one another. It seems so contrived my spine twists like a headless snake.

Once, we were perfectly matched and beautifully aligned, more so than just about anyone else I've ever met, but no matter how many bonds we tied between us over the years, they are all crackling and snapping apart under the freezing cold. I doubt neither of us could truly pinpoint the whys and whynots, but it doesn't really matter at this point. We've come to a crossroads we simply cannot pass without pain and trial by fire. As hard as I've tried I can't see a way out of this.

The singular realization of how alone I truly am washes over me like an angry flow of mud while I sink under the surface by the weight of my own inability to find clarity. I feel numb, almost paralyzed. Writing these words down seems to mend my condition in some strange momentary way, as if I were applying a quickly dissolving bandage over an open wound. It's a remedy no matter how hollow, but one that is constantly overshadowed by an crushing sense of loneliness. That all this hurt disappears into a gaping black void of indifference and I'm simply a sucker for wanting to find something more. What I'm providing here by pouring my heart out, no matter how profound and heartfelt from my perspective, is nothing more than social pornography and a secure, distant window into my suffering. Reality TV down a notch (no moving pictures). I have no friends to call and there is no one to offer me any kind of sanctuary or comfort. That is not a call for sympathy, merely a statement of fact. I'm so tired of being strong in silence, strong on my own. Tired of being so completely fucking helpless to mend the situation in any way.

I have to gag myself so I won't start spreading discomfort by wallowing in my woes via whatever social channels are available and around me. I dread the notion of voicing what I'm going through, as I fear it would be nothing more than an invitation for ridicule and apathy to slam the door in the face of my silent search for compassion. Then again, would I deserve more? I find myself fighting a losing battle against an unbelievably idiotic yet frightfully strong sense of my self image. I don't want to come off as a whiny little bitch, so what do I do? Shut off. Clamp down. But then again, who would I open up to? It's a rusty merry-go-round rife with irony and jetblack humor.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

It's pathetic, isn't it? I can't even muster up the strength or conviction to open my mouth anywhere but surrounded by this blank space, groaning bitterly at the great unknown like a teethless alpha male shaking his fist at the mirror. As the prospect of isolation looms in the not-so-far distance, I find myself growing so angry at myself and how I've left so many of my better angels to wither at the wayside. Just about every relationship I've been able to build and maintain feels like little more than a fair-weather friendship and I'm locked in a complete standstill between my inability to trust and my quest for companionship. I suppose it's not all entirely my fault, but I can only speak on my own behalf.

Perhaps I'll continue the dreamtale one day. Perhaps not. Inspiration eludes me and I it. For now, it's for the best, as drawing even a breath of imagination comes at a high cost as every emotion I strip bare is instantly surrounded by shadows and thorns. All I seem to be able to do is let my conscious self fly away while trying to dig myself a little hiding place in oblivion. I feel like a complete coward. Perhaps I am nothing more.

The strangest dream, part I

I looked up. The sky was as blue as the Mediterranean sea, as soft as the softest pluck of the string in the most soothing love song. In the horizon, far beyond any length of distance I could imagine, a slowly moving torn blanket of clouds lined the edge of the world. As I watched it flow gently from one reach of my view to the other, I imagined an endless stream of formless nomads walking towards a land undiscovered. One they would never reach, eternally thankful of the everlong journey.

I peered down. I stood in black water that seemed to stretch beyond the furthest floor of the deepest point, flowing up into the sky on the other side of the world. It looked like a sleeping sea bathed in moonlight, quiet and calm yet so unyielding and impenetrable. So close you could reach down and pick the stars from its surface, yet so vast and mysterious you could never find its hidden treasures. An invisible enigma hidden in a glass jar. Your heart could freeze in awe as its immeasurable ends whispered silent truths about how small you truly are.

Yet I hadn't sunk beneath its waves.

The waters began to twirl and writhe as if trying to hide some ancient unquelled turmoil beneath a masque of slumber. Trickles of water flowed over my feet and between my toes like little serpents, silky and playful. I let out a shy, muffled laugh, yet grew quiet quickly as I realized no echo came to meet my voice. As I looked around for land to no avail, the dead wind swept to life, carrying a greeting.

"So you found your way."

A disjointed, furiously reverberating voice spoke with soft words from afar and close by, yet I saw no one. It was as if the voice stemmed from the sea, from the sky and from my own body, resonating wildly around me like a jolt of light shot into a room of mirrors. My head swung with fast, curious thrusts as I peered in every direction, then again, then once more for good measure. Only the still skyline was gazing down upon me.

"Yes," I replied with a trembling voice, "I believe it was the jackal that guided me here."

"Ah, that playful wretch," said the voice. "A hard one to tame, yet never a hair's length less than exactly what it is. Perhaps that is the lesson you seek here."

I looked around again, searching for my hidden companion. Then I suddenly realized something: the sky was as bright as a summer afternoon, yet the water was as black as midnight. Locking eyes with my reflection upon the water's surface I shuddered with shock and shouted: "Why is my hair gray? And my skin, why is my skin so pale?"

"We do not understand your 'colors' or 'time' here," the voice replied. "These things are alien to us. What we make here is what you make here. You guide us and we deliver as best we can."

"Perhaps this day finds you feeling gray and pale."

I rubbed my cheek and shook my head in confusion. Looking down to see if I had truly seen what I thought I had, it occurred to me that my right eye seemed to be glimmering. I crouched down and opened my eyes as wide as I could while exchanging bewildered looks with my reflection. As the faint sparkle grew and grew, I realized it was something rising from beneath the waves.

"He will help you," the voice said. "Have faith."

I stumbled backwards as a small human body flew from the splashing water and took to the sky with a trail of spatter in its wake. It tossed around and shook aimlessly like a leaf caught by strong wind, like a bird escaping from a lifelong cage. Then it suddenly stopped, turned and began descending towards me. Dripping wet, the being was white as ivory and stood no higher than the length of my arm, crowned with hair so golden it looked like fire in slow motion. It had no eyes or lips, no curves to carve or fill its body, no lines or wrinkles decorating its frail little shell. But in the strangest way... it seemed familliar.

A low, tender voice crept from where its mouth should have been: "Skin. Call me Skin."

I tried to reply: "But..."

Silencing me with a swift gesture of his hand, Skin sunk back under the waves and said: "First and foremost... first things first."

A flash of burning pain slashed my back as my body began to twist and contort uncontrollably. I lunged forward as my head pulled back violently, then the other way around. Grasping at the emptiness around me, I could only hear my teeth grind as my sighs became groans, then screaming. A rush of warm blood spilled through my skin and onto my back as the sound of ripping flesh and crackling bones made my stomach turn. My cries turned into a bellowing howl as my spit and tears trickled down, creating small rivers of spiraling technicolor nightmares with the streams of blood running down my arms and shoulders. I fell to my knees whimpering. My hands sank under the surface and the cold water shocked my senses.

I forced my eyes open and saw the silhouette of giant red wings pertruding from my body. Skin appeared again, twirling his hand like a magician at the apex of his most prized illusion.

"There. That's better."

Steeling myself, I lifted my head and stared at him. In his faceless face devoid of expression I saw a mirror for my own determination, spiriting me onward. My mouth widened into a ferocious snarl and a final tear ran down my cheek as I willed the wings to move. First a small wave, then longer strokes, then smaller sways again. My heavy breathing grew like a crescendo of white noise, so thick in my ears it sounded like the murmur of angry thunder.

Each motion whipped my shivering body with sharp agony, yet the pain was slowly becoming bearable. I clenched my fists so tight my nails broke the skin. I arose from my knees and then, ever so slowly, off my feet.

Skin signaled me to follow. Without hesitation, I did.