The sky filled up with darkness on that winter night, and then the lights started coming. How could I miss the silver radiance of the arms reaching out from across the fence to touch me? It was a moment of pure decision. Should I let it last? Or go back into the sanctity of my home.
The way across the grass was rippled in the radiance of the lights above. They would all think me mad! They would laugh and say:”Mad old lady!” I stopped, and the arms came about me. There was nothing mad about the feel of those arms. Madness would have been rejection of the experience.
Then they lifted me up, and I saw the great pink mouth of dawn. I was breakfast, not company. With a polite cough I leaned over and bit that ripply appendage that held me. The liquid that ran from the wound was like rain water.
I was dropped, and home, and called it a dream. Did I dream it or did it dream me? I never told and never knew.
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Christine Emmert is a novelist, poet, and playwright who likes the challenge of writing in many genres. Her work has been published in three countries. Her novel, ISMENE, came out in 2004. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, Richard, three cats and a dog.
1 comments:
I was breakfast, not company.
I like the evolution of this story and the calm, casual tone of all the events expressed. It lends the piece a dream-like quality that really resounds with the last lines.
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