Saturday, June 9, 2012

Encephalitis

She had always existed to ward off the creatures that came out at night.

He creeps under the covers, reluctantly - as he always does now - and with the surrendering lights come the creatures he's trying to shield his eyes from, hide his eyes from - but they peel his eyelids open, crawling past the pupils, along the optic chiasm, and deep into his limbic system, where his own reaching fingers cannot breach and pluck them from his furtive innards.

The darkness finally encroaches upon him - fully - and the somnolent screams emerge - quietly - and no one can hear them - could hear them but her - the only one to have ever heard those monsters and beasts shredding neurons and dendrites - leaving him with nothing but infected dreams and pathogenic memories.

-M