I have just deleted today’s blog. I let real life interlope on this space again. Why would you want to hear me ranting about such things? You don’t know me. You don’t care.
You. Fucking. Don’t. Care.
So where do I go instead? Maybe the stratosphere. Maybe outer space. Perhaps inner space. It’s a picture show, a peep show, a quick peep in my knickers, or a virtual grope.
Go for it! Make my day.
I seem to have given up on romance, even fantasy – maybe that is why I can’t finish The Cult of Hahn. Poetry is a crutch. It isn’t writers’ block. It’s full-frontal TMITLT (Too much inspiration – too little time.)
Here is something new that might make it into Out of the Frying Pan.
Erewin struggled to stay afloat. Whatever had grabbed her ankle wanted to pull her under. It felt like a hand, but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.
This wasn’t water either.
It was thick, maybe like blood, but it lacked the coppery smell. It had the distinct odor of – she shuddered – semen. That couldn’t be true either, but if it was … she counted. If it was, she had been partially submerged long enough. She was probably pregnant or would be soon. Who could produce this sea of sperm?
She kicked at the hand with her other foot. The semen made her ankle slippery, the hand couldn’t gain enough purchase to pull her under.
What would happen if it did? She couldn’t see land in any direction, and she couldn’t remember how she arrived here. She had awoken floating in this sea under a midnight sky and two crescent moons.
She didn’t recognize any of the stars either, but maybe she just couldn’t remember them. She couldn’t remember anything – except her name. She was female. She had breasts. She was naked. Her hair was blond and curly. She knew that, since now it was wet with slime. Everything was wet with slime, she had been pulled under a couple of times already. It tasted salty. Her skin was very pale, almost as if it had never see the sun. She was taller than average, but how could she know that? She couldn’t remember ever seeing another woman, and she couldn’t actually see herself in this silvery brine.
It didn’t coat her skin.
She couldn’t have known why that was important. Her blue eyes should have turned black with no whites, and her skin should be silver. Her hair should have disintegrated.
How could she know this? How could she know her eyes were still blue?
I am different from the others, she thought, not knowing who “the others” were.
“I am pregnant now,” she said aloud. The realization had come unbidden. When she had thought of the possibility moments ago, she suddenly knew that the deduction was premature, as would be her daughter, by precisely six days, four hours, and 27 minutes. She wouldn’t quibble about the 42.3 seconds. How she knew any of that perplexed her?
The hand let go, and her torso floated to the surface. A microscopically thin film of the brine covered her. It should have been silver, but it took her coloring. She touched her abdomen. It seemed dry, but was slick like nylon. Although the Aba hadn’t changed her, it had permeated her. This fertile Aba had reached inside and found a willing host. She was both one and separate from the Aba. The others had lost their self-ness and became fully one with the Aba, except for one other. She called herself Lena, but she was the incarnation of Aba.
How could Erewin know all this? She knew nothing, yet she knew certain things with a precision that was beyond human. Earth was a long way away, and she knew how far – to the micron. Earth was just a place that she couldn’t remember. A place that was important to her. She had lived there. She might go back someday.
Lena couldn’t, and that made Erewin profoundly sad.