Splashed awake in the shallow boardwalk water. This edge of the ocean that halts to a stop at a man-made border. I’m with the other-worldly but less-distant part of me shaped as a large fish with a gaping mouth and i’m flapping just out of the water. I’m holding it like a baby, or a briefcase in a tornado. Really clutching it and trying to protect it. I feel like i’m hiding - but free in split seconds, almost simultaneously. I feel you in my arms, and then you are gone, and i’m half hidden under the wood slats of the boardwalk.
My arms become empty - my knees to my chest replace this fish. And I peer up half protected, to see you cut through with a sharp edged tool attached to a long stick. This fish is dead and strung on your stick. You’re a threat. It’s you again, the third time in another world. And now i’m dead - this part of me that’s a fish. I gasp - it is reactive and I cannot control it, and this gasp reveals to you - that now it’s me who you’re after.
I’m already out of the water and half through the door of an ancient old building with fresh coats of paint. So many colours, so many shapes. Triangles, and squares, and circles, a rhombus. I dash through teal and blue, and climb out a pink and red window to try and innovate, and confuse you, and hide, and lose you. To hang off the windowsill, then climb up the facade. I end up in the courtyard amongst all the plants. The greens of the paint meld with the greens of nature. It feels like reality mixed with cartoon. Can I see you through this illusion?
You were there. In the square - so wide and open and windy. With the 4 us scattered in different corners. But you with your tall white outfit draping down. You are the vampire, standing there, out for blood. You have a strong gaze and a rope, and a gleam that I can see shimmer in your eye from a block away it almost blinds me.
You catch me every time. The first time there are 5. You, and the four of us. Beginning unknowing in the basement of my second house, the room always in renovation, the one never finished. It’s bigger now, it’s stretched out, and it feels like a cell, we can’t get out. There’s concrete, and some streaming, hanging cotton, and tile mixed about that feel like safe space, shined down and softened, like moments of humanity within a vast space of rough concrete.
There is a bath that we have, with a shower head, and there is a sink. And we need to clean ourselves. That’s what seems to be the need. I am in shallow water and I rinse my body clean. I am naked under a towel, as two of us argue about the situation. They don’t know how to get out, they don’t have a chance now, there is no water left.
An hour earlier I am baking bread - everyone is baking bread in a house with three levels that feels like a hospital so cold with harsh light - it doesn’t have this light but it feels like it. Maybe on the upper floors, but the lower floor is homey, and the stairwell is like an ancient church with early Sunday morning sunlight - warm, and filtered through the cracks of the wooden slats.
I am so desperate - I try to get your attention - your love back that you once would give me endlessly. I feel hopeless, and helpless and unloved entirely. But all you can do is talk to this guy - he has your full attention. We are all waiting for our food to bake. It seems endless - the wait. It’s slowed down and you’re consumed by the words of this person. I hear them loud and they sound cruel to me. And finally the stupor is broken, and you all gang up on me and spray me with hoses of sharp cold water.