of sacraments, the medicine man and the two mothers

a descent into tunnels, the world below. escher steps, obsidian, polished, bringing me deeper, level by level, walking among voiceless souls. The roll of white paper in my hand contain the sacraments, to be consumed slowly but mostly never in public. this exposure is a freak of bravery, the showing of the hand in such exoteric company. an administration officer of the station, in red vestments, spots then rushes up to me. I try to keep the sacraments but she knows. she issues a complex threat. do not keep it, you’ve been caught, you have to eat it all immediately or there would be consequences.
 
I consume it whole
 
the scene repeats: same pathway down, voiceless people at my sides, the same people re-appearing, a chosen pattern, cycle and flow, the sacrament has taken effect. In my solar plexus, an ocean of stars gather and gleams, the microcosm vibrates, a complex turning of orbits within.
 
I sense the medicine man behind me, in the distance, a level or two away, always following, as if watching, studying. I walk the length to the next station, dark walls turning into night. above ground, I watch him descending an overhead bridge across the road. I understand I am in a red car, telling this entire sequence to four other people. in the telling, is my mental self repeating its motion through reality? do world events in some cognitive zone, recur with every memory? I am in the backseat as the driver slouches, body sideways, either overtaken by the effects of sacrament or by my presence, resonating with the sacrament. Someone asks him what year he was born, he answers in riddles and ciphers but I understand it. ‘1999′
 
in a pocket of other t Sime / other space/ the medicine man wants me to complete a worksheet for him. A page of sentences, numbers, fill in the blanks. I do not heed his request.
 
it is uncertain If i board the mini bus at this juncture or the car had become the mini bus. i find a woman known to be a sister, receiving black notes from a vague figure. i am reclined at the back the bus, next to a foreigner, a traveller, who is playing an electronic handheld game on involving the song of dragons.
 
i am then sent through a corridor. dorm like, or perhaps a hostel. was this jump between planes because of the traveller? was this person a portal?
 
a door opens, i hear the end of a directive being issued and the individual i am supposed to see comes out. I catch a glimpse of the room, surveillance equipment, and receive the knowledge it’s a radio base. He bids me follow him into the next bedroom, a room of mirrors. There is a large bed, white sheets and beige curtains, half covering a window to afternoon light and nothing. He has no shirt on. memory flashbacks in real time reveals his persona, this superhero, flawed, in half suit, so full of pain. He had spent the night before pacing the room with a small silver gun in his mouth. I laughed at his attempt at suicide, I made fun of him, mimicking his weak, weepy sentiments and cowardice, as he crawled into bed and laughed with me. I do not know if we made love.
 
in this same expression of reality, day has turned to night. there are maybe two women known as mothers. one had tricked me into staying behind at the resort (dorm / hostel) in the day. perhaps, she had sent me to see the individual. by night, she was far away from me. The other woman calls me from a car in the city. she and the husband had been saved by the other mother on detour. Just as I had told the story of the medicine man in the red car, they tell me of events in theirs (could the passengers be the same?)
 
i am not shown the violence. those precise gun shots and the number of fallen men. but i know what had occured. the operation had ben green lit from the radio room.
 
the mother woman on the phone said, “there’s one left, appears to be the leader, being taken into the house. I know he’s the leader by the way he’s being treated. everyone is interested in him. “
 
i understand he is handcuffed and exiting the unmarked van into a house behind the trees in the night. and it’s the other mother who has him in custody. I am not shown his fate.
 
#oneiricnovel #dailywriting #dailywriting2016 #dailywriting2016day23 #irvingpaulpereira
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