run

one knows she lives in idyll
a cool autumn, emotionless streets
one knows this is her safe place
though the space she now inhabits
is much darker

there’s a loss of signal
of voices engulfed on a black stage
she struggles to make contact
smaller and smaller are the songs of her children
one knows she fears the terror of silence
one knows her jagged shape of fragility
one holds the weakness of her hand
“it’s o.k.” one says,
I am here.

you raise the oblong machine
balance it on vials of coloured fluid
orange-yellow, orange-red
is this your blood or elixir?
is this medicine for she who is ill?
the machine connects us to stage
you must bring through a sound, one that can stop her tremors
you adjust the tendrils, the cables, the male body, the female body
a voice, though vague, cuts through the shadows
a voice, though distanced, returns to her
returns her heart to idyllic scenes
a motionless street
branches in sunlight

one hears the sadness of orchestral strings
dragging melancholy, dragging feet
her child is a wounded feeling
curled and crying on the stage

“it’s o.k.” you say

I am here

you are here
genuflecting,
on bent metal grills
a coarse, filthy street,
scorched in yellow glare and heat
through the grills
a frightening stench
deep down within-
gaseous mud and rocks and unknown tunnels
drain of the nether-earth
rancid pools, cesspits, diseased and fluid from a lifeless womb

you adjust your kneeling, dreading a collapse
you are hiding behind the concrete block
hiding from the hunters

it’s the morning after
but you’re still running

you were a uniformed messenger
wrong place, wrong time
you find black gravy on the floor, worm like dead things
special forces wipes his stained hands on your shoulder
he blames you for the mess on the floor
there is anger, distraction, his weapon, poised and uneasy

you follow and study the spillage
you believe it’s a perimeter
something is wrong
something had marked out the boundaries

everyone is caught inside it

the convoy is arriving
an important figure, a president, a leader, a long black limo
this will be an ambush
no one would see it coming

you run.

it’s night

others are also running
one remembers the hunting
it’s happening again but in different form
you run harder, leaping from canopy to canopy
roof to roof
get away
turn the corner

you hear the start of gun fire
you fumble for your phone
you are tracking the medicine man
turn the corner
you run to the city

why are the other agents, jovial and drinking and oblivious?
laughing as you take one of their phones
you believe your phone is hacked
you cannot trust the coordinates
you search on-map for the medicine man

you do not ask to see
but you see
the figure of your enemy
the dark suited man of the mansion
looking down at you
associates, hunters, assassins by his sides
you know you had worked for him
this cold and devastating leader
you know he has turned on you
framed you
hunts you

and now, you are on the run.

#dailywriting2016, #irvingpaulpereira #oneiricnovel

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