Delicately, my mind was selecting a muffled tune, out of the dead dark empty space surrounding me?
I saw a shape on a rock, not sure who it was; I had a sensitivity though, a feeling call it, or second-sight; I've heard that before, not sure if I want to put a lot of credence into it, but so be it, the sensitivity and numbness was there. I didn't' sense any danger in the moment, in the moonlit figure, sitting on the rocks, lurking, looking out into the deep. I did get an awareness of cramps in my stomach though, like centipedes nibbling at it-from all corners-at the pink and red flesh of my internal organs, stinging their poisonous little fangs into them.
I stumbled about in the thick foliage, lost in its prickly overgrown wild plants and mud, and god knows what else; in corollary, I came to the edge near the sea, over looking the aquatic, edge of the cliff, it was many years ago since I had been here. I zigzagged through the last of the bushes, carefully now, it was the rim of the cliff, and then got I into a clearer opening. I could only hear the noises of shifting waters now-the waters below me, as clattering waves hit, and splashed against the overhang-the sea cliffs, directly in front of me. It was but a few seconds after dark, behind twilight, yes indeed, it had disappeared, swallowed up by an agitated night.
Inscrutability always appears to bring with it a limitless amount of threat, does it not? A rhetorical question at best, sure it does, and that figure on the ?the tide was becoming more calm, the rocks were mammoth, and overlooking the sea, jagged and with fangs. The wind gentle over head, not like a few minutes ago, I mean it just unexpectedly evaporated. As I was about to say, the shape, silhouette on the huge rock, is still looking into the sea; it is like he is locked into a trance, or that I am but a worm to him, and too insufficient for him to pay any attention to me. He seems to be talking to himself, or perhaps some sea monster, just kidding-but he's talking to someone, something, and his head is pointed downward, down, down toward the sea. Save for the fact I am not in an illusion.
A fishing boat, no, no just a vessel of some kind, not sure why I said Fishing boat, how do I know, it has lit, a light on its deck, I suppose it's a deck, it is far off in the distance. I walked now, aimless I think, can't see much in front of me, lest I end up in the sea on top of that damn monster I can't see, only to find out it is real. Oh well, some shadows just left the moon a bit more exposed, but it gave me a little light. In September it is chilly here, I swear that stature has something to do with this mysterious evening. Here off the coast of ? my bones are chilled.
If you were to ask me: '?what are you doing out here?' I couldn't tell you, I'd not have the answer, 'doing out here,' what? Maybe that figure on the rock knows-he must be but a hundred yards from me now; perchance I'll find out soon enough, and so will you. I mean it is night, but not all that late. Conceivably I was drawn out here. I was visiting a friend, you could say, but only after I arrived. So what provoked me to take this little trip (again)-your guess is as good as mine. I have been to places around the world that seems to draw on a persons soul, agitate his pulse to the point he has to or he goes into-and ends up at, wherever he does-in this case here.
"Aye, good Master," I heard (a mumble) "?take the lot as it is?" this is what echoed back to me, the wind, yes the wind pushed it back into my ears from the spot where that unfamiliar person is, that figure on the huge rock looking, just looking into the-what I assume, the sea, a black hole in the sea, yes indeed, that is what he is doing, looking into a black hole into the sea, for some odd reason, I can see that now, or could, it just faded away, as fast as it came. Evidently, something else was, or I should say, is thriving.
-The form was looked proud with a ting of arrogance. I asked myself, now being but several yards away: 'does he have an inkling of my presence?' Who concentrates so hard, I mean look, he is asking the water of the sea something? Perhaps someone; I get the feeling he has lost something, and wants to bargain for it back-death brings out many wishes in man and beast: and he looks to be both. Or is he planning something; he is huge, awfully massive. I'll take a few more steps, a yard now, he should turn around I'd think. I'm sure he can feel my heart beating, I mean hear it beating, I can hear it myself.
Again and again I say should he turn around towards me he'd see me, then what? Now he heard me mumbling my thoughts, he starting some incantations as well. A pathway to what I asked myself-, now what, I'm right behin
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