She wakes from hours of perfection, the last vestiges of her revenge upon her betrothal reverberating in her conscious Drachira! The food of her eyes adjusts, ripens to the remote control of dawn. Blithe shadows play across the room accompanied by the dim buzzing of a neon sign outside. She feels a twinge in the beginning was a twinge a reverberation in the current of the universe. A voice from many leagues away, at last I have found you a voice that echoed from a far distant world, alien to her now. She traverses astral planes until she finds the foot print of the sound, but is met by reflection upon the reflection, as a facade of his presence fades into the depths of shadows. Please you must help me a vision evokes from her consciousness, a tattered vision, but the eyes, now the eyes she remembers. Could it really be him, is this all just a dream? A past connection at the periphery of her perception, the memory of her beloved and, with that vision, a sliver of hope emerges.

Languid, she tugs on the sliver chain holding her; although, merely ceremony, I lose control of this vessel she knows the consequences of breaking it. Her face shows a shade of frustration, a tinge of dystopia. The accumulation of days melds into a space of time that does not distinguish between a month and a year. Her days are filled with urgings as now the itching begins once again. She has trained her brain to shut off the addiction, but once the pin pricks, the craving begins again. Could she begin to believe in her last hope once again? She has fought it for so long, longed for it far too long that now there is barely a distinction between maintaining and acceptance. She is your mistress as well her Tony would be here soon to administer the concoction to ease her mind into the jelly filled doughnut of nonawareness, but for now she had awakened, as if from a dream. But the reality was not a dream; her world had been destroyed decades ago by a blinding streak of light and the rending of her very soul.

She rises from the bed, she doesn’t wish to tell anyone, But her life now has now become like trying to spread peanut butter across white bread, the tears and the ages are real yet unreal. She begins to pace within the confines of her chamber, the tinkling of the chain links and the unforgiving ankle shackle guides her, as she peers out of the window into the morning light. Somehow she knew in her soul, her beloved had traversed the continuum; somehow, he had found a way to travel to her. Oh where, oh where is my beloved? She watches as the splendor of the rising sun gives way to the dirty streaks of the morning sky…

 

      
                                                                 
Section 3
Section 1