To Fix a Broken Heart

Alois

Darkness. It's all around me, and has been for a worrying amount of time. There is nothing to see or hear, smell or taste... But I can touch. My hand can reach out carefully and my palm will be sliced open by a broken shard of glass, or enveloped in lace, frills, ruffles and furs. My fingers will slide through a liquid that I am certain is blood. I can touch my face, and feel the tears that drip from my eyes. The most torturous part is the spiders. The creature that caught me in its silken web, and ensnared me with more force than I possess in my entire body. I cannot see them. I cannot hear them. I cannot hear my screams as they pitter-patter over my skin, brushing over my eyelids, running between my fingers and toes and tickling my stomach. They aren't there for long. But they visit me frequently. I have grown to anticipate their visits with earnest, because of what comes afterwards. After the last spider has sauntered away from my shaking frame, my head is laid down on a pile of the softest feathers. I can reach out to touch them, grab them in handfuls and hold them to my abused face. A hand is run through my overgrown blond locks, separating the tangles with ease, as another brushes the tears from my cheekbones. A cool gust of wind fills the space, as if a window has been opened. I can finally close my weary, unseeing eyes and drift into a dreamless slumber. After all, they say that dreams are recollections of the day's events, but if you did not know what was happening, could you remember it?