The Horrific Dream of Eight-Eighteen
The world lights up. The monster’s machine apparitioned, materialized, and became very real just above the trees in the near-morning, nearby sky. The dog was gone now, and too soon was everything else going to be. There was no panic, simply dread, a simple dread that would never be recorded, as there are no annals in oblivion. And Melpomene is here, beautiful as ever. Years now since I’d seen her in the day time, her countenance equal parts diffident and indifferent. She names a place we can go, a one I’ve never heard of. It can’t be our secret, as I’ve never breathed it. I ponder getting there--contemplate what just may have been her revelation of an afterlife. Could it be a place she knows, a place she’s been? How could it be that she’s been there? I abhor unanswered questions, how loathsome then, and unfitting an end, this is to be. Struck to the quick by the sheer audacity of this moment to have chosen now to come into being, I double back for a second, last, long, look at Melpomen