I broke apart the silence and watched it dissolve into the rushing din of my hunter’s march—a rhythm that seeks to contain the red music of prey. I could feel the big cat’s senses fluttering around me, whispering away with some of my deepest secrets. I allowed the theft as I wanted the cat to know the risk it took by confronting me. The cougar made its departure, merging into a current of darkness that surged through a distant window. I returned my sisters to their slumber and sought out that which I was meant to find. I walked the darkness-filled rooms until the invisible threads that guided me fell away completely. I lit a match. The trembling light touched something old and dead. There was a skeleton before me, half submerged into the dirt floor as if the ground had quickly solidified around its white, flailing limbs. I removed the bones from the cold earth, examining them in minute detail. A rib bone had been shattered, perhaps by a bullet, and in its ragged pocket there was a knife and an age-chewed notebook. Within the book’s yellowed pages I found only a small list of six names, three of which had been crossed out. There were also piles of cut-out newspaper articles stacked in the corner of one of the rooms, every one of them concerned the business of murderers. My own efforts were among the many collected vignettes. I was grateful for the opportunity to revisit the work of a particular artist, whose paints outlined his dying vision of me. While his depiction was wildly inaccurate (within this world, at least), I’m pleased he thought it appropriate to render me slightly inhuman. As I held the book in my hands and studied the names, it slowly became apparent that a great task had been passed to me. I knew in the same way I could feel certain shadows watching over me when I worked: a gossamer breeze whispered beneath my skin, letting me know what flesh could never tell. I will cross-off the remaining names.
Posted on: Fri, 26 Dec 2014 20:33:00 +0000