He spread his arms as I came walking toward him, spread them wide, as if waiting to embrace me, but that he was looking away, into a distance.

He did nothing, just stood there like a gnarled tree, another idiot in a dream. So I went up to him and I stood before him. His eyes were closed.

I was growing impatient, and had started to tap my feet as such, when he started his thing.

The sounds came first.

Busy sounds of people talking, whispering actually, whispering loudly to be heard, above the sounds of other people, whispering louder to be heard.

I could imagine, maybe see the ghosts of their shadows, pointing fingers, accusations, anger maybe. I don’t know. Whatever.

Before me, he floated into the air. That’s when I notice his feet were bare. And that’s when his clothes (he wore a drab suit, I think, maybe a maroon tie, and a white shirt, the details can’t stick), that’s when his clothes… changed… I guess, don’t know when, and he was wearing a dirty loincloth, stained and messy, as if he didn’t remove it when nature called.

He opened his eyes, then. And he looked straight at me, straight through me, and it was as if he was looking though time, through worlds. I saw wisdom then, and love, oh, the deep fulfilling forgiving love. And I saw the flicker of fear.

And he smiled.

A deep, sick, sardonic, smile. As if he knew what was going to happen, and knew it would shock and sicken me, and knew he was going to enjoy watching my reaction. Like a performance artist, about to do murder, all in the name of art. I think his message would be… ehrm… death, death in the name of love. Yeah, yeah, that’s a good one.

I returned his smile, the sarcasm running through my eyes. Maybe I saw disappointment, I hope so, arrogant snot. He screamed in pain, loud, pitiful sobs, his clenched fists opened suddenly. And I saw the blood, pouring out, dripping, holes so big you could see through them, his hands, his feet, and his side, all bleeding, deep and dark blood.

I think maybe I reached out, and touched his wound, and tasted his blood, just to see if it was real, and not grape juice or something other.

Maybe I even took of his flesh.

Maybe.

I can feel my mind pouring out ever so slowly, it’s not that strange, really, I mean really, it isn’t. That strange, I mean. Really.

So This Guy I Once Knew came up to me and held a glass made of ice to the side of my head, our eyes met, and when he tilted his head, I did the same, and the brains just sloshed into the ice glass. Or maybe I saw it wrong and it was a glass glass, can’t be sure, I wasn’t wearing my glasses, so it could be a glass glass (meaning a glass made of glass, I think) and not an ice glass (meaning a glass made of ice, yup). My glasses were, of course, made of plastic.

He smiled at me, a big toothy grin, and he quickly, very very very, very very quickly, drank down my brains. One big gulp. Just like that, and then he threw the glass straight at a passing onion.

I started to cry.

And so I saw you in monochrome, the girl with the technicolour smile, I remember you saying, as azure butterflies fluttered forth from your mouth, that the green of the grass, and the blue of the sky…

And then in between us, where still your shimmering smile hung, the air shattered, into a million, scintillating, sparkling drops.

A smile of emeralds, sapphires, rubies and more, and all scattered, as if fallen from a misheld bag, across the brown, drab, floor.

The bright yellow in white of the sky hatched, and a giant ray of baby chick came crashing down.

Maybe the chick fell first, ’ti could be why the air between us broke, like a mirror hit by an angry fist of red.

Your feet crimson from the shattered remains of air and smile, you walked toward me, blue in your eyes, and flush down your skin.

Your smile in monochrome, plain, simple, grey, our hands intertwined, a splash of passion in our veins.

And then we kissed, and your butterflies fluttered down my throat.