DREAMLANDED
By Vêra Chase
"What do we know about fly politics?"
Brundlefly (Cronenberg's The Fly)
reamlanded
one moment, awakened the next-being raised two feet above the bed brought
instantaneous awareness. But there was more to it, much more: The vision.
Staring in the direction of the ceiling the vision was sharp enough to atomize
darkness. The flesh. No fat, just muscle, the flesh was stone-solid. The skin.
Not soft and porous, but hide-thick, protecting all its flesh like armor. And
beneath the crust, a fast-pulsing beat injected with power. Those seconds are
not to be forgotten as long as this perfect memory keeps functioning. The few
seconds of the otherwise unremarkable night when I turned into a ... a green,
diamond-eyed... resting on its wings... I will never forget how...
I turned into a dragon..
It was so sudden-no warning, no flashing lights. The perceptions were too
real-my perfect sight could not betray me-I didn't doubt the event for a moment.
It was all there: the scales, the claws, the tail, the green.
I exhaled in surprise and the night brightened in the flames that spat
out of my nostrils. The flames flared hot, my blood felt cold, but I still knew
I had a heart. I felt it clearly; safely nestled inside my rib cage I heard it
pumping. The blood was cooling it-I could hardly recall my passions-the muscle
grew lukewarm but not yet frozen; one chamber lost-the damage yet to be
discovered, and one of the remaining three invaded by fear borne from the shock
of such a sudden change and even thriving, fuelled by an unspeakable tormenting
loneliness. As if my new body was a capsule out of which I could watch-but
nothing more-the outside world, my beloved world, to which my cell was
invisible.
I needed to shake off that horrible feeling of isolation, hard and heavy
like my flesh, so I turned my head toward you to confide in you and receive
words of consolation; I knew you would quickly overcome your fear-your heart
would help you. But my breath proved itself lethal: a fly moving in its
direction dropped limp like a pebble onto my bedside table. At least to hold
your hand then, I thought, but as I was stretching, I saw my claws were too
coarse to caress, I couldn't hold your hand without tearing it.
All this power, and still, as if paralyzed, I Iay next to you immobile, a
whirlpool in my head: memories, power surges, cold thoughts and warm thoughts,
before and after, your fragile body-my solid encasement. Can dragons love and
for how long? What governs their instinct? Can they be trusted?.. by people? Not
much is known about the dragon mind-not many believe in dragons after all. I
didn't.
But more questions kept flooding my mind: Could there be more of us? Or
at least one...and if so then where? That was hope speaking up, for the first
time since that moment, in a clear bright tone, and it made me shudder. I needed
to look at you again, to restore order, reassure my priorities, but somehow I
couldn't do it for long. Soon I had to turn back and then I just gazed sternly
at the wild dance of particles constituting darkness.
Lying there peacefully-unable to touch, to speak, to share but still able
to distance myself enough to seize the picture: as you sleep, there is at your
side, loving yet dangerous, a dragon in your bed.
© Copyright, Vêra Chase.
( 25/4/97, 4/97, 7/97a, b, c, 8/97, 6/98, 2/99, 7/99)
All Rights Reserved.
