6/1

An assassin dream. Through airports unseen, a chase. I am running away from a country. Someone tells me he/she knows a secret passageway for us to flee. it is behind a stairwell, I run and and run and run. at the end of the staircase, a betrayal. the explanation flashes through my eyes. it hurts in a way I can't understand.

An old bus rattling through humid, rainy landscapes. It is going to my old estate, but steers and passes into an area grey with mildew and damp fields. Somewhere, there is a stable. A dirty animal farm with owls peaking out of barn windows, and huge ugly boars with strange markings. An animal farm like a deep sore; an infection on the hillside...
Steffie, an old old friend. She shows me the deep, long scars on her legs. We talk of things I can't remember.

Under a stand near one of these fields, I can smell the rain. The air is cool on my skin. Everything is real real real. There is a dog beside me. A seeing eye dog. I think I am supposed to be blind, but I can see.

A chase, again. This time I can feel the presence of my pursuers, but I do not remember their faces. I run through moist grass laden with the occasional huge, encompassing tree. They circle around me, and I decide to let my dog go. I fly up the trees. Somehow, the knowledge of flying is something innate. It seems natural, like swimming. You push the air up around you and fly. It's so simple.

Another pursuit. This time I can see them, and the tables have turned- I will trap them myself. 3 cops/criminals. Men. I lure them by their greed with promises to an old house filled with many, many rooms. It smells of old wood and tea bags. One of the rooms is just filled with shelves and shelves of rotting books. I push the books down, and ask them to do so, too. "You try. On the other side is Grandmother's house," I tell them. Everything smells of must and mildew. The comforting sting of old, moist walls...
A room with a slopping roof full of beams the colour of deep wood. I cup the face of one, smiling a cat's grin...  


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