THE STREAMPUNK CHRONICLES: EP.2

EPISODE TWO: THE INCIDENT- The incident. (What’s the best wish you can make?) The cold light of a deserted moon was a frightening thing to her, but she preferred it to the thought of a hive of reptilians. The syncronicities were like ink from a squid, a guilt squid hiding it's trails, the closer she got to the incident, the more persistent the coincidences that tried to distract her. How many people did she know whom she could tell that she saw it that way? holy cows don't die easily, she had to kill hers ruthlessly every day until a rock was just a rock again, a dead thing, shit happens, rocks can build a pretty garden or tumble in an avalanche. Dead as a domino, lifeless and dead. Wobert had said synchronicities were provoked by self analysis, and then she'd ruined a perfectly good lucid rape dream by telling the assailant he was nothing like her mother. Dragged back by the tentacles of the wakened state, she'd slipped her hands beneath the bedsheets down slowly down, responsibility for a sin. At last. Two thousand years of a saviour to die for, and they still couldn't stop the world coming alive. Is the sound when you put a shell to your ear the echo of your brain or the ghost of the sea? Why did she always hear such desolate applause? The sound of one brain hissing filled the room impossibly like a mirage in cold moonlight, serene in it's restlessness like a butterfly collection in a zombie film. What film are you living in now? yes you! Where’s your Hogwarts hat telling you you belong, and what's the best wish you can make? The best wish you can make and charge with guilt, she was only young and her body was never found the night she sleepwalked or the next night or the next night or the next. One foot in front of another, Cinderella, let your dreams guide your footsteps to the palace, take your teddy bear with you so the predators shall think you are pure, and the something inside you’ve been always denied for so many years shall whisper sad warnings of the emptiness should you ever return. Cold rock auras framed the shadows of the tangled trees where Cinderella walked in programmed dreams so thoroughly advertised expensive and unwise, delusions to kill for amidst truths to despise. After the power up, she knew she would still want to kill, a level two Cinderella just like the films. Lurid like dragons fighting sorcerers the flames flares and vortices flowed, and deep down she knew sure as glass is a liquid that only the wasters of energy glowed. Microwave arsenals fell like rotting teeth snapping, surveillance grids tuned to white noise, she fine tuned the anger in dreaming to smash up the nastier toys while Cinderella watched and saw nothing. In the silence of the Cinderellas to the slaughter, Cinderella proceeded towards the incident, encircled by a warrior fairy swarm, wielding their ray guns and rocket launchers with chi flowing grace laser sights tracing mystic signs of liberation, perfectly in time to the fluttering of their sweetly vulnerable delicate wings and Cinderella saw nothing. In the inrush of an explosion that had changed it’s mind, she dived onto the helpless Cinderella, enveloping her in her mirror silk spider threads holding her in her arms as the cocoon enveloped them both until her arms were empty and were not there. The incident. Ah yes, the incident. The sun was shining when her body was found after the incident, sitting upright in a circle of trampled grass, well it must have been trampled, smiling and predicting the flight paths of butterflies. K Savage