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Fantasies Raging In The Unconscious

What starts out as a rather cold endeavor, with covers that feel like sheets of ice and the kind of chill that carves braille into our skins, eventually fades away with our conscious mind in the night. We close our eyes in order to see an unseeable language -- to feel and know with our hands and with our fingers. And when we trace over every bump on every shape on the map, it's then we know and only then do we see in the dark.

What we learn soon sparks a flame, igniting a fire inside our bodies, and the map quickly fades away. We're on our own now, free to roam and explore. Your hands here and there burn hot to the touch, like coals on my thighs, my hips, my ribs, my stomach.

We leave no place and no space undiscovered. The fire spreads, and it rises to the surface. What have we done? It's out of control. It burns. It probes. It rummages. It spreads up into the mountains and stretches down into the shadows of the valley and leaves no stone unturned. It burns. It dims. It begins again. Into the woods, we run, and into the trees, we climb. We climb higher and higher and higher and still higher until the air is so thick it's suffocating. I can't breathe, and it's intoxicating. You're killing me, and it's here I usually wake, but tonight you keep killing me. I'm falling, head tossed back, and I'm dragging you down with me. Down and further down and while entangled, we hit the water. I'm wet and gasping, you're swallowing, and I let go. You release me. You set me free.

Story by:

B. N. Flores

breannaster@gmail.com

@Bre_Flores6 on Twitter

3 March 2015