My Mind kissed Celestia last night

Awake not awake, drifting reality, dream and neither only perceiving, Twilight. Twilight. Twilight. Name floated threefold and unthehered in the expanse, a hollow syllable with a meaning lost on the thinker longer pondering daydreaming, hers, was she hers, hers she hers was. Are you? Are You? are you, are you, are you I hear you calling I hear youcalling I hear you calling.

Black and white a flat pallet devoid of clarity, overexposed and left in the acid too long. A hound in the abyss, are you the one, shadows clung tightly like spiders to the corners of room that stretched far and feared the light and stood and lying down in the wasn't she in the derelict corridor of the building unknown just a corridor at the edges of space which called no attempt at definition to the shifting and disjointed whatever. I hear you coming, I hear you coming, I hear you humming. Cumming. Rattle-

-Rattle outside through the air on the hanged jagged fracture in the wall of waves pulling backward away from the shore curling ever so neatly in reverse and time unwound rewound oner standing outside alone with no sound a motion which sterile and wrong tell me. Are you?

Are you
Are You

Attention to the walking across the mouth of open ground breathing on the other side a shifting figure an ape a monkey and scratched faintly at the corner of awareness reconnaissance. Male and stoic with a slender tie and business suit, eyes fixed on the unseen horizon with broad shoulders hunched over slightly and covered in coat or recognizable features not to the throat or the shaven skin didn't know and couldn't know and only started at it at him the idea, sight with witch which made the chest heavy and drowning in suffocation in the open of the forbidden.

A flatter in the vision of the forest alive not really caught in the leaves of a state of liminal green fragile and drained and no color to all Vitaly colorless to an attempt at remembering spring of air cold not the sharp winter bite the dull heavy cold of the winter-hell creature waiting and paused in position of disarray.

The clouds unfurled rapidly in reverse across the sky, folding in and upon themselves of smoke which pooled upwards from the ground like liquid flowing up into a vessel so fast and breaking and a blink and the thought oh yes uneven stretching of the head slowly turning and slowly the ape the man standing unmoved as everything danced backward around him. Such features like a pristine stallion corrupted into an indifference to the race of species.

Comes from the distance where you can't see and the hoof and gaze dropped unbidden and hers and thought it wasn't and the flesh shifted and so not a hoof but a pen so sleek and sharp and metallic with the black pen fluid inside trembling where she wished she had claws on the shaft of her hooves and it pressed and it broke and wrote and etched into the stone looping and curling in not sense.

“My pain beneath your sheltering hoof”

Snapping and breaking and snapping into fragments of itself again and again with each shared dissolved into the surface of the rocky surface like water which sunk and then dry sand appeared out of it like the hoof as It become hers again like it always had been and for a moment wasn't and then it wasn't and it became and tumbled no trembled and brushed the ground as it claws faint impressions left behind in the stones as she scrubbed away and it all faded of an echo of the memory erased what a conundrum.

Purple stood and lying still at once and she stood and always was and her hooves moved slowly as she dragged through the sands endless before her the beach of cold and grey and not shake and surface laced with pebbles and shattered pieces of bigger stones which were now smaller stones and the gulls that flew overhead silent and so alien those wings cut through the stillness as its syrinx sings in the air like Aquila and Aetos a shoal of birds above the ocean granted.

And its waves pulled backwards here too so motions smooth pulling with not a single around and the silence filled the air deafening and oppressive which made the ears ring in the horror and walking anyway with the bare hoof of fur dragged through colorless trapped sand of the weight of silenced pressed to the thoughts shoulders chest so heavy and damp and uneven and needing replacement were pulling backward here too, their motion smooth and unnatural, pulling in reverse without a single sound. The silence filled the air, deafening, oppressive, of a silence that made her ears ring. She walked through it anyway, her bare feet dragging through the colorless sand. The weight of the silence pressed on her chest, her shoulders, her thoughts. Avian phlegm and guano descends upon her snapping all of time in half.

And ahead the corridor returned yet never left as all edges blurred merging into a bleach which bled into a hallway bleeding into a forest which bled into a beach and bled into nothing and the ape stood still in the distance always watching and never moving and throbbing and the clouds of the head which continued to fold in themselves themselves endless origami folding into infinite center of the stopped walk sudden and stood staring at the black and white ocean pulling and the sand sticking and nothing needed to.

Lips moved but she didn't hear or know what she had said as those words escaped and were carried to the soundless reverse tide of the wind and the breathing breath musk of the world slow and methodical cold all around. A sharp charming jarring turn with the scream which teared the silence in pure agony struck by a divine manner a crash an abhorrence and the noise roaring in the skull which split open, a bang and a smash and a pound again and again and again again again full force louder more incoherent and senseless the rhythm savage and unkempt. Hooves flew to the ears and the sound wasn't outside, inside pounding from within, let me in, a percussion rattling her ribcage and all bones to rattle and fluctuate. Grinding of the teeth a stumble a trip and a fall or a swallowing, a folding and a stretching of the white pulling inwards a whirlpool of blankness, blackness over.

Hadn't met to sit and she was now and sitting on an anachronistic medieval couch with edges adorned and carved in intricate spirals where the fabric thick to the touch coarse and no temperature no weight no resolute to the grinding cacophony that was piercing and reverberating in the nerve of every verse in the corner of the white void that stretched out into an endless gradient piece.

Greyish white all over a lighter here and darker over here to no edges and no depth and the quickened breathing of the rising and falling of the silent panic of the nothings pressed and the oppressive and claustrophobic infinite vastness spectacular.

Hadn't been there noticing the always been there, left and right still as statues and owl eyed and wide.

Zebras.

And so we fall under the hooves of all the pretty little mares... and we see clearly, now

Ⲗⲁ ⲓⲗⲁϩⲁ ⲓⲗⲗⲁⲗⲗⲁϩ

No word not yet she didn't not yet she didn't as its Stars and Stripes stretched across their forms so sharp and surreal and outlines flickering faint not entirely solid and through, sat in the chairs of the angular rounded unfocusable undescribed unlooking yet they were facing her direction at the point in between all points of entrance and eyes closed open no way to tell shallow and cold.

A hitch in the breath no voice to scream found in the persisted unrelenting throbbing and pounding drumbeat that rose and fell in chaotic waves of utter agony, looking left and right and back and forth and back and forth and this and that and this that breathing alive then alive only to know when looking there's some theory about that.

No movement just looming and the presence so utterly suffocating and stripes that twist and ripple and curling into patterns that hurt the eyes to follow and trace an afterimage of the need to not and the blinking and the swimming of the vision void around bleeding forms and trembled and pulled closer to the open court chest.

Nothing came and they had not said a thing and it felt they had shouting and whispering and screaming at different intervals of moments unheard never spoken and silence which pierced louder then a cacophony of faces focused unfocused changed and starting blind and not even there of paranoia blooming in a black flower which opened out her chest on the impossible either side of her trapped all between these things pinned in a void seated on a couch that felt like stone and looked down at the hooves of unreal reality her. The invisible church and the noise stopped and something breathed and the Zebras.

Turned their heads.

Way down yonder in the meadow lies a poor little purple
Bees and butterflies flitting round her eyes
Poor little thing is crying “White”

Go to sleep
Don't you cry
Rest your head upon the clover
Rest your head upon the clover
In your dreams
You shall love

Blacks and bays
And dapples and greys
All the pretty little mares
All the pretty little mares
All the pretty little mares

Twilight stood rigid, a statue carved from her own paralysis seeking. Her hooves rooted in the uneven ground, its black dirt shifting beneath her loose weight, the leaves strewn around her vibrating slightly, brushing up up against each other with a sound like whispers that grew and rose up into an opening channel a scraping and the screaming orchestra of the mundane made unbearable, which filled the ears until the skull could split and burst and dismantle oneself.

And like shutting of some distant door to doorways it receded away and the echoes faded and the whispers snuffed out in a last gasp of bougie flame and the silence which followed in an unreprieve in suffocation and some thick pulsing absence that yearned for rhythm and she couldn't move, gaze fixed down onto the ground of leaves and black dirt an uneven terrain that seemed to breathe way beneath her in some expanse bigger then visible and further then possible at height.

Long and narrow the corridor framed by walls with texture rippling like a mirage, at the far end the window stood a hollow rectangle with light bleeding through it, not sunlight too cold to be to sterile to be just a pallid illumination that fell across the chair. That the light is leaving us all.

And in the chair was, the Ape.

He sat still so slight where his hands resting on the arm rests and engulfed in flames which licked his fingers so slow and deliberate like a predator savoring its stallion prey, and the fire moved in slow motion so unnaturally snow like obeyed by beyond.

Staring caught in the throat his face static animalistic and so unanimal, so unique of a stallion and unreadable and yet perching peeling her apart with his gaze, he turned slow and deliberate with the fire casting long shadows across his face that danced without a pattern to scheme. Eyes not eyes only eyes were they were not known to this period not this thing. Flicker of the flames a slow descent

Behind him a curtain hung and descended so velvet and ancient, color perceived but not perceived at the same time, a deep red that bled into the pale light and he did not move any inch, swaying softly and more violently the current fell upon and the cacophony peaked crashing into her like a wave as the curtain drew shut and sealing the corridor in darkness as the world steered of course lesser then it already had.

First sound and first motion all pulled the chair the flames and stringing and pulling wrapped the waves the leaves and dirt itself the black ground folding inward the beach. The sky.

She fell.

And her eyes snapped open, the blinding whiteness greeting her once more, she heaved rapidly and strong as she was sift and cold to the touch as the ache returned so dull and persistent and settling into her bones she coughed and laid flat.

The corridor was gone. The Ape was gone. The chair, the fire, the curtain, all vanished into nothing like it always had been.

Only the whiteness remained, and Twilight, stranded and shaking again, in the unable dream.

A voice whispers to me
And says nothing nothing
There is nothing

I smell something burning here, or is it me?
I smell something burning here, or is it me?
I smell something burning here, or is it me?
I smell something burning here, or is it me?

Author's Note