I am where I should be. I am a reflection. A collection of information too dangerous to be written into common texts.
The words shimmer and disappear. I stare at the blank page. It hums with weighted expectancy. My pulse quickens. “Are you familiar with Liminals?” I ask.
Letters dance across the page.
Vastly.
“Tell me.” As soon as they’re spoken, I want to take the words back. What if I don’t like what it has to say?
Sentences swirl across the page regardless of my feelings.
Those that are neither here nor there. A key that fits into only one lock. A heartbeat that is out of rhythm.Light and dark cannot touch what is ambiguous.
I narrow my eyes. “That’s about as clear as mud.”
The air pulses around me, candles flicker, and the curtains billow in angry waves. The page snaps out of my hand, turning to the next.
If I must spell it out for you to make you understand, then you are not ready. Turning pages is not character development. You act like a mere student.
“I am a student!”
You are so much more.
I try a different approach. “Do you know anything about the disappearances?” I ask, raising my eyebrows in a silent challenge.
It hums almost as if it’s preening.
You look for answers embedded within my pages. I cannot answer what you’re not yet willing to acknowledge.
I frown at the now blank page. “That’s not an answer.”
Precisely.
I give a slow, deliberate blink.
“Do you know where they are? Are they alive?”
The question isn’t where they are but who took them to where they are.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m not typically known for an abundance of patience, and the little I do have is running thin. I’m also conversing with a book, so my sanity is clearly in question here. “Fine.Whotook them?” I put extra emphasis on the word who.
Finally, a question worth acknowledging.
Blank page again.
“Are you going to tell me?”
No.
I clench my jaw and resist the urge to throw the book against the wall. “Why not?”
The ink fades and comes back bolder. Swifter. As if written in anger.
You demand yet you do not give.
“What am I supposed to give?” I ask, completely bewildered. I already gave this thing my freakin blood.
You seek validation. Return when you are willing to listen. Or simply do not return.
