It’s not dark enough for me to draw my own blood

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Now, here, the silence is broken by a cawing that’s not a bird nor a crow,
but an owl. The owl flies directly into the headlights. I see him, a large
yellow eyed bird with black wing stripes and a white head, silhouetted in the
spotlight over my head. It appears to be hovering, but when I turn to look,
he’s gone.

I’ve had enough. I push off the sand and rush to the edge, where I throw my
hands over the top of my head. I reach the horizon; the lights blink, then
turn on their headlights in a futile attempt to shine back to me in their
direction. The owl disappears.

I close my eyes and wait. I open my eyes again. The cars return, each one
welcome. They blink, and I see each one from different angles. There’s a
brightness from the headlights; they’re on their way up to the horizon, but
it’s too far away for me to make out the source of light.

And it’s still not dark enough to draw my own blood.

No sooner has I closed my eyes than I hear thundering and rushing waters,
and now I can see the moon and stars above me. Slowly, the water rises to
meet my eyes; I wait. The darkness recedes before my eyes. The sand and
dirt recede, and with them, the stars and moon. All of them shine bright as
the sun, and I wonder in that moment what it is I hear. But, then, the sound
becomes clearer, and I know it is not what I hear. It is the sound of a
whisper, a long, deep, and almost invisible chirping from the darkness
beneath me.

There is a coldness that comes over me as I move my eyes upwards from the
moon and stars.

A thin, ghostly form appears beside me.

I can’t make out her features. Her skin is pale, her hair is white, and she
has no discernable features. She is like a ghost.

She is just a girl. A child, a girl with no clothes on, who stands in the
light of the moon and stars. She is as tall as me, but has to stand with her
chin on her knees, waiting for the rest of her to appear. Her mouth is open,
but she is silent. I sense that she is looking at something, but, by what
she is looking at, I cannot tell.

A few moments pass, and the coldness returns. The darkness returns, and
every time it appears, she disappears.

I push past her and continue to the horizon. I run; she walks. I run, and
she walks. When I am exhausted, I run another day. When I am exhausted, I
run another day. When I am exhausted, I run another day. Until, one day, I
get tired, and I run. I go the last distance, the farthest I will ever
go– the horizon.

When I reach the horizon, I stop. I look back.

She is there. She stands on the moon, and her hair turns white. She is
standing just beside the moon.

This is what lies between the horizon and the night sky, a thin line between
the sands and the stars. In the distance, the moon shines bright as the sun.
In the distance, the stars shine bright.

There is no horizon. There is no night; the night is on the moon, on the
surface of the dark sands.

My hair is white, my skin pale.

I am standing in the blackness, the same blackness in which I am
standing– the blackness that precedes the moon and stars. It is dark on the
ground, black for the shadows that move around me.

In the blackness, I am not me.

I am a creature who is not of this world, who is neither flesh nor blood,
who is part of an unknown.

My hair is not white, but red.

I look to the sky. I look to the light, and I stare, but I do not see her.
I am here, this is what I am.

But I do see her. I see her, not in the moon, but in the starlight. She is
not the red girl, but the white girl– the white skinned girl. She is not the
girl who is on the ground, but she is a girl on the ground, a girl who is in
my hand.

She is not here, but everywhere here. She is all around me, and she was
somewhere here. Somehow, she is not here, but she is everywhere. This is who
I am.

I look up. I look up, and she is there. She and I, walking, walking together,
like wind on the face of the earth.

I move closer. I move closer, and my hand, which is in my mouth, clamps around
her small, pale, white arm. I pull her close to me, and she squeezes my hand
in the silence of the night.

And then I push her away. I don’t know what is going through my mind, but
I push her away from me– out, beyond, away, out of my reach,
out of the night, out of my world.

This is what is called love. I don’t know what is going through my mind, but
I push her away. I don’t know what is going through my mind, but I push her –
away, beyond, away, out of my reach – this is what is called love.

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