The
Others
by Stephenson Muret
the hills turn pink-orange
the hills shoulder a gossamer fog
magenta
the dog-thing stands near
green
the dog-thing's eyes are fire-like, crackling
the dog-thing's nose oyster-like
the stream rushes under the
dwelling
the stream rushes deep black
breathless, clean
the dwelling casts a shadow
the shadow of the dwelling is a redder light
the red-shadow of the dwelling
arcs over where you stand
the red-shadow is shaped like an anvil
the atmosphere is heavy
the atmosphere presses against your flesh
you feel the atmosphere's pressure
the weight of the atmosphere
does not oppress
the weight of the atmosphere soothes
the weight of the atmosphere crowds against you
like a careful companion
massaging your being
with even constant heaviness
The Others inhabit your mind
The Others are dense, weighty
beings
you feel The Others
breathing amongst your thoughts
plodding through the translations of your senses
The Others are heavy and within
The Others are comforting and
welcome
you are glad you left your world
you are glad you came to the world of The Others
© 2012 Stephenson
Muret
Stephenson Muret lives and writes on the Gulf of Mexico. He has
more than two dozen publications in venues as various as Slow
Trains, Bent Pin, Unlikely Stories, Alienskin and Ducts.
Find more by Stephenson Muret in the Author Index.
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