Rope: A Bondage Story (Prologue—Side A)

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Control—as in the loss of. That’s where it all began. Unbound, she became undone; torn at the seams, the fabric of her psyche pulled apart, ripped to shreds, and thrown carelessly into the wind. And so she watched her mind blow away like so many dead autumn leaves, a thousand different shades of crimson tainting the sky red with the blood of her fleeing sanity.

Fall apart, fall away. When survival becomes a shadow, not an instinct; she desperately tries to hold on for another day. But desperation soon leads to despair, and despair invites visions of Thanatos to come dancing into her head. She can either choose to continue to suffer in silence, or she can accept the blackest, sweetest kiss—from Oblivion’s seductive mouth to her own eager lips.

So she contemplates to fall, to slip away, to allow herself to drown in the ocean black. All she need do is hold tightly to the two little angels that rest at her side and let the current carry them all away. But the image of sweet, serene faces resting beneath the glass of still, crystalline waters is violently ruptured by four eyes wide open and dual underwater screams. Thus, her own horrible vision of infanticide is enough to push her back from the precipice instead of pushing her in. And so she decides to suffer through another day, with the shadows lurking and jumping on her periphery, and with Oblivion blowing her kisses from the threshold of her darkest dreams.

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Rope: A Bondage Story (Epigraph)

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If I let you, you would make me destroy myself
In order to survive you, I must first survive myself
And I can sink no further and I cannot forgive you
There’s no choice but to confront you
To engage you
To erase you
I’ve gone to great lengths to expand my threshold of pain
I will use my mistakes against you
There’s no other choice
Shameless now, nameless now, nothing now, no one now
But my soul must be iron
Cause my fear is naked
I’m naked and fearless
And my fear is naked

Tool, “Bottom”


       Notes

Tool. “Bottom.” Undertow. Zoo Entertainment, BMG, 1993.

You’ve Lost That Feeling (REM Episode #03)

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I’ve only held her on one occasion. It was a long time ago. But not so long ago that I can’t remember what she felt like. I held her from behind: the front of my body pressed tightly up against the back of hers; one hand wrapped firmly around her throat, while the other hand wandered and roamed south of her waistline, eager to get lost in her deep, dark depths. She is a petite, slender little thing, but hidden beneath the PVC catsuit that she wore and her tattooed flesh, all I could feel was solid muscle tensing beneath my roving, groping hands. I remember thinking that holding her was like holding onto a goddamn python.       

But if this is a dream, then there is nothing stopping me from holding her once more. All I have to do is simply step closer to her, walk up behind her, and—

“Catch me if you can,” she says, giving me a quick backwards glance. And then she’s off like a shot—like a bullet fired from the barrel of a gun.

So now I get to witness the memory of her taut, compact musculature rendered into glorious real time—as she runs from me, as she sprints down the dirt-and-gravel path that leads to the colossal wind turbine that stands like a forgotten god amongst the gilded wheat field that has become the setting for our little game of psychic cat and mouse.

And so I give chase. But she no longer brings to mind the likeness of a python; she is now a jungle cat: a sleek black panther running through the dark, dank rain forest that inhabits the forgotten abyss of my absent heart. As she runs, her raven black bob bounces around her bare shoulders, and just like magic, my eyes are suddenly and temporarily deceived into seeing a large black crow in mid-flight. Reptile. Feline. Avian. What kind of unholy ghost do I dare dream of? 

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