The Poisoner

You’ll never see her.

She will, of course, be right in front of you, eyes alight, smile bright, a joyous laugh upon her lips. She will, of course, be reaching out her hand, inviting you in, inviting you down, down the rabbit hole, where all of the best games are.

You are tired. Of course you are. That’s why you’re here.

Behind you light stretches out warm hands, clasps you to be bosom, whispers “please, don’t go”, but you shake her away. You do not want her now, her hard white lines, showing every tear track upon your face, letting you see the maze of scars that was once your heart. You turn away. Of course you do. 

Down the hole you go, a riotous slide, a descent into a space apart, a space away, where time has stopped and no one knows your name. It is cool here. Dark. Everything is hazy, and you begin to drift. One place is as good as another to lie your head down.

She is beside you now, softly whispering, and you feel like her, and she is like you, and how wonderful it is to be understood. You take the treat from her fingers, eagerly placing it on your tongue, and you are together, and you are at peace, and you are asleep.

Above, the world rolls on, with its noise and its chaos and and its too-bright and its too-much. It’s so much better here. You swallow another sip from her cup, and she places her body next to yours, and it is easy. So easy. Why should all things not be easy like this?

Another sip. Of course.

Now she asks, in your addled hour, whether perhaps you might do her a favor. Take her here. Help her there. Perhaps you could stay a bit longer, come back a bit more.

Of course. Of course you can. She is the only real thing, the only thing that matters. She is love. A new kind of love, one that asks nothing of you, but gives you all of your dreams in a bite. Of course.

You don’t know how long you’ve been down there now.

Somewhere, a part of you remembers the light. It was warm…or was it hot? Yes, perhaps it was too hot. It was clear…or was it blinding? Yes, it hurt your eyes. You do not want it back. Best to stay here. But that small voice inside your head keep whispering “come up…come up”.

You cannot reach the light by walking among the broken.

Of course, you do not see her as broken. To see the broken bits of her would be to see the broken bits of you, so you let them stay in shadow. In the smoky distance, you watch her hand out cup, after cup, after cup. How many? Round shapes emerge from her pockets, sharp sticks peek out of her purse. Never mind. It is easy here. They chose to be here, those other people. This is better. It’s safe here, away from the light.

You must follow the light to reach your path.

Suddenly it all feels wrong. You were not meant to be here, not for so long, not you. You were going…somewhere. Where was it? The memories have faded, and that man has died. You have buried him here. He’s gone.

Of course.

“But this is better,” says her voice in her ear. “This is so much more fun. You can make your own choices. What would you like?”

It is in your hand before the words are formed, so you exhale the smoke, and go back to sleep.

When you wake the ground is hard and hot, your head is throbbing and your muscles ache. You try to gain your breath, but it comes as a scream. Black veins bloom like spiders across your chest, a maze of pulsing poison around the wreckage of your heart. Sun beams upon you, illuminating face after face after face, wet and shivering and scared. You cannot stand. The body slowly turns to gray, fighting with every drop of strength you have. One drop of light for each drop of darkness.

She is nowhere to be found. Of course.