Chasers
Slippery stairs between narrow swan feathered, eggshell walls, lady tries to escape the Chaser
while her heart pounds with a vengeance to flee the cage of her ribs as her feet fly down never ending
spirals to yet another latch on the ingress of her nightmare. Cut to center stage, act two, the Phantom
begins His operatic emergence in the bounty of haughty libertines upon the
silvery twirling apexes of feminine scarves.
In the midst of His aria, the Chaser rivets her pupils with raisin
daggers.
Her mind challenges its own mazes searching to destroy the barricades built by His intendment while the flutist’s notes give birth to a symphony of frightening tunnels. Screaming loudly above the balconies where
thieves unveil their baldness, tongues exit their mouths dripping venom
clinging to the points of asp-like fangs, lady slithers through the portals to
the next course of spiny steps.
Fifty-two times her feet thrash the splintered timber, His breath like a collar around her throat; she
severs the band with the efforts of her musculature and finds a momentary
exit. The audience bellows as the beads crash to the wooden planks, “For
whom does the sycophant extend the waves of his fan?” With clapping hands, they stand in laudation and the innocent woman
finds refuge in the braids of a dozen duchesses all in a row.
The silhouette of the Chaser flashes insolently cinnamon walls, down the immured corridors the shadow
of the woman expands and contracts in turbulence as lady descends down, down,
down the timeless staircase. Her
shoulders become pilasters, her eyes the lanterns to her freedom, the railing
extends to accommodate the luge of her delicate fingers as her falcon throat
whispers, “Edward, what’s the message?”
He exists no more in flesh, but as apparition, and appears before her at the foothold of the stairwell,
patiently He forecasts her smile before granting her liberation. Staining the exits with blood and tears of
knowledge, vowing solemnly to obey instinctual signs, the final words expel the
demon...”Beware of thieving Vampires that roam your temple at midnight, they seek
to extract the plasma of your hedonistic nature.”
Vanished as daylight introduced paradise through a nightmare; the leaf lay submissive to the amiable
stream wandering its trusting ripples to nowhere; the vanity is free of loam
and offers a gift in the heart of the Glen...the
blindfolded card reads: je veux embrasser
le bord de ta bouche et te laisser avec un goût prolongé de moi.
~daria S. dawson
© 2000
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