Thursday, May 21, 2015

A Disconcerting Dream

I can’t remember it all clearly, but I was being beaten by a man much bigger than me.  Whipped.  Cleanly.  Deliberately.  Very surgically.  Not with passion, but with great skill.  Not with a belt, but with a switch from a tree.  A willow tree I think.  It made cuts like a knife across my skin.  My skin was soft and lily-white like a young girl’s.  Like a freshly fluffed pillow.   
I did not cry, and I did not scream.  I was in terrible pain, but I was not upset, as if I were used to it.  I was conscious of the violence of the moment.  I was conscious of the trauma, but not affected by it at the time, except to say that I was sad.  And I was lonely inside. 

Like an orphan,

in an empty room.