Blackbird Memories Letters 3

Like Moose and Montana you never believed it existed because you'd never seen a living sign of it. Like aliens? I don't believe in aliens. We're all aliens. All of them are to me at least. Strange beings I don't understand. Illegal aliens. Like plates in the sky have more right to walk this land than earth colored feet. Put it in black and white and flatten it out. Then even a speck of color or form is alien. Terrifyingly foreign.
They called it Fringe Science. Everything I'd ever believed in...it could be proven in some regard, every cause and reaction ever dreamed about suddenly had potential. I fell asleep trying to ignore it. But I was there and I remember. I held you tight and never wanted to let go. Somehow you were back. I had brought you back. And I was terrified you'd disappear again. I did disappear again. You opened your eyes and the trees faded away. Your face was dry. Your arms empty. I went to scream. But nothing came out. It had all melted away somewhere deep inside you. Somewhere you couldn't get to. I kept looking. Kept digging. But I was afraid. I'm still afraid. Of the truth. You meant well. But he didn't want to help. You had to find alternatives. There was an option. Connecting through the dream state. They said it wouldn't work if it had been so long...but it did.
My feet are saying don't walk today. The hills are covered in blood. They expect you to pull the blankets over your head. Look away from the window. Open the door for the salesman and not complain when he doesn't wipe his feet before entering the kitchen. Ignore the crimson path he leaves behind. What are you selling today, sir? Souls. In between his crooked yellow teeth lives the hiss of life. I'm sorry I didn't realize who you were. Maybe we can make a deal. When you lack compassion deals are tough to come by. His eyes mocked you. I shudder underneath my bones but the earthquake hits outside. Go play your music somewhere else I say. We shall not dance to this tune today. Away, away evil friend. You had your chance at me. I've stopped begging. When the footsteps fade the lights go out. The field dries up. Everything red dust. I got myself a red fiddle but all I play is blue. Forget-me-nots sprout up around the bones, all twisted around them, holding them down. Black firelies. My lights could never be so bright.