loch

On that gorgeous chilly night, a fragile layer of wispy clouds barely contains the hungry moon, and in the nebulous fabric, tears reveal scattered stars blazing down on the peak of a rolling hill, on a man walking, holding a torch. He can't remember where he came from or where he is going, but something pulls him across the heath. He crests a ridge of sharp stones protruding like buried vertebrae of a behemoth forgotten by time and sees ahead a dark mass swallowing stars like some misshapen black hole, and nostalgia overcomes him. He's been here before, seen these ruins, but how? He approaches, and torchlight uncovers rough stone walls and buried memories. Yes, the childhood dreams: him floating across still waters toward this dark church, through wooden doors that opened and closed behind him. He'd landed and seen in the corner a stone pulsing red like a glowing heart. He'd reached for it but had awakened. The dream had echoed through childhood, and the church had aged with him, but the stone had only grown brighter. How had he forgotten? The placid loch waits nearby as he crosses the threshold and looks to the corner. The stone is there, but it sleeps, dark and dull. He drops to his knees and grasps the stone, and it slides out of the wall. His heart quickens as he turns it and finds a short poem carved into the rock: you are not what you appear / your body fading full of fear / her breath narrating dreams cohere / sylvia's tide will drown you here. The words excite a dizziness that pushes his mind a few feet out of his body. The handwriting, the words, are his. He hears a distant splashing and he stands, dropping the stone, and time breaks. He is outside then inside thinking of being outside. There is movement by the loch. He floats to the shoreline. The water ripples, and something slithers out. The full moon bursts from behind a cloud, consecrating the scene with holy light. A nude female figure rises from the water, weeds and algae tangled in her inky hair. Her eyes glow red like the stone of his dreams. Rectangular pupils tether him to her. Hooves sink into the mud, and a fat oily tail snakes into the depths behind her. She opens her mouth, and a soft alien voice emanates from within. Once again, I find you wandering here. Did you hear the words of the stone? Or does your mind refuse the knowledge still? His mouth is numb and empty of words. Come close, and I will guide you home. She spreads her arms, and a force like wind pulls him forward, and he falls into her wet embrace. Her warmth fills him, loosens his muscles, and he knows that this is the fulfillment of his oldest dreams. Then he is gone, and she is gone, and ripples spread, and a cloud of crimson mist drifts away in the silent breeze.