oneirataxia; shelby

I believe I have moved on.

The only thing left of Cha Leviane was her smoke and ashes lingering in my lungs. I could not distinguish that which was hers from that which I inhaled willingly, and with each drag taken from the cigarette I ask myself if she would have done the same. If I had been the one to pass away with the lunar cycle, I wonder if she would have spiraled into grief and destruction like I had so brought to pass. She was the calm before the storm that gave way to disaster and never stuck around to see the aftermath.

Another cloud of smoke leaves my lips and tinges the end of my tongue and it’s as though karma is punishing my mind for imagining a world in which things did not follow fate.

I believe that if I was dead instead of Cha Leviane, she would have found the person inside of her she had been chasing for so long.

She would not have visited my grave every day for over a year on end; she would not have picked up the habit of smoking our father’s leftover cigarettes because they tasted more like a prayer than anything belonging with a plea of

“Dear god,

Please bring my sister back.”

I bargained with him day in and out, but he drove his prices higher each time he realized desperation was overtaking the last bits of sensibility lingering on my lips.

Perhaps he was named king of kings because he knew it could all be destroyed with the snap of a finger. How fragile this world was yet how eager it longed to be something strong of value. Along the timeline of humanity, it seems that the terms of god and devil have long blurred and melded into one, and now both sides of the spectrum had lost their distinct colors to the same shade of grey.

Rule the world or heart or mind— to accomplish one would be an achievement worthy of a crown.

I believe that I have almost come to rule over the latter on the list.

A man of intelligence might say that I have found my way to the throne by way of deception and falsehood, but a wiser man would say that it is simply about the consequence that results. I stand protected by castle walls made of glass, bottle of whiskey in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

If I looked far enough I believed I could truly see my kingdom come, blurred and distant but still on the horizon.

That bottle of whiskey made a damn good scepter in mind and reality, and with a shaking hand I wielded it.

A knock at the window brings me from one distant land to the next, and with an unsteady pace I make my way over to the man waiting. I tap the lock until it gives way and he does the rest, sliding open the weathered glass and letting himself in before taking my arm over his shoulder to support my dead weight. He sets me back on the bedthrone and smiles. Plucking the cigarettecrown from my hand he takes a drag and puts it out before I can protest.

“Darling, I thought you would wait for me.”

I wave the glass whiskey lightly and roll my eyes at the manking sitting at my feet. I raise the bottle to my lips to take another drink but his hand catches mine before I can take the throne once more. He pries it gently from my fingers and places it on the bedside table, never letting his grip loosen from my hand. “I want you to come with me tonight.”

His fingers wrapped around my wrist, his thumb digging into my palm and threatening to deaden my pulse— he does not break eye contact until I nod in agreement that is less than coherent.

He smiles, moon bright full and refusing to fade with the sunrise.

I do not have time to think before he takes my hand and leads me through the window and past the place where my sister’s hammock used to exist.

I swear, I am just moving on.