2

The darkness was almost palpable. It formed intricate patterns before her outstretched fingertips. Like a henna tattoo made in the air. Its ink flowing through the air to her palms, flowing down her arms, up her neck, past her temple into her ear, into her being, over her eyes, blinding her. But she welcomed. It was better to be blind here. She didn’t want to see. Not this place. Not this world, and not in this body.

She heard footsteps somewhere near her. Smelt liquorish. The footsteps always came closer, so close. Within arms reach. If she could reach out. But of course she couldn’t. Not even if she had wanted to.

The patterns never stopped forming. Twirling in front of her like a beautiful ballerina. Flowers, leaves, vines, winding their way down her body. Around her toes, around her feet, ankles, binding her to the air. The air around the umbrage. The umbrage thrown by the tree. The tree that stood above her. The tree…she stretched her mind. The tree…had had leaves. She laughed at herself. The tree had leaves. All trees have leaves. Unless they are dead. What if there had been no tree? What if there had been nothing? Nothing at all. What if she was already dead. Tied there. Tied to the great nothingness around her. Dead, beneath a dead tree that does not exist, tied by darkness to darkness. Blind. Her laugh echoed mirthlessly. Footsteps, leaving her.

The invisible patterns never stopped forming. Henna tattoos, tattooed onto the darkness. The darkness of the henna lines barely visible against the invisible darkness of the tree. She heard footsteps coming closer. And closer. Until they were right beside her. Looking down at her with dead eyes. Not seeing her. Just looking. Just being there. Just existing. The person had a long nose. She almost giggled. Her sister would have giggled. His mustache was peachy, and badly grown.He was fat. His belly extended way beyond his shirt’s limits, and burst, bubbling, from just above his belt. His hand was on his belt. His belt…

Her eyes snapped shut. The henna patterns formed again. She could not allow them to stop forming. They must never stop forming…but his face was branded onto her mind. His dead eyes. Her eyes opened, unbidden and unwanted. She could barely see past his entirety. The lone light bulb dangled, burnt out, in the middle of the room. The black walls. The wire of the bulb hanging down for a long time. Her eyes shut. There was no man. There was no light bulb. No walls. No wire. There was only a tree, and a mountain. Or – her mind scrambled desperately – even less. Nothing. There was nothing.Nothing but invisible patterns tracing their way through a nonexistent darkness, somewhere that is nowhere that anyone will ever find, and that no-one will ever see.

The original, raw and unedited, from my typewriter.