Lovetruckerthe Claws of Recall
March 19th 2010 11:30
What was this arcane adventure really about, behind the frills and flights of fancy? I lay in bed hugging my thoughts, wide awake yet asleep to reality. I was searching for a lost treasure, a forgotten diadem that had tumbled from my brow as I crawled along the gutter of love.
The memory of my brother obsessed me but I found it impossible to paint a picture in my head. And deeper still a worm of truth burrowed, nibbling at the minutes of the day. I kept encountering the same cast of characters in different playhouses, acting out some kind of cyclical charade for my benefit or catharsis.
A whirlwind of faces surged around the bed; a uniformed inquisitor, an angular harridan and a sleek raptor, all jostling in space and time with multiples of a restive man. Nothing really made sense, least of all my present imprisonment within this house of the damned and the certainty that nothing was certain.
Hours later, as the timbers of the inn groaned in pain, I drifted into a kind of sleep, infested by dream demons with their claws of recall. The only consequence of my endless, inward journey was a rattling room and a bed strewn with discarded reminders of the past.
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