Feelings of madness creep across the stage, the handler chokes, the fans wave. The pitiful man stares into her eyes, he grasps the handle of the blade.
Another life another time. I feel the rationing pain. I know the character is lost, my thoughts are awash. I see nothing but the everlasting rain, it comes in torrents, waves and sharp ribbons of pain.
I see the chasm dripping, the light overhead lapping at the walls. Brushing against the wall, it falls. The fire creeps, the rhythm of smoke calls. He pulls the strength of loss, the chasm of drunken stupor keeps him steady.
He knows the rapid fire, it loves and needs his pain. It curls up beside him, resting its head upon his shoulder. Whispering in his ear, “Master.”