Girl in a Message

I dreamt of her again last night. I woke with her upon my fingertips and flavoring the edge of my conscious.

She was there. She was so real. She sang a song for me. It was in another language and it soothed my soul. She touched my arm and her fingers were so cool. They eased the burning of my veins. Behind her perched three black birds. She wore white ... I believe ... or nothing at all. Her skin was like porcelain. Her eyes were so dark. Like mine ... pools of ink with no reflection. It started to rain. The kind of rain that drenches the plains and sends flash floods down the ravines. I reached for her but her skin turned to parchment, printed with words but they were like puzzle pieces and did not fit together ... her skin pulled away from her into my hands. She started to fade from me then. She did not scream at me for taking her skin. She seemed to understand.

And I woke with the feel of her still upon my fingers and the words upon my lips.

Sound of Silence

Ahamay, the big black bird that Dubois left for me has not eaten in days. I was concerned and so today I rode to the first wagons. I searched for a Spex. One that would help me with the bird. I did not wish to see him die.

I was met at the central fires by two slaves. I called them kajira one and kajira two. They were beautiful spirited Tuchuk slaves. They did not see me ... not me. But they saw a master, a scarred warrior and that is enough for me. In that moment I felt pride for my Tribe. It is not always so. There have been times I have hated my people. Hated myself for being one of them.

The Spex was there and she said she would help my bird if I would give my word to come to the fires more often. I am disturbed by this. Why would she ask this of me? Did she remember my family? Does she know they were of the first wagons? Does she know my father was a black mask?

It is dangerous for me to go there. And yet I will for I gave my word.

She had a slave called matou. A strange girl. A barbarian though so I suppose that explains much. Ahamay took to her instantly. I have never seen him like that. Not with Dubois even. I wish Dubois was here so I could ask her what it all means. I miss her.

I miss Ahamay for now my wagon is indeed empty save for the sound of my own breathing. Tonight I wish for a pillow of breasts. For the comfort of soft skin. For a voice to sing to me to still the silence that crashes in with a deafening roar.

Today I thought of a slave for the first time. I mean in fact, a slave for me for the first time. To own one. It is possible now. I will begin to work towards this. I do not think I can stand the silence of this wagon much more or I shall go sane.

Hallelujah

I think I am more alone in my wagon than I ever was sleeping where I fell. Where I found a shelter. Every sound seems to echo in here. I think too much.

Today I painted on the sides. Great sweeping visions of color. Probably only understood by me. Sometimes I wish there were someone that could share it with me. To see it as I did. To understand. Is that not what we all wish for? For a moment when you realize that you are not alone. That someone out there in the mass of thought connects with you. It is enough to swell in your veins and burst upon your skin and suddenly you feel everything and you see everything and you .... well you know ... everything. At least I believe that to be true. And even if it is not I dream of it. I envision it. I see it out there in the stars when I ride at night.
I am full of so much. So much I have never shared with anyone. The dreams and visions all wrapped around the idea that the person exists that will understand. That will see what I pull from the things around me as I build what is mine. Who will find shelter in it. Who will see the mark I leave upon this existence and marvel at it and be lost in it and ...and will see it ... and know that it is my signature.

I would yell at the top of my lungs unto the Sky if I could just express myself. I look around me and it seems to come so easy for some. They do, they build and it is recognized for what it is. I struggle to lift my alter to the heavens and it comes out crooked and writhing. Misunderstood and they are afraid. Afraid of what I see. I can not help I see the world without its skin. I see the tendon and sinew. I see the rush of blood through veins and how it is all tied together and how it works from the inside out. And it is beautiful and it is ugly and it is sick and it is wrong and yet ... it is. And I can not deny what I see.

One day I will find my artist. I will gorge myself upon her. I will cleave her open and I will glut myself on every atom of creativity she is and I will bathe in her and I will dance in her and I will paint with her until there is nothing of her left but my signature.

Perhaps then ... they will understand.

Courage

It was odd to sleep in a wagon tonight. I can't remember when I last slept under anything except the stars. It is not much of a wagon. But it is mine. I have never owned anything this big before. It makes me feel opulent.

My scars itch. They seem to be healing well.

I am just done with three days of hard riding. Some of the small stuff got mired down in mud by the water hole. I feel like my shoulders and back are packed full of rocks. I barely had enough energy to gather some dung for the fire. I don't remember if I ate. I just fell into my blankets.

How can I be so tired and yet my mind be so awake? The last few days have been a change for me. Respect. It is not something I have ever gotten. I can't say I had a lot of it the last couple of days but there was a difference. I caught a girl watching me today. She did not turn up her nose in disgust. She even blushed a little. It made me ride taller in the saddle.

I have meat. I was allowed to go on a hunt and I brought back a tabuk. A whole tabuk to myself. I think I will eat until I throw up. Eat until I have to pack it down my throat with a stick. I will make a new shirt with the skin. I have never had a new shirt before.

I need to sleep and still my brain is charged with energy. Pictures flashing so fast through my conscious. I wish I could capture them and paint them on the sides of my wagon. Tomorrow if I have time I will hunt and trade meat and hide for some paint.