Raymond’s fingers trembled over the words of the tattered paperback. His voice did not rise above a whisper, melancholy settling deep into his bones.
“The emotions that go with these images of bottoming are reluctance, loathing, sadness, mourning, inhibition, enclosure, lethargy…”
Rose’s head had fallen against his shoulder as the bus bumped along to God knows where at God knows what time in the morning. Their only guide the roles assigned by lot. She could have leaned against the window, but the window did not offer the numbness that took away the burning of her blood through her veins. Her role the inward pressure on drowning lungs. Impossible apart.
“…or that sense of depth that presses on us as depression, oppression,
suppression.” Her touch was a strange sensation, like warm ocean water spreading from his left side to his right, filling the space his emotion had left. His role the rationality of murder to save one’s own life. Impossible apart.
“Our downward imagination has entered the earth.” Raymond gently grasped Rose’s hand on the palm where there was no physical scar. He rested his head against hers.
“Bottom’s dream.” My blood is yours.
Nihilistic Porcupine 