to mirage
Posted: Tue Jul 09, 2019 3:09 am
i was told you were very good? and i read and i honestly think I love what you say and hello to everybody welcome me to here! 
my friend wrote a story he wanted me to post it for him
Looking For a Good Day
It was quick. After months and years of waiting, Hanako finally saw what the blind saw, which was the shape of a lily after it had been turned into ashes. As she sat in the chair she felt someone sit back on her, and she got back up. Shadows flickered in the edge of her vision and she turned around. She felt like laughing, like she was alone. Her heart moved in her chest, her hands were in her chest, she was holding her own heart with the blood running out of it. Then it popped-
And she was swimming. Hands scooping water. A rivertide walking, with wet legs, on an underside of the moon that lay above the ceiling, just out of sight. Beneath her ears lay that untouched node of white ribbon sense-data, fire under her ears, a fire in her lymph. Pirochial. Incense on water. Fireworks launching. Amethyst set in the heart. Down the hallway, lights above turning into crystal as the floor flooded red up to her ankles, past her ankles, wet along the knees without her feeling cold precisely, just a prickling phantom feeling. It was time to go to town against the world.
A lightfoot down, a black foot over, and she moved out to take the eye-out. And now calmly crystalline. A male kappa now, standing unburnt, frog-skin cold to the touch. She was naked on the roof and her hands had a jagged slice on it. She recognized where she’d eaten lunch on a the little flat square below, a grey plain like paved sandstone underneath the desert sun. She was laughing still, feeling loved, unworried, unkept by Lilly or anybody else she knew.
Now looking out from the world, she’d bought time before looking in. Over and around, like a girl without hands or legs, outrunning both the planet outside and the memories inside. Instead she paced around herself, on top of the sonobuoy of a planet. Helium, high and squeaky, came from the mouths of the rats and burped into her lungs. She sang it out, and when a cat’s eye flashed with springing gear-jaw voice, she threw herself from the roof and rolled away bonelessly.
It was true that her mother had her hands above her, and that they were unblackened. Light refracted. She tried to remember a word, the name for when the world and will bent light to form templates to cast new creations from. That world-caster created over sand by hot air and likewise over long and warm seas to draw travellers and ships to doom and misguidance. That illusion which she now believed as truth.
She tripped as she hobbled on her queer/bent legss but caught herself from falling. Her arms were so very strong. She could crush the world. Instead of an infinite persecution of eyes it seemed that she was the mastermind of the world, a matron and madame ready to capture and sell or kept everything underneath her. It was impossible, this omfort-fixed-on-stars, this someone else’s rocketeer dream, or rather this nectar that had been impossible for her to drink. She’d had honey with her tea and this was that honey she’d not had.
On the ground now, leveling with things. In the grass and chasing red rivulets. A summer’s breeze over clover, with no cutting remember or places to snap off. In the shimmy waves, off with her skin, making up the rain with the pattering of her own feet. Asphalt turning her feet blood red hot and then she stopped, a mental body crushing against her, but was the asphalt her shadow? It was. Did she have a twig to beat it with? She did. And a plastic Calpis carton, still sour-smelling. She picked up both and beat at them feebly, forgetting that her object was to fight her own shadow.
In her mind she leaped away from the ground and looked for a large branch to beat it with. A metal can. She put the can of iced coffee on the branch and switched the ground, starring and scarring it for each wound on her foot. It still burned and she danced for want of grass, haze around her, the world bending. Her head was above her now watching her eagled-form on the grass looking strangely weak. A haze passed through her head. Fog in the blazing of summer, perhaps heatstroke colluding with an impossibility of mist.
The she peered down and fell straight through the grass into the hard sea of obsidan underneath. Peered down, let her viscous eye drip down through volcanic glass and reform as heaped-up rhodopsinic noose-structures, looping around and around and capturing a new vision. Light bent and broke the glass of the world, the unshearable ever-giving liquid that bathed Hanako and healed her wounds. It was there that she found the mirage that cleaned her.