Daymares 5

I realize that I have been swimming in daydreams.  I have let the light slip away from me and soon very soon, the blades will be swiping at me again.

I wonder if by some small miracle the memory of the first hard fought fragment might have been real.  I dismiss as pure imagination the moment where my hand moved freely.  It has been such a long time since I have had the strength or the dexterity to move with even that much grace.

Grace, now that is a word to ponder at length.  Amazing Grace.  Strange that we use this word to describe spiritual essence and transcendance and also to describe movement and elegance.  Rather tawdry use of the language to trivialize the word in such a fashion after elevating it to such a lofty station.  I think it has more appeal with regard to its spiritual nature.  And yes, it has been a long time since I have felt lifted with Grace.

I let my eyes drift toward the slats that mark the fall of the sun.  I have perhaps two hours before the light begins to truly fail.  Time enough perhaps to find out if it was a dream afterall.  I begin the dragging effort of positioning my arm and hand where I can view what may or may not be there.  If I were capable of perspiring I would be drenched in sweat by the time I complete this manuever.  But, the coolness of the room and the lack of fluids keeps me dry.  Dry as bone and as brittle too, I have little doubt.

There it is, my lost appendage, coming into view.  I let my eyelids drift shut.  I am suddenly not sure I wamt to know if it was just a figment of my imagination.  Summoning my strength of will - it is all the strength left me now - I force my eyes open and focus on my hand.  I am startled by what I see.  I shift my gaze in an effort to assure myself that my focus is clear.  But they remain, two small shards.  Two fragments of my being.  One in my palm and one stuck just below my index finger on the pad of my hand.  They are difficult to understand.  One is shaped with a slight curve to one edge as if it might have been an oval if it had not been sliced through.  It is a deep brown, no I think perhaps it is actually black, with a small rectangle of brownish white obscured but present running through it.  The other is blue.  A patch  blue in a strange sliver slice almost like a piece of pie, if one could be cut that thin.  I can almost make out faint line in it.  But the piece is so small I am not quite sure if they are there or not. 

I fold my hand carefully around the scraps of myself.  Protecting them from the blades that will challenge my grip on them soon enough.  Questing through my random thoughts I search for the image of the fragment from before,  That piece of white and blue.  I realize that the change that I have found pieces that go together is wildly impossible, but I  cannot help myself,  I begin to try to link the images together.  Like working a jigsaw puzzle.  What would they make if they came together as a whole?

I cannot shake the feeling of hope that rise in me at the prospect of finding a whole image.  It is as if there might be a window out of this place if only I can find it.  Strange as that may seem, I hold onto that thought as the shadows grow and the blades begin their knife-like dance, sending showers of fragments to fall like raindrops around me.  Little pieces of myself harvested to no known purpose raining down across my carcass.  I think perhaps I will someday give them something to root in.  If I can't find a way out of here soon, it will be the only thing I am good for.