I woke up and the Land of the Long Divide was popping off with gunshots and explosions. Arcs of great missiles would twinkle over the horizon and crash into buildings. Great commotion followed flash mobs of villagers as they evacuated.
How long had I been asleep? The skyline had new buildings, taller buildings, that stretched farther upwards than the ones I had seen coming in.
For some reason I wanted to walk backwards, away from the skyline. I did better thoughts when I walked backwards.
After five paces backwards many things happened very quickly. Something hit me on the back of the head. Something crawled its way down my face. I froze and couldn’t think but couldn’t leave behind how I had felt before the events began. A loud noise sounded like some kind of set of symbols for me to understand.
When I turned around the Owl was lying inside a hollowed tree moaning “Who, who, who, who.” Its belly was facing upwards. Its feathers had almost all turned white or grey. There was blood coming out of its belly, and many different shades of blood, dried, dripping or fresh, like rainbow paint covering its talons.
I crouched next to the owl. I had no idea how to help the owl and, honestly, assumed the owl would rather die than accept help in the first place, since owls are birds of prey and birds of prey are the proudest animals in the kingdom. “Who, who, who, who.” The owl and I locked eyes.
There was an ocean. The ocean felt aware of its own massiveness. It was aware of how heavy it was. It felt a kind of sexual relationship with the earth beneath it, and its waves against the shore were a kind of lovemaking to the earth that supported it. The ocean felt its body extend everywhere its body was–I wasn’t used to this kind of sensation because I feel a privilege of feeling where my head is, as a human. My feet and spleen and nipples and fingernails are not given the same kind of automatic attention as my forehead and my face and brain are. Feeling as if I was an ocean, all parts of my body stretched everywhere.
The ocean waves brushed over my eyes, washing over my face, carrying away my thinking on a tide. When I blinked the owl had turned to a fine vapor. Its appearance turned to a silver wisp that floated away from itself and behaved like a silvery rag in the air that flew into my nostrils and as I inhaled forcefully I “snorted” the owl’s essence into myself.
Looking down, there were three small moonflowers stretching toward the night sky. I plucked them and walked around the war scene, avoiding the broken souls screaming on the exit from the city. I headed west.
A sign to the west of the Long Divide read, “Un-interruption: 5 Leagues North. Un-iteration: 5 Leagues West.” Which one should I take?