The image came to me in the dying moments of dusk, just before blue was lost to black. Like so many others, it came inscribed intact on my heart, a visual story rendered complete, all details in place, each attaining vivid focus with gentle scrutiny.
In the cold wind he stands on the edge of a barren precipice ready to jump, this man entrusted to my care, this man whom I love. The joy on his face shines mirrored on the reflective snake scales below, glimmering as eyes of a thousand medusae with a single siren's voice.
In the silence of the scene he does not hear my pleas of caution; he is tired of my knowing so maintains a deafness through distance. Desperate, from many meters behind him I grab for his waist to pull him back, protect him in my hold, nestle him small in my chest. But my arms grab air - no, my arms are air.
Unable to hold him I stand stunned, transfixed by my skin the color of my off-white petticoat; layers of skin and clothing so translucent I can see the earth through my body, the scrub underfoot standing unaffected by any weight. I am air.
Why this burden of insubstantiality? The glare from the snake scales blind and taunt, the strong light so much more material than I will ever be.
"Sacrifice him" whispers Truth, and the tears that run down my translucent face burn as acid through metal - grooves etched in vapor til they drop to the ground.
He is already in flight, only the tip of one foot - barely touching the edge of the precipice - ties him back to safety.
I wait to turn away.
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