On Red Honey
Jul. 26th, 2010 03:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ls_cassiusThe page is not dated and is out of the usually style of the diary
"That was an incredibly wretched night.
I laid back to place the drop upon my tongue with all the fear that I may die, never able to return to my home in the light again. I feared learning something I would be unable to comprehend and I would lose all sense of myself. I contemplated giving-up on finding this 'Scathewick'. I finally gathered all my resolve and tasted the sinister substance. The red honey seemed to radiate of infernal origin even in the glass vial I held carefully between my fingers. 'For ******.'.
I felt as if I had been ripped off my bed and away from this world. If a Prisoner's Honey dream is a breeze, Gaoler's Honey is a hurricane...or more. I wasn't myself...and yet I was. I wasn't really...there...And the taste...ash, and intense sweetness, and--and---I must not remember! I can feel it there still in my bones, running through my mind, in my very core. I must not think on that taste. I fear I really will lose myself.
This world was full of doors. And people that seemed permanently obscured as if the shadows and moonish 'Neath light had become one. And yet they were people. I knew I must appear the same. I stopped to try to talk to them, and it was as if my voice was not my own. Some knew people I knew, of the same circles. I parted myself from them and it felt that I was following the taste itself. It led me to a door. 'The taste is the key' I enounced, but it wasn't me.
I saw, but yet it wasn't through my own eyes. I saw the sky. I smelled straw. I was laying on my back looking through a crack in...in the shed...yes I was in a shed wasn't I? It wasn't me that knew this, but yet it was. I was looking at the sky absentmindedly though the cracks in the roof of a hay shed. It was quiet. It was lazy. The weather was so nice and so clear... Seemingly miles away I-myself-could hear someone screaming in pain. Screaming at me! Screaming at the pain of me crawling in their memories.
I pulled what I could find of me-***** Cassius-from this person's world and mind. I was back in the hall again. I felt as if I had just experienced something not many have ever before. The taste again led me along. I lost track of how many worlds I entered...Each time I heard my lips utter that phrase...One 'memory' was passionately mid-kiss, one was of running through The Flit; I place I had only run through once, and yet here I knew everywhere to vault and scrabble-up, the one I remember the most was one of feeling small and loved, I saw a bright and happy glow. It was so delightful and I reached out my clumsy fingers to pull it into my mouth. Vaguely I myself knew it was the colour yellow, but yet I didn't have any concept of colours. This was something I had never seen before. The screaming here was the worse, it was dire, there was no understanding of pain or of anything. I do not think I should think on this much longer as it is unbearable.
That was the last place I could take and I pulled, and pulled, I fought my way from the taste and wherever it was directing me. I felt my body again. Myself. I felt my laboured breathing, I felt my own arms, I felt the sheets under my fingers. I finally snapped my eyes open and the cold atmosphere of London flooded and clouded back. The taste still curled around my mind and tried to draw me back, but I held on to the ceiling and the bookshelves of my shack and finally won the battle."
"That was an incredibly wretched night.
I laid back to place the drop upon my tongue with all the fear that I may die, never able to return to my home in the light again. I feared learning something I would be unable to comprehend and I would lose all sense of myself. I contemplated giving-up on finding this 'Scathewick'. I finally gathered all my resolve and tasted the sinister substance. The red honey seemed to radiate of infernal origin even in the glass vial I held carefully between my fingers. 'For ******.'.
I felt as if I had been ripped off my bed and away from this world. If a Prisoner's Honey dream is a breeze, Gaoler's Honey is a hurricane...or more. I wasn't myself...and yet I was. I wasn't really...there...And the taste...ash, and intense sweetness, and--and---I must not remember! I can feel it there still in my bones, running through my mind, in my very core. I must not think on that taste. I fear I really will lose myself.
This world was full of doors. And people that seemed permanently obscured as if the shadows and moonish 'Neath light had become one. And yet they were people. I knew I must appear the same. I stopped to try to talk to them, and it was as if my voice was not my own. Some knew people I knew, of the same circles. I parted myself from them and it felt that I was following the taste itself. It led me to a door. 'The taste is the key' I enounced, but it wasn't me.
I saw, but yet it wasn't through my own eyes. I saw the sky. I smelled straw. I was laying on my back looking through a crack in...in the shed...yes I was in a shed wasn't I? It wasn't me that knew this, but yet it was. I was looking at the sky absentmindedly though the cracks in the roof of a hay shed. It was quiet. It was lazy. The weather was so nice and so clear... Seemingly miles away I-myself-could hear someone screaming in pain. Screaming at me! Screaming at the pain of me crawling in their memories.
I pulled what I could find of me-***** Cassius-from this person's world and mind. I was back in the hall again. I felt as if I had just experienced something not many have ever before. The taste again led me along. I lost track of how many worlds I entered...Each time I heard my lips utter that phrase...One 'memory' was passionately mid-kiss, one was of running through The Flit; I place I had only run through once, and yet here I knew everywhere to vault and scrabble-up, the one I remember the most was one of feeling small and loved, I saw a bright and happy glow. It was so delightful and I reached out my clumsy fingers to pull it into my mouth. Vaguely I myself knew it was the colour yellow, but yet I didn't have any concept of colours. This was something I had never seen before. The screaming here was the worse, it was dire, there was no understanding of pain or of anything. I do not think I should think on this much longer as it is unbearable.
That was the last place I could take and I pulled, and pulled, I fought my way from the taste and wherever it was directing me. I felt my body again. Myself. I felt my laboured breathing, I felt my own arms, I felt the sheets under my fingers. I finally snapped my eyes open and the cold atmosphere of London flooded and clouded back. The taste still curled around my mind and tried to draw me back, but I held on to the ceiling and the bookshelves of my shack and finally won the battle."
