I just woke up. Not all of me, but the thought centers. Still, I can’t feel my legs, and my face is so sore.
There’s blood on my knees. Not this again.
And from within, a voice says
“Get on your feet and run after him. GET HIM!!”
I was Vetihver, and I saw the man he meant and was in my feet and lunging and lurching until I was running and caught the spread easily.
He’d ducked into an ally and caught me with a square shot to the face as I passed, that tossed me off balance.
I was adrenal and whipped back and snatched him like a daisy off the bush, in a rage, and whipped his torso around and against the concrete like an old rug or a wet body pillow.
Blood ran its way to the drain at the curb.
We walked home the seven miles. I was hypnotized by, what Vetihver calls, post coital empathy.
He later said, when I asked him who and why, that we insulted his shoes, casually, and he found offense in it.
I’m beginning to surrender to the craziness, when I can’t conceal it.