The Hunter in the Light

 This world has been cruel and unkind. Why is anyone surprised, that we, her children, are very much the same? I have never meant to take, though, I have. It has been a mercy each time. Liberation from suffering. Liberation from need, from want. Utter, utter, freedom.

When I am asked if I dream, I respond that I don't. Why dream when this is the life of my choosing?

In the darkness of the Earth, in the soil, in the cisterns, in the caves, what is hidden lives. It is never eradicated. It digs deeper. It seeks to survive.

I do not hide. I am no coward. I thrive in plain sight. Our decadence is everywhere. I am that decadence writ in flesh. I am the symptom of the disease. 

You have seen me. You know me. I am.  

Morning Monologue

I woke up before she did so I made sure to not disturb
her as I got out of bed. Standing in our room I felt the
slight chill of a winter morning that had been staved off
by our bodies beneathe the sheets. The traces of light
that would become the dawn were making themselves
known. She was breathing softly and no doubt warmer
than myself. What was she dreaming? Even if she woke
up right then she might not remember or might not want
to say. I know that would have been the case with me. I
do not usually remember dreams but on occasion I do.
Our minds are ceaseless in their inventiveness and work.
But are dreams merely that? Are they truly just the mind
unbound playing self-generated films for us? Would it be
too strange to perhaps interpret these as visions of past
lives or other states of existence for which we have no
rational explanation? I surely don't have an answer for
that. She sleeps and dreams. I am awake and no longer
dreaming. What if we were merely lives caught in the
dream of some other sleeping being in the universe?
That might be a stretch but I cannot disprove it. Then
again, a rational mind has no need to worry but how
rational are we at any given time?