Drawn

Now, as the moon watched on, I walked to the ruins of an ancient church, its naves stretching out like broken arms to pull me in. And I was pulled deeper.

I eased the ancient doors open, my attempts at discretion ruined by rusted hinges and water damaged wood. A painting hung on the wall in front of me. I followed along as it spread off to the side before curling round the next bend, its ancient flaking canvas threating to rip open with the slightest touch. I was pulled deeper.

I walked the length of it, watching it morph and twist, surreal, real, pulling together into a single ball, bursting outward to the size of an African forest, weaving and spinning up and down the walls. I was pulled deeper.

The walls became ceiling, floor, all as I walked, snaking up my legs and around my eyes. I could feel the splinters digging my skin. It climbed me as I climbed it, taking me into itself. I was pulled deeper.

The floor returned itself to tree trunk, and I walked out into the undergrowth. The leaves formed new images; the smell of rotting meat made me smile. The coat of a jaguar rippled like spilt oil, forming the background to the greatest masterpiece. I was pulled deeper.

It moved without life, a machine of ground up existence, a spiritual blood eagle. The jaguar’s yellow eyes watched on, it’s fur glistening. I was pulled deeper, deeper until I felt myself open completely to it. My neck twisted round and I smiled; I did not want to hold up the queue for long.