the pond & the goat-prince (freewriting)

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Sandra Pulitzer was holding a bottle of ibuprofen, watching the noisy kids playing outside her window. The playground was a division that sprung between the two lines of red-brick apartment complexes; each leaning inward, boarding the children below by a juxtaposed, cirrose, arc. There hasn't been a lot of raining this year, and the local pond -- just a block to the east has all but dried out, leaving a mud ditch, that filled the air with a foul sweet scent. Many strange stories circulated the pond; most meant to frighten the kids away from playing there, to prevent an unfortunate drowning of some sort, or simply to keep little johnny from coming home with soaked jeans. Mothers would be known to spread myths at night, by their childs bedpost, of strange shadows, spirits, aberrant sylphs, banshees (and later rapists, but in a different, non-fairy tale context) seen all around it at night -- and in the day time the creatures were said to be patiently waiting below its murky waters, grabbing the victims which ventured in too far. The pond wasn't deep, but it was deep enough for a small child to drown in. The real annoyance the community-watch had was based on the reputation of it being a meeting spot, for the neighborhood teenagers, to smoke pot and drink beer, then catch citations by the cops for the nightly noise distubance.

At the ladder to the yellow spiral-slide rose an overstretched, whiny, noise; a blonde girl with dandelions in her hair, ululated that her twin brother would "sto-op" (he must have been teasing her the whole day), and if he wouldn't -- he would be told on. Sandra untwisted the cap to her analgetics once more. Getting a glass of water, she closed the window curtains, and sat down on her lavender couch with a pouted lip. She was wearing a green, wide-strap, tank top and her low-waist jeans, self-conscious in an empty room. Not usually the type to feel that way -- she had suffered a bad break up this year and divorced. This only contributed to her being aware that she was now in her late thirties -- where a girl might start making enemies with her mirror -- which magnified the tiniest line on her face, normally invisible to others. The guys name was Daniel; they got married in their twenties, never had kids, and gradually lost interest for each other, questioning their real compatibility with time. She made the first move to propose a seperation. Maybe, somewhere in her mind there was an ulterior motive -- or rather a hope -- that staying away for a bit might actually bring them closer; the usual cliche stuff which almost never works. During the time they were seperated he found someone else, and filed for divorce.

Still resting her head on the palm of her hand, she sighed -- the curtain that poured rays of razor sunlight pierced through her pupils, concocting within itself ominous batches of harpies: pulling at each others hairs, shoving and kicking, grabbing and beating at her veins, tugging her nerves with sharp fingernails once inside. Sandra grinded her teeth, closing her eyes, "This is torture. I need to get a prescription. This is not fair." She enviously empathised with the children outside, who embraced the sun and warmth which was her present enemy, how she wished she could feel like them... At the moment however the sun-children were demons. The inadvertent flashes of them hanging on meat hooks, mutilated and beat with blunt objects, mouthes wide open with tongues out, scanned through the blood vessels in her eyes. A little boy swinging on the meat-hook slithered towads her face, mouth torn open -- screaming violently. Shocked by the sharp vividity of those visions she snapped her lids apart, tiny blotches of sweat sprouting all around her temples. When she had asked Daniel about having kids, he would usually smile and say, "Me too... I am working hard on it. But we have all the time in the world and you know it. I really want... I need them, to have a good future. It's just not so easy or realistic right now, you know?" She'd shrug and say, "yeah you're right." usually he would hug her afterwards, saying something reassuring.

Her headache has not left her when she stripped to enter a hot bath. Putting a wet towel on her forhead she layed, counting backwards. Alongside with the count, her mind was playing memory tricks on her. Fragmented phrases would appear and disappear, song lyrics would loop then disperse, then begin again. A phosphorescent blob pulsated in the darkness of her closed eye-lids. Rhythmically expanding and imploding. Sometimes dissolving, then slipping out from the side of blindness for a minute; then shrinking down into nothing, once more.

"How many times am I..."
"Sandra will you lend me a hand with this I..."
"Oh not really I saw him at..."
"So, when are you going to come over?"
"Pretty much it..."
"Are you alright? Sandra? Sandra?"
"Oh I'm not going out for long I'll be..."
"This is torture I need a prescription."
"There has been reports of numerous break and entries happening on the upper east side of..."
"Once upon a time, a long long time ago."

The gash that stretched over the dusk vertigo of ablepsia was beating franticly. On the wind, it caught a handful of fireflies -- mixing them with toads and owls, carrying them away from the axis poles and into the earth ledge, called Lin. Synchronized movements, in a serpentine orb -- shuffled all there stranded; Lin was fed on spired columns of baby heads...

A mascarade of garments and robes, hoods howling at winding staircases -- there a dizzy descent into orchards of thorns, there horned animals frolicked. Hoofs of granite puncture fresh blood pools whenever connecting with the ground, endless trails behind -- the goat springs into the labyrinth that is called the sky... Pregnant in midflight his belly erupts, scattering entrails and guts over the winding cosmos -- their legions invert, knitting a wormhole which slips an object, flying off at an incredible speed. As its out of sight the wormhole lets out a needle, casually weaving it back, shut.

He fell down to earth; right there -- by the playground benches, causing a flock of birds to scatter from a near tree at the impact of the plummet. The goat entrails followed, some clinging to him, others splashing about: around the spiral-slide and near the bushes. Pulling himself up he straightened out his crown, which was full of dirt, and took some of its contents -- mixing them with the guts around him. He saddled a goat which momentarily grew from this alchemical mixture and rode into the night, then into the apartment complex, then up its fire-escape ladders.

Sandra opened her eyes... Standing over her bathtub was the goat-prince, tipping his dirt-crown. She backed away, as he uttered bluntly,

"I came across a pond here... Dont worry its ripe for a swim... It's very nice and warm. Come to the pond with me?"

"But I'm already bathing..." Sandra responded in a daze, still backing away while covering her breasts.

"We will have wine and goat-meat," he continued, "the autumn winds are at midnight, and theres no excuse to decline their invitation. Furthermore, I came to wed a skirt, and fuck and be marry."

Sandra responded with a desperate look, which was half confused and half full of fear.

"But I dont have no wine..." he continued, "and this goat next to me is just an illusion. Also we were too late and it is now Summer... But, we still have the pond," he looked to the side, glancing at his reflection in the mirror, "the pond is waiting, you know -- its been lonely for too long. You have to follow me. You have to follow me and love it, whether you want to or not!"

He reached down into the bath-tub, taking her by the arm, while every one of her thoughts raged in protest. She tried to back away once more, or fight -- yet found herself to be in a semi-paralyzed state. She wasn't in control of her limbs; as in a trance -- her limbs passively tugged along, as if pulled at by an unseen force which levitated her to follow the visitors footsteps. In her time, she had heard of strange dreams, lucid-dreams and the fanatical legends of the incubi race. She had heard that sexual-frustration and stress might account for such a strange & obscure phenomenon, and that a large percentage is liable to experience it, usually in the form of sleep-paralysis -- once in their lives. "Is it really Daniel that's causing all of this?" she thought to herself. "And why'd I obsess about some shitty pond which reeks up the whole neighborhood."

A thick fog covered the surroundings of the pond-ditch. Vapours of carmine sprints, a tranquil moist dew, rose from the murk shadows of its core. It was really a dirt swamp but her guide seen different, as he slid down his loin-cloth, and dove in.

"The water is warm!" he exclaimed, "come inside."

Sandra, rose one of her eybrows while giving an insecure frown, "I dont know. It doesn't look safe. What if someone sees us?"

"Don't be silly -- Get in. It's great!"

Cautiously, she put one foot into the dirt ditch, then the other. Soon she was up to her chest and making her way towards the man. "How did he seduce me?" she wondered, "What am I doing, having these strange dreams. This stupid dried up pond. What am I thinking about, I really need to see my shrink when I wake up."

"How do you like it?" the goat-prince lamented.

"Oooh, it's lovely, but..."

"But, what -- what else is there to want?"

"But, I dont think you should come to me like this again."

"You're coming to me, not me to you, sweetie." he embraced her.

A crowd has been gradually gathering by the mud pond for some time now, exchanging mutters and shaking their heads.

"Mommy, that lady is naked," giggled a girl with dandelions in her hair.

"I know darling," replied the mother tightening her grip on the childs wrist.

The crowd of people was now waist deep in the pond, pulling Sandra down under the mud, stomping, shaking fingers.

"I told you never to come here," the mother said loudly, pulling on her daughters hand, "come on, we're going!"

The ditch was in constant movement. Splashing in its muck, the neighborhood clenched at its surface, pulling out goat guts and angel halos, bones and bow-ties. Sandra was deep under surface now, while the mob continued to pump at the sludge; trapped in a torpid search, greedily shoving and spitting, delving for the bath plug.

"Oh, my beautiful goat-prince," Sandra gasped while the mud filled her throat, "promise me..." she half choked, then gargled, "Promise me this will be last."