Seven: Time to Meet My Maker
Last night, as I fulfilled my dream, gravity could take no effect. Yet I saw its drag upon the world for those who knew not how to command it, rather, let it command them. And even then, I was on the threshold of meeting someone who would open up this world to me yet even more. I had seen but a glimpse through these eyes that still held dear their mortal concepts and limitations, but were capable of seeing so much more if only they knew which way to look.
And so it came to pass, Billy and I descended to terra firma. Again, no heroics, no scattering of petrified mortals to greet our landing. We dropped beside a quayside factory in almost silence, but for the fluttering of our clothes arguing against gravity. We proceeded in yet more silence to the foot of an ancient bridge that spanned a small waterway.
At its crest, a small gang of creatures adorned in black were held in court by a slip of a thing, sat, legs crossed and showing to the thigh, on the decrepit wall of said old bridge. As we got closer, it was apparent that this fragile figure was little more than a young adult, not yet blossomed into full womanhood; accepting that her state was as ours, she was never likely to. But a creature of eye-searing beauty and lusting desire, nonetheless.
In the pale arc-sodium light cast by the street lamps, all sense of true colour was obliterated. It was only when we drew closer that I suspected this beautiful woman, so young yet exuding experience that orbited her like some mystical, tangible aura, was of Asian origin. We approached and the court that she held parted, backed away and bowed down on one knee. Billy did the same as he arrived within their midst. It was odd seeing this powerful creature prostrate, but somehow fitting and conveyed such loyalty that it was fearful to behold.
Confused, I wondered if I should do the same but this girl-on-the-wall’s hazel eyes bore a path into my very soul, engaging my gaze, not meaning to let go. In the instant the connection was made, memories of my childhood, reminiscence that I myself could not possibly have conjured as I was the object of those visions, flooded my brain. My blonde hair appeared, cut in a wedge and bouncing after the football. I stopped before these eyes, this camera, abandoning the chase and whispered unexpected words of kindness as the playground carried on its childish mayhem beyond my very own, very young face.
This replay had me frozen stiff in awe, in fear and in supplication. The message I conveyed back then had become garbled now, worn with time. But it was the intent, so sincere, loving even, and so obviously not forgotten by the host that held the import, here. Through her eyes I was staring into my own, bright blue and open to everything, a time when I knew not what innocence was to behold, yet possessed it in abundance.
It was Perveen. In recognition, the transmission broke instantly and off the crumbling wall she skipped, taking my hand. It was as if she had been sat there for decades, but that could not be so. She had grown, and how, since that memory was made. But she had been brought into this other world a lot sooner than I.
She was the master? I could not conceive it. But aghast grumbling from the down-turned heads surrounding us confirmed that it was so.
She smiled with her lips, beamed with her eyes. Looking after me was her duty. I somehow knew that. But it was a task she would relish, had awaited all these years to take me under her wings as I had so obviously soothed her all of those years ago in the playground. Her rough palm held my cheek and pulled my face to look down into hers in a replay of the way our eyes had met when we were but children. For one solitary instant, I thought I would drown in the love I saw staring back up at me. I broke the gaze, gasping. Her look was all tenderness and understanding, but demanding that I look again, all the same. I was powerless to do otherwise.
We strolled down the opposite side of the small hump-backed bridge from whence Billy and I had approached, leaving the others behind as they began to stand now that their Lady had dismissed the court. She was all mine. Or, rather, I was all hers. Well, the little I thought I had left to give to her, anyway, she could have willingly. But Perveen was about to show me how much more there was to this undead life to give and in exactly what manner it should be imparted. And received. And in ways only a madman would ever conceive.