Rapist.

With a sharp inhale I strike awake.

My eyes flutter open, the lead filled eyelids rise to expose my pupils to the twilight of my surroundings. I need a second to adjust to the dim light, my head is empty. My pupils dilate and contract as my chest rises and falls in a deep breath. The small droplets of cold sweat run down the back of my neck, I can feel them trailing along my skin like snails on a rainy afternoon.

I take in the scent of grass around me, listening to the quiet sounds of the playful wind. The first thing I see above me, is an endless sky.

Where am I and how did I get here? There isn’t a thing I remember. The sky is odd, it is so very faintly pink. A peachy, faint color of a dusty rose that can barely be noticed by a passing creature, only seen by an admirer who spends his time staring into its abyss. On second thought, who am I ?The soft, voluminous clouds are passing above me through the pinkish void, the void nearly as deep as the all consuming hole inside of me.

I sit up; my head is pounding. My core muscles barely allow me the motion, still in a sleeping state. I look around slowly, first thing my lazy gaze drops to is my legs. The skin is basically transparent, translucently white, the veins and muscles pumping underneath. The knees are scraped, red, they look kind of beautiful, covered in blood. The skin looks fragile, easily bruised, the popped blood vessles beneath spray purple, wine red and blue onto the skin under, like an abstract painter creating the new famous masterpiece. The bones, hugged by the muscles and the translucent skin lead further down my bare legs to my feet. So skinny and well defined, I move my toes to test my ability of control, the toenails are a deep, matte shade of black. The legs, the bruised knees and the skinny feet buried in emerald green grass paint a dystopian, borderline grotesque picture. My skin feels like rubber as I feel the wind caressing my body with the long leafs that I am so unceremoniously bending and squeezing beneath me, crushing them with my weight. 

I look around, slowly turning my head. I am in a wild field, long, tall, emerald grass all around me. It’s difficult to see past the tall grass and the faint void, which I call a sky. I have to get up to see any further, but as I put my hands onto the slightly wet, cool ground I wince in a sudden joilt of discomfort. I raise my palms to my face, before my eyes, now with a slight print of dry mud over them. Beneath the print I can clearly make out the scrapes and cuts, oddly similar to the ones I observed on my knees just a moment ago. They sting and throb in sensitivity of the irritated, slightly inflamed skin. Some dry mud had gotten under my long, pitch black fingernails. My nails, if I can even call them that resemble claws, long and pointy, some broken down. A dried, brownish mix of mud, blood and skin has formed around my cuticles and beneath the nails on the very fingertips. It looks like it has been some time, it looks like I paced, stumbling, standing back up and running again; trying to get away from someone or something. But that is simply a hypothesis, for I do not remember what was there before the tall grass and the faint sky.

I do not remember anything at all.

I finally pull myself together with a slight scoff, clenching my hands into fists, letting the sharp claws cut into my already damaged, rubber-like skin. I lift myself off the ground, trying to find my balance, stumbling forward in the first few seconds, my feet are not secure on the ground, they tremble ever so slightly, trying to hold my weight. The agony of my sensitive feet being subjected to the sharpness of the grass beneath them dulls as I finally find my balance more or less and take a look around.

A field, a field with tall grass that goes on to the Horizont and beyond. Just grass and a few wildflowers plucked in here and there as sudden accents of color in the sea of green. The grass reaches up to my chest, as the wind moves it satisfyingly through the quiet solitude, like waves on the surface of a silky, still ocean. I turn around on the balls of my feet, burying my toes into the earth and dragging them in a circle. For as far as I was capable of looking, there was only the all devouring ocean of grass and the unknown.

whatever could be lurking underneath, whoever could be lurking underneath.

Whatever could be hiding in between the long strands of hay and weed. Whatever could be hiding in between the muscle and the bone. At a distance, I can see a tree, solemn in the middle of the field. It looks majestic, a strong wooden core, giving way for the thick branches to wrap around and tie with each other in chaotically beautiful braids and serpentines. It has a majestic crown, large and dense, the leafs show a range of all the shades of green and orange. I can’t help it but feel curious about what the crown of this majestic giant might be concealing.

A little further to the left, where the cool wind is coming from, I can see mountains at the Horizont, they feel incredibly far away, barely visible behind the mist, towering somewhere over the line concealed by the grass. Next to the mountains, a little closer to me in perspective, but still so unattainably far away, there is movement. A creature. A creature, taller than the mountains, towering over everything beneath them. Their head so far up in the dusty pink void, that I feel like they could reach up and touch the non existent ceiling. The creature moves mechanically, in slow, abrupt movements, like a poorly oiled machine. I feel like I can hear the screeching of the joints all the way to here, but that might just be my imagination playing tricks on me. The creature is oddly fascinating, I can make out the long, bony arms, the deep, ultramarine blue skin. It is gigantic, I can find out so much from the picture alone. In their hand, they hold a pumping object, from which ultramarine waterfalls drop to the ground below their feet, seeping in between their fingers like sand. They move; abruptly, slowly, but they still move, yet they don’t seem to leave their spot on the Horizont, a kind of an optical illusion, I am so sure they are moving forward, I can see it, but at the same time, they are standing in place.