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the instability of it all, I could feel my thoughts being
gently untied from the inimitable arrow of time, logic, and
causation. This dissolution of bondage allowed my mind to
recover its proper dimensions and function, unfurling like a
massive sail within a hurricane—flying full, fat, and foolish.
I could hear Dr. Coldglow attempting to guide my mind to
certain prescribed psychological signposts along the way to
my destination, so as to assure my safe arrival. “This journey
you’ve made before, back when rabbit holes and tornado
tails were one-way tickets, when wandering and whimsy
were solid organs within the body of living mystery. When
darkness ruled over the light and the wretched world cast off
its many names and incalculable numbers.” I appreciated the
good doctor’s well-intentioned guidance—but I knew the
way.
My memory became a palpable force, clawing past the
years which had gathered between itself and the Darkness—
years which hoped, no doubt, to smother illimitable mystery
within their potentially infinite ranks. But time proved
incapable of overcoming the momentum of my inspired
remembrance, and soon I was centered once again upon a
world forsworn of light and sensibility—a world that bound
itself in a nutshell and counted itself a king of infinite space.
The soft dim of old memories caressed my unwaking
mind, gently opening my inner eye to the forgotten past. I
could feel portions of my subconscious withdraw from the
moment, expecting a violent rejection to the opening of
preternaturally sealed memories. Yet my mind was still and
calm. I had been delivered into the fleeting few moments
preceding the Darkness. Suddenly, with a dangerous and
precious curiosity, I remembered.
I was traveling the September Woods when the sky
turned the deepest grey, darkening to a near blackness that
resembled a congregation of storm clouds or the approach of
night. Yet not a single cloud loitered the air, and the sun hung
high and visible, now but a muted smudge of struggling light
330 | Mark Anzalone