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Wednesday May 30th 2012, 1:53 pm

Its unbearably dark, like the gloom is thick as ink. I find myself in a very strange vehicle, not quite a car and not quite a motorcycle, but yet it reminds me of both. With me are two strange women and we are racing down what appears to be a wide street, but its all flat blacks with graphic pops of white and grey. Its almost as if there is little dimensionality or depth to what I’m seeing. This is unlike any reality I’ve seen before.

The women next to me are almost identical, but I have the impression that they are not twins, and for a reason unknown I’m helping them desperately elude some unquantified threat. Both are fair skinned but with a sheen to their complexions, almost like white porcelain with the slightest hint of rosiness to their cheeks, they don’t seem quite human. There is a softness in the shapes of their faces, smooth curves in a classical sense, subtly alluring and elegant. They both have black form-fitting clothing, nothing distinct to the design. And both have short black bob hair cuts, that twirl loosely in the airstream of our escape route. The most peculiar thing though, is that one seems slightly smaller than the other, sitting in her double’s lap hugging cloistered like a child and referred to as a Familiar. Unmoving, she has a look of deep sadness on her fine simplistic features. Her eyes are closed and her lids are painted coal. I look forward again. White graphic street lamps against flat graphic black whiz by from side to side as we race away.

We are being pursued by some juggernaut of a being on a large heavy industrial motorbike machine, thick treaded tires, gears turn and clink and belts shimmer, it roars from hell itself. He’s skirched to a halt, and he half stands firmly, all black with heavy leathers and armor, a gleaming black helmet that sits shaped close to his head. His face covered with a visor, like a pilots mask of black glass. I feel like he’s twenty feet tall, looming over us. But I know this isn’t right, as he’s actually a good distance away, but yet feels so much bigger than all around us. Then, without verbal expression, the oppressive figure rapidly lifts some form of weapon from a large case on one side, like a portable black bazooka canon, its paint flecked and chipped. He raises it up to only shoulder high like a rifle. Fiery smoke wafts from the tail pipes of his insipid archaic bike-machine, revving like a beast, it spews crackles of sparks. He fires.

We’re rocked with sudden ferocity as the discharged explosive pummels into us. I’m flung mightily into the air, hot of orange and red fire, it singes my lungs. Time seems to stand still for a moment as my eyes catch every piece of minuscule debris and giant ripped metal caught up in this plume of death with me. I glimpse toward the two identical women, they too are being flung by the force of the blast. But they seem to be pushed through the air together, moving in the same direction. Its as if they are inseparably linked by an unseen tether of clinging energy that pulls one after the other. The hot orange glow illuminates their faces, it would be beautiful if not for the dire meaning of our circumstance.

Everything still caught in slow time, my sight pushes in close onto one of the women, her delicate face seems calm as she sadly pleads, “Help us, please. Help Us. Save My Familiar.”

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