ferus rex

Forgetting the nearness of the edge, Willie had fallen down into the Well and could not get out. He could not see any circle of light above his head, nor could he see any lines that might separate this thing from the other thing. The only reference to distance was provided by a tiny spot of pulsing pain encased in an absurd complexity of soft pulp and warm blood; but it was very far away. Very far away. Between himself and the spot of pain everything else had been crammed, all in a chaotic flux, shifting ceaselessly within a river of infinite length.

Consciousness had been reduced to a mere gesture of self-apprehension. The locus of his sentience was not connected to the room, the bed, or even to the points of vague sensitivity that were his fingers, his toes, his penis and his eyes. Therefore sleep offered itself to him not as an abdication of substance and flesh, but simply as a doorway to something else. He took sleep, as he might have taken a drink from the glass beside his bed. And the dream was there waiting for him.

The tapestry of nocturnal sounds has fallen into silence; all the creatures are expectant and motionless as the plants come alive. Inside the house, their pots begin to shudder and crack. Riot of movement: they send out their shoots and creepers and fronds, feeling for the touch of a neighbor, raveling together, making thick, green ropes. In agitation, ropes wend through rooms of the house, meeting others, braiding into thicker cables, upsetting tables and chairs and shattering glass as they move. As they move. They make an orgy of squirming vegetable ecstasy on the floor. Ancient, enormous potted palm-presence in a dark corner of the living room, seen now to have been presiding over all, waiting, dips his head into the green orgy. Old man/palm rights himself again. Braided green cables have penetrated into his trunk, making a horrid Medusa. Cables writhe and pull at the trunk (but he is willing, engaged), lashing furiously until his monstrous clay urn/foot explodes apart in a shower of dirt and clay shrapnel. Barefoot boy walks gingerly over the dark floor, minding stray vines that are still sweeping across the broken glass and splintered wood. They seek the trunk! Outside, the moon sees him. Bare feet are invincible. Dark lobes of jungle converge from every direction. It seizes the house. Jungle clambers up against one wall and joins the fibrous tentacle within. The tentacle swells and twists and tenses against the confining concrete walls. Walls begin to crack; the entire house shudders and contorts, making an animal scream as it disintegrates into white powder.
(more…)