(xiii death)

the next person she met was death. on a white horse riding through a field of red flowers. the sun was just rising & she had nowhere to go anyway. his touch was cold but his smile warmed her entire soul.

immediately her past faded away like it never happened.

the floating world is not heaven. not hell or purgatory or one of the many places a soul could go to after dying. it was a beautiful world. a sorrowful world. she never wanted to leave.

it was in fact a world made just for her. a world her brain designed. a

pageantry of silk & silence. polite propriety. poetic recitation as seduction within & without conversation. dropping lines of haiku written in blood secretly from silken sleeves.

red flowers everywhere. death reappears. hey babe it’s time to go.

no! she cried. no! he smiled & said i know it seems all too soon. but you’re a butterfly now babe. time to fly. time to leave this dark cocoon.

***

About the Author:

Polly MacDavid lives in Buffalo, New York at the moment but that could easily change, since she is a gypsy at heart. Like a gypsy, she is attracted to the divinatory arts, as well as camp fires and dancing barefoot. She has three cats who all help her with her magic.

Her philosophy about religion and magic is that it must be thoroughly based in science and logic. She is Dianic Wiccan and she is solitary.

She blogs at silverapplequeen.wordpress.com. She writes about general life, politics and poetry. She is writing a novel about sex, drugs and recovery.