Mayhap a demon will possess your "sole"

Turning it over in my head, over and over. Can't get it out of my unstable mind. But the doctor says that is can be removed. There is a way. There is a light. But it will take intensive surgery. Chloroform. Sedation. Incisions.

The gentle touch of a beautiful Persian hand. Suit cut Italian style and the smell of sticky white lye hanging limp in the air, invoking the pause of an executioner's hew. Just one more little huff. Remembering is not safe, they tell me, as I pass into relative crypt-sleep. Or so it feels.

I wake, naked in the dark. Alone and tattooed, aching and blistered. Caked blood and dried spittle. My breath fills the void with a pungeant, bittersweet odor. Rank are the coils of steam drifting through contaminated consciousness. I can see my reflection in the blackness. Though my eyes find no skill in this stupor, it is there. Staring back at me smiled and poised. Knowing. Believing. Yet something is not right with this still frame. All is silent.

My feet begin to dance. One two, one two, one two. A waltz? No, just a short rhythm, abbreviated from its full desirous release. Just a little motion that sways like an Atlantic current, rocking, lulling. Mimicked at every pace by the image in front of my drifting constitution. The image of me. Just a fluttering profile, glistened with a moist, cobalt aura. Laughing at me. Romancing the darkness.

I twitch to the left, it slides to the right. I duck, it ducks. A reddening glow shines in the blackness, as everything slows. This is surely the end. The end of the way it was. Now my aping cohort smirks back, inviting. He, no I, wave back and beckon. My biology shivers. The body heat releases into the ether a faint mist, a dullish violet. Tiptoeing, I follow. Colder than fire. Down this slickened path, subatomic light particles directing my mind like chalk arrows. To the center.

Sprightly visages cavort and dangle in the fading shadow sun. A grand feast of devils and impish lovers, twitching and echoing one another. Happy to see this new visitor. This man, this pseudo-creator, this sleepwalking mark. It's me at whom they snicker. I'm far from home now, but I already understand. My dread has receded. The subtle tunes, rich in temptation and merry, resonate with irresistable welcoming. Hello and goodbye. Be with us, they seem to sing.

I throw down my hands, transparently. I capitulate. I sway, and my motion is drunken. It is time now. It is time to dance. Two feet are my escort. It is time now to dance. And I dance. A pyre dance, a birthing dance. All is new and fresh with...