Bound to Bone

Bound to Bone

I watch the swirling pastels and saturated clouds with hollow eyes. The universe is expanding every second, changing every minute, and I've bought tickets to the cosmic premiere. Something went horribly wrong that day; technology failed me and left me in Oz without my magic slippers. I am floating through the void of vibrancy and empty colors. The abyss in front of me is a marbled surface of bleeding ink. I reach out with a gloved hand, reaching and reaching. An artist has slathered their paint carelessly across a white canvas and stuck my skeletal form in the middle. I am encased by my helmet, a glass screen between me and the rest of this vivid frenzy. I wonder what the air would taste, what the atmosphere would smell like travelling through the cavity of my bare rib cage.

I know this isn't my world, I know this isn’t Kansas anymore. Hot blue flashes sizzle and blink through the barren bones of my skeleton. There is no time, there are no elements, there’s just me, and these iridescent glows spreading like food coloring through milk and soap.

I wake up sweating, even in this temperature regulated compartment. I reach to unbuckle myself but the belt that secures me won’t undo. I’m struggling “Somebody! Help me! Please!” I’m screaming and squirming, but through the haze of my dreamscape I remember one terrifying thought. It’s just me on this vessel. It’s just me floating aimlessly through space. It just me who will rot and decay, eventually turning into the skeleton of my dreams. All because I can’t undo my NASA standard seat belt.

The bones inside of me want to be seen.