Many Worlds Theory
Entry by: Minda_k
19th November 2015
To Love a Black Hole
On the first night there is wind and a sound that eats. It rocks her and thrusts the trees into a macabre puppet show, arching their great backs, scattering the beasts in the underbrush.  Ravaged and knocked, she bares her teeth, lips stretched to release the laughter. Skirts billow behind, frothing white flags of surrender, but her arms are open and inviting the invasion.  His gravitational pull takes her, wrenches her face skyward. Her icicle spine cracks with the pressure, but even paralysed she hears his tender words from the black. The horrible beauty of him demands her attention and she gladly gives it, unable and unwilling to turn away from his many faces.
On the second night there is no wind, no sound burrowing through the dark outlines of trees. The frosted grass glows under the clear sky, sparkling and ethereal, reflecting the giddying depths above. His multiplying void gazes down at her and when she looks back at it her insides coil and shiver. It is easy to forget how small she is, how singular. But with eyes turned upward she is again reminded. Her sight is pulled, is consumed, is sucked hungrily outward and into the black of space. Dizzy and meek, she submits to the joyous terror of seeing a mirror reflected into a mirror.
On the third night, there is nothing at all. The trees are swallowed into the silence of the vacuum. The moon is crumpled and compressed and digested down into atoms, ripped from her sight so quickly that the following sonic boom snatches the meat from her bones. Naked beneath the constellations that he had promised her, still fully believing that this is destiny, she slips the rings of Saturn onto her left hand. Sagittarius wraps its tongue around another mouthful of stars and she is taken before she realizes that she cannot breathe.
On the first night there is wind and a sound that eats. It rocks her and thrusts the trees into a macabre puppet show, arching their great backs, scattering the beasts in the underbrush.  Ravaged and knocked, she bares her teeth, lips stretched to release the laughter. Skirts billow behind, frothing white flags of surrender, but her arms are open and inviting the invasion.  His gravitational pull takes her, wrenches her face skyward. Her icicle spine cracks with the pressure, but even paralysed she hears his tender words from the black. The horrible beauty of him demands her attention and she gladly gives it, unable and unwilling to turn away from his many faces.
On the second night there is no wind, no sound burrowing through the dark outlines of trees. The frosted grass glows under the clear sky, sparkling and ethereal, reflecting the giddying depths above. His multiplying void gazes down at her and when she looks back at it her insides coil and shiver. It is easy to forget how small she is, how singular. But with eyes turned upward she is again reminded. Her sight is pulled, is consumed, is sucked hungrily outward and into the black of space. Dizzy and meek, she submits to the joyous terror of seeing a mirror reflected into a mirror.
On the third night, there is nothing at all. The trees are swallowed into the silence of the vacuum. The moon is crumpled and compressed and digested down into atoms, ripped from her sight so quickly that the following sonic boom snatches the meat from her bones. Naked beneath the constellations that he had promised her, still fully believing that this is destiny, she slips the rings of Saturn onto her left hand. Sagittarius wraps its tongue around another mouthful of stars and she is taken before she realizes that she cannot breathe.
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