His voice never sounded so cold; his heart never sounded so distant; his mind never sounded so airy. It was as if he could float right through his bones - relics against fallen temples. He could push apart his skin - a drape and nothing more. He looked for the sun. But some force had sucked the sun, and the stars too, out of this world. Out of his world, leaving only a grimace of a moon to guide him. The moon and a scorpion at his feet who waved him on, lonely as himself, and cold, and distant, and longing to transcend the paradox of form, to collapse time and space into a shared experience of friendship. He picked up the scorpion and set it on his shoulder. The moon howled in disapproval, wishing to keep them apart.
The desert opened up into his stomach; and he closed the gate of his past; and he walked into the ribcage towards the solar plexus of this newfound land. And he decided from now on to love every crumb of bread and to dream no longer of just diamonds and gold. For he was the seeker of ravens.
It took him another decade to find the raven who bowed down to him and said, "Son, you have arrived at the threshold of emergence. Follow the beam of fallen rainbows, sing yourself through the wreckage of worlds and at the end - behold your crown".
You have just read the series Midweek Pick-Me-Up. Always on Wednesdays. Always written to a prompt (in bold), in 5 minutes or else the screen goes blurry. An edit here, an edit there, and now it’s yours to share.
Lovely as always!