I stepped up to the [shrine] and looked over it fondly. It is always a comforting sight to me. I rest both hands on it in a silent greeting and take a breath to speak.
HURGLGLGLGHUARGHLHE ~splatter~
Fucking fuckology! What the fuck! My body gave me just enough warning that I was able to slide my feet back and aim my mouth away from the shrine. I didn’t know those colors could come out of a living person. At least I managed to miss both the shrine and my feet. I shouldn’t be here if I’m ill, dreaming or not. My arms stop shaking and I start to push myself away from the shrine.
ROUND TWO: HURLING BOOGALOO
Ah! My legs give out and I fall to my knees. I can’t let go of the shrine. I don’t know if it’s because my body is trembling so bad that I have little voluntary motor control, or if the shrine is holding my hands in place. I’m arched over the mess I’ve made, but still clear of it.
A flash of light above me informs of the arrival of the spirit I came to see. My body was crying from the stress of vomiting, but now my heart was joining in the mourning. I’m deeply embarrassed and lift my head to stammer ineffective apologies.
He says nothing at first. He smiles like a patient nurse. I suddenly understand that this was supposed to happen. Whatever I was purging, it had to be drawn out of me, one way or another.
He speaks his native language, but I understand it clearly. “Not all offerings are pretty. Sometimes you give what you wish to give. Sometimes you give what is demanded from you. The only choice you have is how freely to give.”
ROUND THREE: IT CAME UP FROM MY TOES
I’m shivering but not from chill. I can’t release my grip on the shrine. I’m trying so hard not to splatter it or myself. I worry about the mess, but other spirits acting as shrine tenders dig a trench under the mess so it flows away to a hastily dug pit off to the side. There, they set the unclean retch on fire. To my surprise, it gives off a cleansing smell that purifies the air.
I look up at the apparition. I see who I expected to see, and yet I’m quite surprised to see him here. And yet, that’s not him. That’s the echo I held on to that I see. What is wearing that appearance is him. Returned. He is not the mask I see anymore, but it fits him well. It’s a mystery. Of which the greatest portion is why he is here in the first place.
ROUND FOUR: AIN’T GOT NO MORE
I hate dry heaving. It feels like my bones are squeezing themselves like empty toothpaste tubes trying to force the very last little bit out before giving up. I force myself to relax and allow the process to finish without any hindrance from me. It was clear those attending knew this was going to happen. If I had been told of this, I probably wouldn’t have presented myself because who pukes at a shrine, right? So disrespectful!
The last of the mess is cleaned up off the ground and my face. My hands suddenly lose their grip on the shrine and I fall lifeless on the ground. Those tending the shrine turn me over and arrange my body at the base of the shrine so that it looks like I am being offered to it.
My eyes are open. I can see him clearly. His pose is like that of another and it reminds me of where he was headed when I saw him last. He smiles and I am reminded of the last night I saw him alive. But there is no guilt. No condemnation at my lack of ability.
I wrestle with my thoughts, my expectations, and what I’m sure other people would tell me is happening. They are wrong. I am wrong. Of this I’m sure. What is right will reveal itself in time even as it confuses the hell outta me.
Fire descends the shrine and envelops me. I burn away and depart the dream.