to open a door

Starring up, I can see the new watchtower through the trees. It looks fancy and new — all red, cubist and modern. A vast improvement over the old one — which looks like a shitty tree fort, barely off the ground. This new one must be akin to ten stories up. I don’t even see a ladder.
I was attacked three times in that old crappy lookout. In fact, that’s why I haven’t been around. That last attack made me lose a year of my life to a hospital bed. I’m glad to get back to work though. But seriously, how do I get up there?

Huh? What the? …how did I get up here? And why am I staring at myself? My brother, Bobby, is up here too. He talking to me — the other me. They’re going over some procedure, turning a bunch of knobs and dials.

“Excuse me, but how exactly do we get down if our presence is needed on the ground?” I ask the two of them.
“We can’t tell you exactly. The passageway is opened differently every time,” the other me says.
“Passageway?”
“Yeah . . . watch.”

Just then a small, hollow dead tree sprouts out of the floor. For some unknown reason I reach for it and snap it clean and hand it to myself. And then, to my bewilderment, the secondary me begins masturbating himself with it. I’m so disoriented by the spectacle that I try not to watch. I close my eyes to see if I can feel anything — as if maybe the sensation would travel through him into me — but there is none. When I open my eyes I see an abnormally massive amount of cum shoot from the trunk of the dead tree, but the other me isn’t at the other end. And when I refocus my attention on the dead tree, it vanishes. I tilt my head and look around the corner; there, a pinkish white crocodilian beast is writhing on the floor. Bobby squats down and lifts its right side to reveal a large set of soft, fatty lips that appear to extend along its entire stomach. Without hesitation he dives under the beast and squirms himself between the lips. They slither shut, he’s gone.
I’m back (the other “I” that is), I smirk at myself, and then proceed to pry the monster up by the leg and dive into the slimy lips. I vanish, and Bobby then wriggles out.

That’s how it’s done . . . that’s how you get down. Although it will never happen in quite the same way — or even in a way that remotely resemble what I just explained to you. But that’s how it’s done. Just in case you ever need to know. . . .

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dolphin safe

I’m standing on a rickety pier, surrounding me throbs and swells a black angry ocean. No land in sight. The sun beating on my neck, the still empty blue sky above. I’m fishing with only a hooked line and a short thick stick. No bait. Despite the pitiful tackle, I am able to throw the 3-pronged hook far off into the rough waters. I use the stick to help me reel it in by twisting the line around it. My bare hands covered in thin red lines.
On one throw the hook lands centered in a pod of playing dolphins. I love dolphins. I immediately start to reel in the line as quickly as I can — nervous because I don’t want to catch one on the hook.
SHIT! . . . Got something! . . . please don’t be a dolphin . . . please don’t be a dolphin . . . please don’t be a dolphin . . . .
I’m frantically twisting the line around the stick — it’s dragging something, something big, something heavy. My arms, hands, and fingers strain and ache — my tension builds as the struggling creature is desperately tugged closer . . . please . . . I don’t want this to be true. Sharp pains running from my fingertips to the base of my neck. Closed eyes . . . please don’t be a dolphin . . . please . . . .
Then I see . . . it’s not a dolphin!
My dear friend, Katie! . . . the hook is through her nose!
I collapse to my knees and break out into uncontrollable tears. She reassures me that she is fine while yanking and twisting the gnarled hook from her nose and climbing from the cold black water. But it doesn’t matter. I’m devastated — reminded of every time I have unintentionally hurt someone that I love. A deep hopelessness swallows my mind as dark clouds close in and spiral violent above me. My sobs growing louder, the sky cracks open, and frigid raindrops pierce my heart. My breath becomes the turbulent surface of the untamed sea — and I vanish within everything surrounding me.

I wake gasping for air. And the lyrics of a song immediately possess my mind — they soothe and cradle my sadness as I try to fall back into sleep.