Member-only story
Not a Soul Trap
There are things that can’t be unlearned. Doors of perception opened that don’t close. You can be retired and still activated. It will be subtle. It will feel malicious. You’ll simply get a snail mail, no return address. Your hand will tremble as you try to connect author to handwriting. It doesn’t matter if you open the invitation or not. You’re unconscious mind is already going there. They own you.
There is no preparation or training that can make you a master traveler. You simply travel. If you die, you die. If you come back, you come back. Not coming back doesn’t mean you died. There are account, vicariously obtained, that death might be better in some instances. Sorry to scare you. I am an advocate against, ‘it’s all good.’ It’s not.
From the safety of my reading chair, once owned and frequently occupied by a grandfather, the leather arms fragmented with sudden gripping, I sip wine. The envelope is on the side table, one of the tentacled lights shining down on it like an inquisitor’s torturous eye. Asking it question suckers you in. Putting it in the trash would have been worse than under this light. The light contains it. You want to know what’s in it. You want to disparage the sender, but even just calling him bastard locks you into a tangent that can send you spiraling. Time enough to kill the…
