FINN
the spyglass
it is only through mystery and madness
Finn doesn’t belong here.
He isn’t here, not really.
He’s dreaming about here - or at least... part of here. Or is it the Falling?
Wherever Finn is, he’s hanging by one ankle over the side of sleep cliffs. The rope has cut into his skin, chafing and rubbing the flesh raw, and a sharp gale tosses him back and forth, scraping him against the stone. His clothes have been cut to ribbons, and though the blood ought to have pooled to his head, he sees as clearly as ever.
He gazes out into a choppy sea, where something small and white flutters against a jagged rock below him.
I know what this is, though I have never seen it.
Finn’s eyes roll back in his head.
I know where I am, but I am still lost.
He isn’t here, not really.
He’s dreaming about here - or at least... part of here. Or is it the Falling?
Wherever Finn is, he’s hanging by one ankle over the side of sleep cliffs. The rope has cut into his skin, chafing and rubbing the flesh raw, and a sharp gale tosses him back and forth, scraping him against the stone. His clothes have been cut to ribbons, and though the blood ought to have pooled to his head, he sees as clearly as ever.
He gazes out into a choppy sea, where something small and white flutters against a jagged rock below him.
I know what this is, though I have never seen it.
Finn’s eyes roll back in his head.
I know where I am, but I am still lost.
that the soul is revealed
