Before I continue. Just want to talk about last night.
Bev and I went to the beach to watch the fireworks. I love fireworks, but it took some convincing to get her out of the house. She steadied herself on my arm while our toes settled into the shifting tideline and we waited for the blue sky to turn black. The water came in, came out. I could feel some of her tension leaving her body. It was the first time since all this Boanthropic stuff started that we'd taken the time to just breathe.
Then the fireworks started.
First light. Then sound. She loves the light, and she can't hear the sound -- so I thought it'd be perfect for her. I didn't think of how the explosions feel. I forgot about the blast wave.
That all surrounding WOMP to the chest.
That's what I felt when The Boanthropic were here. The voice only she could hear -- just like of the two of us only I could hear the fireworks. But we both could feel the wave. The WOMP WOMP WOMP.
I felt Bev's body go cold, and goosebumpy. I had to hold her up as she steadied herself. I tried to turn to her to mouth, "should we go?" But she brushed me away and walked toward the water.
The feeling of The Boanthropic felt like chaos to me and made me feel totally unsettled. But for Bev, the feeling was different. She was at home in that heart-stopping pressure and wore it like a blanket. Without it, she was so uneasy. So lost.
As the explosions grew and night wind picked up, I could see Bev's shoulders softly shaking as she walked into the water. First to her ankles, then her knees. Then the seventh wave, the one that takes you by surprise, crested quickly and swallowed her up.
I ran into the water and grabbed her hand, but she pulled it away. I grabbed at anything I could and got hold of the tail of her sweater as we churned in the saltwater. I dragged her back to the shore and pulled her onto the sand, her body shaking, weeping. I pulled the hair from her eyes and held her face in my hands -- what she had done for me a thousand times when my rage or my frustration were just too much.
Her eyes told me everything. That living without them, for her was living a life without hope.
++++++
Now back to the story of June 7th:
When I found Bev at her kitchen table, she was in a trance. Staring mouth agape at the ceiling as whisker-thin arcs of static electricity jumped from her head to the walls.
When it passed, and we had sat on the floor drinking glass after glass of water, I only had one thought.
What. The. Fuck.
I had so many questions.
Turns out on the other side of the country at the exact same time, some other shit was going down.
TheBoanthropic were making moves in Los Angeles, here...
Something magic happened at this spot if we were to believe the voices Beverly heard. The Boanthropic spirit that spoke to her -- this ethereal ghostly presence composed of what I did not know -- had an urgent message to relay to people near the spot.
"But why?" I asked. "What's so urgent?"
She looked down at the floor, playing with the linoleum like a scared child. "They're down from the mountain."
"Who?"
"The Society."
- K
moar soon
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