Desires and Addiction

Ron Koppelberger

Desires and Addiction

He summoned the morass of gentle syrup and chocolate satisfactions in milky savored gulps. The cool wash rolled across his tongue and amber hued eyes glowered in black panther appraisal from the corners of his flayed mind. Tales of pretty maidens and cockle shells in perfect rows of opium leaf and sticky flower goo touched the recesses of his aching heart.
Andrew Trust craved the warm glow of bright halos and fuzzy applause. His addiction was in hues of corn silk. He considered the blank gray television screen and in spite of the jittery jumps and gulping tempered gallop in his chest turned on the television.
The gentle hiss of static caressed his ears in warm rolling abandon, a moment of peace. His eyes flittered and rolled, swam and bounced in petite seizures of anticipation. The screen flickered and Andrew moaned in accepted mainline muse. The gentle whisper of seesaw song and synthesized cooing filled the room with sound, like whip-o-wills and great gulping toads. Andrew sought purchase as he found the ray-tube in front of him. The currents of time and dimensions in flux flowed before his eyes in amazing waves of light. Andrew smiled as the voice whispered, “ Stones and bones by the will of love, stones and bones by the will of fate, stones and bones by the will of what’s in tune, Andrew, soon, soon, soon.” the voice echoed in torrents of opium allure.
He watched as the static took shape, rolling waves of wheat and…what? A circle of granite boulders and bones, surrounded by rolling waves of wheat. “Soon, soon, soon.” The voice croaked at him. The world revolved and Andrew saw wars and angels, blood and lusts, “Soon, soon, soon.” The voice screamed, “SOOOOOOONNNNN!”
An uncertainty tore at his psyche as he tried to pull away from the nightmare. Grown in harvest promise, grown in promise he forced the vision to the back of his mind. The voice wavered then abated. The screen went dark and a comforting image filled his mind for a brief moment. The saffron, he thought, the saffron.
He slept and when he awoke the next day he was in the way of seed rolling saffron and wheat.