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Knitting Fiction


Published on: June 24, 2023

Anna senses the presence of something very large and very dangerous. The danger is near. The danger is not still. It moves.  It moils. And it grows. But not outward. The danger does not grow outward. Instead it grows inward. She realizes her danger is fractal. She thinks that very word: “fractal.” She turns around in her bathroom, scanning. She finds no fractal growth. She cannot find the danger outside of herself. As her dread grows, so does her understanding. The danger is on the inside of her self. Precisely. It is inside her skull. It is growing and taking over her mind. At first, it moves only in the fringes. As it grows inward, Anna can feel herself spiraling with it. She places the flat of her hands on the sides of her head, covering her ears, and sways her head back and forth, all the while trying to focus on the note. “Read me!” 

     She steps away from the mirror, now standing in front of the commode, she lifts the lid, arches over and retches into the toilet. Mucus and foam, yellow and green. She is empty. She straightens up and leans against the sink. Anna more white than pale, pulls the thick robe tighter around herself, and shivers. 

     She takes down the note and opens it. Gibberish. Worse than gibberish, because gibberish connotes human language in confusion. The base of what Anna sees on the note is not language. She cannot conceive of a more random series of events than the marks on this paper. Tree roots? No, tree roots grow according to their soil—around rocks, toward water, and downward. The display of rice thrown on church steps on a wedding day? No, the rice is effected by the force and directionality of the toss, air currents, the quantity of rice and gravity. A program generating random numbers? No the computer is solid and real. Numbers exist, they can be added, subtracted—reality is built of numbers. The scratchings of chickens? As she squints and leans into the note, the chicken scratching begins to transmogrify. First into letters. Then into words, until the word Anna forms on the paper. She turns away from following chickens, and instead reads the meaning that is beginning to populate the note. 

Dear Anna, the note begins. 1. You took psilocybin. 2. Your Psychedelic Guide is Hannah. Her contact information is in your phone. 3. Contact Hannah immediately if you have problems/questions. 4. Your Psychedelic Support is your friend, Jane, She is in your guest room. 5. DO NOT drive or operate any sort of equipment until you have been cleared by Hannah. 6. On your phone is a  video entitled “My Journey” which includes information about packing for your journey, the trip itself, and then ideas for unpacking. 

Have a good trip!


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