Sing From the Womb, 8

This is the eighth in a series of snippets from my memoir, Sing From the Womb: Leaving Fundamentalism in Search of Voice (formerly titled Writing Me Back to Mat(t)er).

Please let me know what resonates with you.


(From a dream when I was five.)

I sit staring into my desk’s defunct inkwell; its extreme blackness reflecting my despair. Suddenly I feel a pressure gather around my body, embracing me cruelly. I open my mouth to cry out but my voice is restricted, either by the external force or by my own fear, I cannot tell. Just as I think my bones will shatter within me, a loud crack echoes overhead. The oppressive air is ripped away with violent force. Above, the ceiling is torn away, revealing a gray haunted sky. I know only moments will pass before I will be violently plucked from earth and cast into another realm…

There, God, like a cloaked and menacing Headmaster, looms at the entrance of the swirling abyss…


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