The Pulse between Dimensions and the Desert by Rios de la Luz Read Free Book Online Page A

She mixes mescaline powder and water into a bowl. She stirs with her hand and rolls orbs of green, lifts her mask and swallows. She waits in silence.
    She is not afraid of the creatures burrowed underneath the terrain. She has not looked over her shoulder to gaze at me. Women find me in their deepest moments. I form into wolf and let them pet me or hold me. When I first appear, I have no facial features. My face is a dark oval with silver hair lining where my head begins and where my hips end. I have frightened some into tears. I have terrified others because they thought of me as a monster. I am locked into a code. I can only transform for those who are truly lost. Otherwise, Las Manos in the desert erupt from beneath the earth and take them under. Fingers stretch up and petrichor invades the atmosphere. Todos los animales scurry away. Stars fade out of the sky and the eyes of my ancestors glow red as they watch these final moments. Las Manos are merciful. The captured are lulled to sleep before they disappear. I have seen Las Manos cradle those who expired.
    The bird woman has collapsed beside the fire. She’s digging into stubborn dirt. She isn’t here for anything spectacular. These are the things she says to me. She’s here because of her job and because of a man. She is here because she has floated between identities for years and years. She’s fucking exhausted. She cleans up after families who pigeonhole her. She forgot to clean one of the bathrooms. She forgot to dust the trophies accumulated by cushioned children. She forgot to respond as though her entirety was dependent on them. Then, there’s this man. She didn’t apologize for calling him in the middle of the night while he fucked around. He said it out loud. She was not important to him. Infidelity wasn’t the final line. He told her she was nothing. She doesn’t feel sorry for herself. She is just tired. She is going to nap with the nopales and La Loba looking after her. She is going to let the sun wake her up as the drugs wear off.
    Dust devils collect the whispers and final thoughts belonging to women and children of the sun. I lead the lost away from the depths of the desolation to an interstate or close to a horizon with twinkling grids. This is as much as I can do.

 
     
    LADY MESCALINE

    Via destiny, you sat next to your best friend, Laura, in the back of science class. Prior to text messages and social media, passing notes on college ruled paper sufficed. She scribbled fast and slid a corner of torn lines to you. It said, “YOU ARE XENA.” It was caps lock serious. You looked up to Xena and could not fathom someone looking up to you. Laura smiled. Dimples left craters in her cheeks.
    The first time you saw a crater, it was a tourist trap and the silence magnified as you stepped further toward the bottom. There were no conversations between your family members. Settled into a picnic booth, you looked into the crater and felt heavy.
    In moments of panic, you lash out. Pillows are the casualties. You were settled into bed with the love of your life and the cartoon you usually laughed at made you cry. Tu amor let you be. He knew the story. The story of the step-father who showed you no mercy. The father of your brother and sisters. You were his target. You remember every feature of his face.
    Your two days off came with perfect timing. This gave you enough time to plot revenge. One time your sister called to ask him why you hated him. He told her he didn’t know. Hate is simplistic. You have dragged him along with you. He is chewed gum in your hair or chewed gum that you shit out after seven years. He is the filament of hair on your head that grows silver and brown, silver and brown. The moment you notice it, you rip it out. Sometimes, family members slip and talk about him. He’s created more children and you pray to an echo that he leaves them alone since they are biologically his. You are crystal on why you weren’t the exception.
    Under