I See You For All You Are

The room is stark white and the man in a long coat that hovers near the bed remains calm. Your mother screams bloody murder and your father holds her hand tenderly. The room is stark white until you come out, still tethered to your mother. You scream, the doctor talks soothingly, your mother screams louder, and your father’s hand tightens its grip. Waves of pain hit your mother, her vision blurs, she almost bites her tongue, and the breathes she takes are sharp. And in that moment, when she is floating between conscious and unconscious, she sees me, wings and all. A seeming mirage of a ghostly figure with a bright light above the head and wings caped around the gown. I did all the things I could to make my image appeasing to mortals, I hide away my eyes, and reduced my wings to two. I smile, but don’t know if it comforts her or even if she can see it.

The room is stark white and he cuts your umbilical cord, removing one tether ignorant of the one forged between you and I.

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You are young. You are nine and play with dolls and ramble about fairies and hug your parents and you smile with two teeth missing. But today no one can see them. Because today, you convince yourself, is the worst day. Your favorite shoes are caked in mud, Sally said your braids are stupid, and now your father breaks his promise about getting you a dog. You stomp, you scream, and then you stomp again. And he watches, he watches your little tears roll down your face and he’s tells himself over and over that he’s doing the right thing. He thinks back to a cold autumn afternoon. He thinks back to fighting back tears and frigid soil. He thinks back and he wants to spare you the same. 

But you don’t see that. You are young. You scream and scream and your face turns red and your tears run out and horrible things are on the verge of your tongue but you hold them in. Your hearts too big for your little body and you can barely hold it all in. Your father’s is so withered and broken down from years in this world and he can’t bear to see that happen to yours. So I whisper in his ear so that he thinks its his idea. He asks if it has to be dog. He asks if you’d like a tortoise. Slimy. You call it. But you’ve stopped crying as the idea rolls around in your head. 

You are young. And you kiss your new friend all over its shell. He is young. And he thinks he has spared you pains of mortality. I am old. And I know that all things die and that sorrow is inevitable. I know that death is simply a force. I know you will have to face it eventually. I know that I will watch you wither away bit by bit. And I kiss you every morning and night knowing that. 

I am old. I am foolish. And I love you despite it all.

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You are learning. Your tears are mixing in with the rain and both are making the dirt turn to muck. You dressed all pretty in black but you don’t feel pretty. You feel tired, you feel depressed, you feel empty, and most of all you feel like you’re not there. Your mother’s family crowds you in hugs and sobs but you don’t feel loved. Your father pulls you away to give you space, giving his condolences and love. His eyes are red and the bags under them are heavy. 

(I didn't finish in time so to hit that 1K mark I'm going to put stuff from other unfinished stories)

In the dead of night a boy wakes up from a long slumber.

His heart is silent, refusing to beat and thump in his chest.

His last memory before the darkness is full of blood and loud bangs.

The ground covers him like a blanket, his bed being an unmarked grave.

His body feels no exhaustion as he claws at the earth till sunrise.

Under heavy fog and dim lights, the doctor wakes up on a vacant battlefield.

Silently he wonders where he should go now.

As the wind blows west he makes his decision and follows the breeze.

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Under the moonlight a 

There was an issue in Africa.

Deep in one of its jungles, near one of its god’s temples.

A son of a mighty leopard god was slaughtered. 

His tongue removed so that his spirit could not drink.

His claws ripped from his paws to harden his afterlife hunt.

His teeth lay near his corpse but far from his mouth so that his pride was fractured.

His guards and subjects heads were bashed in so that no one nearby could mourn.

Having lost king and son in one night, a leopard god was furious. The fur attached to his skin was set ablaze as it sizzled in orange heat. His spots were as black as the bodies burned to honor the lives they once held. The leopard god was furious and he wanted the head of his son’s murderer. He did not care for the pacts and laws and agreements that barred gods from direct involvement with the world, he wished to leave his temple and wreak havoc in the jungle until justice rang through the trees and ground and sky. He would burn the trees and its resting birds and hungry frogs and smelly fungus if it meant justice would ring through the ground and sky. He would burn the ground and its crawling critters and vibrant plants and nutritious soil if it meant justice would ring through the sky. He would burn the sky and its floating clouds and bright moon and starry night if it meant justice would ring through him. The leopard god was furious and could not be allowed to leave his temple for all that would be left are embers and smoke in his wake.

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So four mediums were sent to deal with the issue.

A thoughtful Monk.

An arrogant Allamah.

A prideful Priest.

And a brash Non-believer.

The monk walked alongside the others with no shoes on his soles. He believed that he should take the world was is and learn from it all that he can. His body was shaven of all hair, his robes were as thin as air, and his hand stayed over his chest so that he could be thankful every second his heart pumped.

The Allamah walked alongside the others thinking them brainless barbarians. He thought that he’d been sent to fix another issue by himself and three paperweights. His scripture in hand he thought the Monk uncultured, the Priest stupid, and the Non-believer out of line. 

The Priest walked alongside the others with too much confidence. He had recently been given his position and thought himself on top of the world. He had a hard time discerning his thoughts and Jehovah’s whispers. He thought the others lucky that he was present. He was favored by his god and they should be favored too by proxy. Young and inexperienced he walked as though this work familiar. 

The Non-believer walked alongside the others with scorn. She had no reason to trust gods and many to despise them. She found the others blinded by their faiths and texts and gods. She told herself that she alone would be the neutral party in this. With no gods or devils to answer to she knew what she wanted. To find the killer and bring them to justice with as little bloodshed as possible. She did not fear blood but she did not crave it.