The mistake
By: Fatima Drott I want to pretend that nothing is wrong. That we didn’t hurt each other, beyond what is possible to heal. Our words were sharper than knives. Our targets, always the weakest points. Our purpose was to break each other, just so we, for a moment, could feel a bit better. It’s easy now, to regret everything. Wishing that we didn’t betray each other. For something as shallow as a moment, trapped in anger. But I can’t truly take back my words. Not when they won’t be forgotten. All trust between us is lost. But I do not know whose fault it was. Don’t truly remember what started it all. The beginning escapes me. Because the words are what hunts me. Still echoing in my mind are the most hurtful things we said to each other. You called me things I want to forget. Mostly because they are true, and beyond what I can change. In the moment it was easy to call you stupid and take up all your failures. Every time you were weak and confided in me. We both gave as good as we got. Something I now believe was our biggest mistake.
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Magical peace
By: Fatima Drott Do you truly believe, no one asked for peace, before you? Have made that wish come true for others, thru the ages. Mostly just locally and for their lifetime. Afterwards when I don´t force peace, life returns to what’s normal. Which means wars. To break free, from total oppression. For the easiest way to have peace is just a lack of war. To just allow one kind of opinion to be expressed by the people. It´s like a field with just one kind of crop. If it gets infected it ruins the entire harvest. Society is like that to. Diversity of opinions makes for a stronger whole as long as the individuals can work together. But that is seldom the human solution. Instead, people demand immediate results like the whish you made. Or simple solutions like paying for a loaf of bread. You can’t taste victory, without working for it. And true peace, is only possible, as long as everyone works for solutions addressing every issue. So, ask for peace, from a magical genie like me, but know it will never mean forever. Escape
By: Fatima Drott Water is pouring down, drumming on ceilings, and drowning all paths before us. Still, I have to move thru it. No matter how wet and cold it makes me. Can’t wait for it to calm down, even if it makes us safer and it’s a matter of life and death. At least for the child within my arms. He is the last of his kind. They are blessed with the ability to turn into dragons. An old blessing that moved thru the generations. The ability is why his family got targeted tonight. Together with the social standing of leading all reptile like shape shifters. Personally, I can turn into a black constrictor. Not the most practical form to use, in this cold weather. Except the warm small child, pressed to my body, I can feel how the cold is working its way through me. If I wasn’t so afraid for our lives, I know it would make me lethargic. Rain drops fall all around us. Many blocking my ability to see, as they dribble into my eyes. Trust more my memory than my sight at the moment. Because I can only see the closest dwellings and the vegetation within 300 meters. So, the world feels like a misty curtain, constantly changing, as I move to where the forest should be. What I hope will be our safe haven, for years to come. The command of my leader is a pained yell I will never forget “take Agondre and run”. Screamed at me before he turned into an enormous golden dragon to face the Nundu that just before was the deadly and graceful queen of all feline shifters. The air got heavy with the smell of death and sickness. Knew I couldn’t stay. A Nundus breath is toxic and a death sentence. All I could do was take my charge and run. Feels like hours have passed. Believe it could have been only minutes. Hard to tell when I get the feeling that the world is falling down around me. Hope I’m not followed. Not a warrior even if I have some ability to defend us. My position is as a caretaker for young Agondre. Wonder a bit what that will mean for us now that we have lost my charge’s parents and the leader of our people. Feels like all I can do is take us as far away as possible. In the hope that the future will have a resolution. All I can do is hold our hope close to my heart and promise that we won’t give up. The suns wish
By: Fatima Drott Life was once but a dream, made by a lonely star. A shining light surrounded by darkness and moving masses. Some of light, but the closest were of stone and as cold as ice. But dreams are built in loneliness and formed by hope, for something more. Every time the planets reached their closest point, in their eternal journey. Our star hoped for a connection. Dreamt of something more, than only being fire. Only a temptation, everyone knows to stay away from, even when eons go on and nothing truly happens. At least not until, there was water, cooling down a single orb. The planet that with its own heat shouldn’t have been repeled, by the sun. But it takes courage to change and take chances. And therefore, it only gets done, when there is no choice. So, the changing planet, started to listen, as a distraction, from the forceful transformation. It’s not easy to go from a body of lava to crusts of earth. Still there is something soothing, listening to the sound of burning. The smattering of the fuel and air, playing with the flames. Even when you can no longer smell, the burning of your own oxygen. As you drown on the taste of water. You know, the fire beyond you, is the closest you can come, to what you once were. And truthfully that was what spurred the connection. The reason why, the earth played around with its elements, to form the first lifeform, dependent on the sun, for its existence. Destruction
By: Fatima Drott People do not see me, for what I am, instead they see themselves in me. Thinking I’m human, like them. Believing my weaknesses, are the same. I do not understand crying or telling the world “I am hurt”. Instead, I take strength, from my own pain. The only feeling, I recognise, as existing amongst humans. Every other emotion is different, for my kind. I do not understand, how they can see me, as something resembling them. At least, not beyond our exterior shells. Our likeness is only skin deep. And I know that with a burning pain. Because of all the power, forced to be contained, as a living flow, below my skin. Sometimes, I can taste iron and ashes, when licking my wounds. It’s the taste of my flowing metal blood. If that is the right name, when it’s all that exist within me. Because unlike the earth, I do not have a solid core. All my inside is metal and the power that gives me life. When all is quiet, I can hear my inside flowing, like a river, constantly searching for what is beyond it’s reach. But if I let it, nothing would be beyond my ability to destroy and devour the world. It’s everything else that is hard. To exist in peace when I was created for war. To live a life, when I am a dead shadow, not even known by myth or legends. To be seen as a weak human, always knowing that nothing could be further from the truth. It’s constantly tearing me asunder, by pretences, kept for everyone else’s safety. Because when all pretences are gone, I will destroy the world. Enough
By: Fatima Drott I need you to hear me. But instead, you are a closed door. It’s like I stopped to matter when you thought you were able to see the world. Understand that there is still much to learn. That much still is hidden from your eyes. Hardships others still see as too much for you to understand. Sure, we might say something, but we do not force you to experience the torture if we can help it. We don’t paint you a picture, of broken, swollen, and bloody hands. We don’t make you feel the hours of hard and back-breaking labour. We don’t introduce you, to the mocking laughter of the privileged while you work. You are still protected. Even if you don’t know it. And sometimes, that has to be enough. Getting lost
By: Fatima Drott ”Forget the truth. It won’t help you here, where the strange and ignored thoughts rein. For some, this isn’t an unacknowledged part of reality. Most of them, get classified as crazy. So, you know you are in good company.” the blue and orange racoon tells me before running away. I look around, but there is no structure or order to find. Everything is honestly everywhere. Houses and trees seem to be part of each other. At least one octopus is swimming in the sky. Humans exist, walking and talking together with furniture, plants, and mythological creatures. “Have sanity abandoned me?” continues to be my primary thought as I walk further into the chaotic world presented to me. Afraid I will get lost, among the streets that exist everywhere. Some are part of the sky; others are horizontal, and the strangest ones are glitching. Whispers seem to be around the corners. But when I get to them, nothing is there. Secrets are around me, constantly out of reach. Trying to tempt me, further in. Can almost taste the sweet reward of conquering the unknown, so I continue to move closer to the voices I hear. All that matters is getting to the truth. The answer to every question. Can feel that it exists close to me now. Like a promise flowing in my blood, traveling further with every heartbeat. This is all that matters to me now. Around every corner I expect to find the world’s greatest treasure. Know it’s out here somewhere. So, I search the world around me. Lifting sticks, leaves, and pottery. Still the truth remains unreached by me. Constantly tempting me further away, from what I know and recognise. Feels as if I am forgetting who I am. Guessing that knowledge will be found with every other truth. Therefore, I dig into the earth, sky, and water. Disturbing the slumber of those residing just beyond the surface. Smells raise from where I dig. Some are fresh like the ocean breeze, others are grounding like fertile soil, but one is disturbing, because it is one of decay. It feels as if I am merging with my surroundings. Who I was is getting lost. Instead, I take on parts of what is closest to me. From the purple mosquito to the dancing table, I borrow and adopt their defining characteristics into my new personality. Believing it wouldn’t have come to this, if I had left searching for the truth, alone. Petals to planets
By: Fatima Drott There once was a red petal. A part of a rose. Existing on a stem, of leaves and thorns. Being held in a human hand, full of hardened skin. Thorns digging into, the flesh of the palm. But both the pain and the blood were ignored, by the human. A man kneeling in the grass, by his daughter’s grave. On the stone was only her name, and years, telling anyone, she died too young. The silence felt all consuming. Especially, because he wasn’t alone. Other people were with him, clothed in black, for the funeral. Friends, colleagues, and family stood behind him. No one knowing what to say. So instead, they stood, as shadows, made human by the sun. Beyond the graveyard, was the city. A place full of life, something that for the father, felt like a cruel joke, on this day of pain and sorrow. With buildings both old and new, it was a labyrinth, of shops, homes, and other amenities. Paved roads led everywhere, you could want to go, and were therefore, constantly used, by more happy people, than those grieving. Doves on the ceilings, hoping for bread or other food to eat, looked down on the human families, with searching eyes. Farther away, from the human hub of activity, houses got fewer, as did the people. Instead, there was acres of land, growing different types of grain. Until even those, got left behind, for wilderness. Forests full of different trees, shadowing the lives within. Because above, the sun was still shining, strong and warm, over everything. Not really caring, for what happened below it. Lonely lives, to packs and civilisations, of insects, birds, and other animals, stop to matter, when we look beyond the earth. Still some astronauts, working on some satellites, cares for their home planet and all that it entails. Families, friends, and foreigners to their personal lives, only the human commonality, that connects all of us, as a strange social species, not even we understand. Surrounding the earth, both satellites and our moon travel round and round in harmony, only broken by disrupting asteroids, once in a while. In all of that, earth’s moon continues to play with earths water, like an easily entertained child. Constantly gazing on the world below, full of life, as opposed, to the space further away, it’s unable to see. If anyone could survive the vacuum of space, the distance between physical matter, they would be surrounded by the smell of raspberries. Because the shape of the molecules, is the same as those making up the raspberries smell. Space wherein Mercurius to Pluto continue to dance, around our happy and warm sun. All part of the same crowd. Everything connected by gravity and stories as old as time. Like a living labyrinth of strange veins, connected by energies unseen. Visible only, in the movement of planets, our solar system flowers. They are full of grains, representing petals when they are details of planets, instead of roses. House of memories
By: Fatima Drott I stand in front of my old childhood home. Even if it was long ago, just walking through the blue main door awakens parts I thought was dead inside of me. The walls are still full of photographs of meaningless poses, just to pretend the people within them matters. Can see myself in some of them, together with my siblings. Everything in this hall is a facade, making me cold within. A pretence for everyone, not living behind its closed door. Still, I have to be here, going through what has survived my mother’s dementia. Her crazy ideas I can see have ruined locked cabinets. Not that mom is all that has fallen here. Wallpaper is peeling like ice when spring comes knocking. Breaking apart as if the cold embrace, my siblings and I knew, is finally letting us free from mothers uncaring hands. Walk through the dust, to reach the room I once upon a time shared with my sister. Only the green flowery wallpaper is still the same. All the furniture has been exchanged to make a dining room, instead. Don’t know if there exists a room type more useless. As I continue to look around the house, it feels as if mother systematically worked away the reminder of her three children, except for the meaningless photos. Claiming she cared about us. That she saw us as more than a way to keep our father’s positive attention. His office still stands, as it was when he lived, except for the dust of course. At least that was what I thought, before I looked closer. Don’t know exactly what makes the wood clad room feel like a shrine. Maybe it is the candles and almost altar like quality of what’s on the dark wooden desk. Remember hiding beneath it when I wanted to feel safe, as a child. Don’t really know why mom never truly searched this room. Expect it has to do with the pedestal she always put our father on. It was as if she was incapable to care for more than one individual. Neither my brother, sister nor I could compare. Learned early that she saw us as competition for our father’s attention. Not that dad couldn’t care for all four of us. Even if none of us children believed mother was capable of understanding that truth. Take a moment to sit in the soft sofa standing against the wall, almost falling into the cushions. Remember a time when me and my siblings used to squeeze together here, just because we could, to listen to dad telling stories. This was our true refuge. A room mother never tainted, with her uncaring way. Would prefer to stay, but I still have to look around. Next, I go to my brother’s old room. Apparently made into a walk-in closet, for my mother. Believe everything we siblings want, will be from dad’s office, is my thought, as I leave the house, into the fresh spring air, smelling of freedom, flowers, and rain. The Abyss-creator
By: Fatima Drott I was told to not tale tales, as a child. That I had to be reasonable and stop dreaming. To pretend that what I can see, isn’t in front of me. To stop talking to people, only I seem able to see. To ignore the horrors in front of me. “The only real monsters, in existence, is terrible humans”, I was told constantly. That those individuals, are the only ones, I have to fear. Everything else, only exists in my imagination, according to my parents and teachers. So, I stop telling them, about the demons, constantly around them. The Energy-thieves, that I have learned age people prematurely. Whisperers that with time take away humans’ self-esteem. But the truly dangerous one is what I have in front of me. Only my previous conversations with the other monsters, make me recognize the Abyss-creator. It is the ruler of all monsters, because of the fear they have for its powers. The Abyss-creator is a compilation of everything it has consumed in its four thousand years of existence. Can feel how everything around the humanlike figure seems to become less. With its four arms the Abyss-creator reaches for those closest. His head is that of a vulture, a consumer of corpses. Somehow people seem to know that they shouldn’t stay here. Some I know listen to the Whisperer sitting on their shoulder, believing it is their own thoughts. Personally, I am petrified, unable to stop looking at the character from my nightmares. Know that I should run. But I am human and bound by fascination of the macabre. Still, I need to leave. If I don’t want to become a part of the Abyss-creator. But my feet seem glued to the floor. How did this thing come in? How come, that those that can’t see the monster, are more able to flee? How did this become my fate? Can feel my skin peel of, cell by cell. Leaving me to dissolve into the power field around the Abyss-creator. Don’t know how I can continue to think, as my body turns into nothing but particles, floating into the being’s skin. Reality is shifting. Suddenly I’m part of a hole, made of a conscience that know things I didn’t believe possible. A mind that want to understand everything, by making it a part of me. Eating my way true reality. Like the human that could see me. Something that seldom happens. An opportunity to evolve, what I can know by only looking at things and life. Making it possible to consume less and therefore letting the world around me continue to exist longer. World´s light
By: Fatima Drott I have a little star, hiding in my hand. My only light, in a world of darkness. The living hope, of every living creature. Forgotten by my dying world. A simple friend, to me. More important, than all the symbolism, others want to mention and impose on my little star. We explore the darkness together. Looking for the hidden hope, still living on. Sometimes we reach out, for the individuals balancing, on the edge, of life and destruction. Chaos and order stay within reach for us. Two sides of the same coin. Partners as much as they are opposites. Like me and my little star. Because I am the night sky, holding the worlds light, in my hands. |
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