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Never let me go

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It’s a warm April night, and the clock is striking four. 

In the break of dawn, I turn the cold doorknob to my mother’s room. 

His exhausted face and his white coat greet me. All he gives me is a silent nod and a bowed head. And I know that soon, it will all be over. 

With hesitant little steps, I go to stand near her bed and I hold the freezing hands of my dying mother. 

This woman, my hero, and the source of all my misery, is now nothing but a motionless lump of flesh. 

This small, familiar home has been our world for as long as I can remember – my mother, myself, and the invisible tether that binds us together, a chain forged out of duty and obligation. 

Our bind was so tight that there could not be one without the other. 

I brush her gray hair away from her face. And I remember my first day of elementary school. That morning, we spent two hours picking the right shoes that matched the right skirt. And we tied my hair so tight that I felt strands tearing away from their roots. 

On my way home, I walked on the muddiest roads and tripped once to fall in a pile of construction debris. At the sight of me, my mother embraced me and wept for her ruined outfit. I snuggled into her and hoped for her to shed tears as many as the hairs that I had lost. 

And that is how I came to be. My mother, the blacksmith… and I, the metal. She melts me under her warmth and I mend to her desire. All I could do was burn her after every bend, hoping that one time she’ll let go of me. And in hopes of melting that chain, I burned myself away. 

“It’s time, we can’t delay it any further…” His icy voice jolts me out of my reverie. And I realize my cheeks are hot and damp with tears. Was I mourning the death of my mother? or my life that she stole from me? Either way, death will soon free us from each other. 

The rustling of the doctor’s coat, the rhythmic beeping of the machine, and the shallow breaths coming out of her open mouth. I can’t stand any of it anymore. I lay my head on her chest, and listen to the last beats of her heart. 

Thump… Thump… Thump….. “Now. Do it… Release us.” 

I fill my lungs, I close my fists, and I brace myself for the end. Suddenly, it happens—The machine shuts down, her eyes widen, a guttural cry pierces the stillness, then her form grows limp. 

Then, silence once again. Yet this time, the silence will go on for eternity. 

I lift my head, looking at anything other than her. And I stand to go. But her ice stone grip doesn’t let go of my hand. My chest tightens and I look around to the doctor. 

“She’s still alive! Do something… she’s gripping me!” I scream at him. “Calm down! Breathe and calm down. She’s dead, look… look! She’s not touching you Miss… just… Come and sit here okay?” 

I try to follow his hand but all I see now is white blurb rotating… slowly, around and around. 

Then….

 

White. White everywhere… I belong everywhere and nowhere. 

And most of all I don’t belong to anyone other than myself. 

In this chilling, desolate portrait of vastness, I am free.

 

Written by: « Siena ».

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À vos plumes

Another Leaf on the Tree

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He was dragged in chains and he did not struggle as he waited for the guards to lead the way. The face of the prison was almost familiar and the shriek of the rusty door, as it opened to his new home, sounded strangely calm. It was almost comforting as it cut through the cold silence of the empty courtyard. His jailors wore no faces, said no words and the brick walls loomed so tall over the prisoner as if to devour him. 

It could have been worse, he thought walking between chambers framed with crooked crossbars. He peeked through the bars and felt relief that all chambers were empty. He was whole in his solitude and in what others might have seen as hell, he found a place of peace. Looking ahead, he saw an open door waiting, as if it waited for him his entire life. He was drawn to it and when the guards locked the door behind him, he stood with his head held high. 

This is what I deserve, this is what I need, he calmed himself and lay down on his bed, looking around his new home. The red bricks of his chamber were cracked and battered, looking like flames by the moonlight pouring down the small window, and yet they were cold to the touch. A large mirror hung in the middle of the rotting wall and its presence was felt. His eyes averted, for he feared his own reflection. 

The silence that was once soothing started to get heavy on his heart and he started to tap his fingers on the metallic headboard of his small bed, just to hear something that was not his thoughts. He looked for hours at the abyss that was the dark ceiling, and he kept on staring religiously so that he would not err and see the mirror, yet err he did. The darkness overwhelmed him and he sat up with a jolt, begrudgingly looking at it for it was the only thing to see, and the harsh eyes of his reflection shocked him. 

He did not recognize himself in the mirror. The eyes that stared back at him glowed red with malice and it filled him with dread. His image looked like the devil and felt like his own jury, judge and executioner. He felt disgust in his own image and minutes passed by with him enthralled by the man in the mirror, until the lips on his reflection slowly started to move. 

“Do you like what you see?” Said the reflection. 

“If I did I would not be here.” Answered the prisoner, with a mild tone of sarcasm. “Neither do I, to be honest with you.” Said the man in the mirror in a shaming way. 

“And what is it that you want from me?” He questioned in a tone of despair. 

“The world would love it if you stayed here. Frankly, you were born wrong.” Admitted the reflection and the prisoner’s temper rose. 

“And with I, you were born. My defects are yours too. We look the same, think the same and speak the same, and this is a life you must live alongside me.” He answered. 

As the prisoner snapped, his reflection softened. The face on the glass felt more human and his anger started to ebb little by little. For the first time in his life, he started to be at peace with what he saw. He found a friend in himself, which he never found anywhere else and it was more warming than he thought. It was a conversation he never wanted to end. 

“So is it you and I against the world?” Said the reflection. 

“Why should it be a fight?” The man was puzzled as he answered. 

“Well the world never accepted us, why should we accept it?” He asked. 

“Well we never gave it a chance to accept us, did we? The world was there and we never touched it.” Sighed the prisoner. 

“We reached and it backed away in disgust, did it not?” The man in the mirror asked. “No, my friend. It reached for us and we backed away. The disgust was ours and it still is.” He responded in shame. 

“But how can we? We’ll never find someone like us. What’s the point?” The confusion was apparent in the reflection’s voice, and for the first time, the prisoner saw himself and felt compassion. 

“I wouldn’t know, but is it bad if we were so different? We might not be much, but we can be another leaf on the tree.” He responded with heartfelt hope. 

“Alas, we are here and the world is out there.” Said the reflection as it glanced at the small cell window. 

They did not feel it, but they went on for hours. Time flew by and the endless stories they kept away from each other left no room for silence and before they knew it, the sun rose and their horrid cell bloomed and felt vibrant with light. Their heart was closer to peace than ever before and they craved the world. They talked about what they might see, what they might hear and what they might do. The secrets of the world they once rejected were novelties they wish to discover. 

Days went by as their bond strengthened and their hate for each other was a thing of the past. The freedom they once thought so undeserved, now they thought was their right, and so it was. Our prisoner itched to leave and he traced his cell, fidgeting left and right. He yelled for the guards but the guards did not answer. He shook the bars with impatience and he heard a faint clank on the chamber floor. 

The key fell right out of his pocket. He stared at it in total confusion, picked it up and it felt right in his hand. He held the world and the world accepted him, and he was finally whole. As he swung the door open eagerly, colours bloomed around him as his winter gave way to spring. He made his way out of his prison as it crumbled behind him, and finally he was a free man.

 

Written by: « Rib7 ».

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