Where was my guardian angel when everything happened?
I wonder about this often, constantly weighing the night out in my head and tracing every last fingerprint and footstep. I think about what the air smelt like, and how my mouth felt drier than a crisp winter afternoon. I reminisce about the psychological impact, how it was an entanglement of truth and lie.
I still feel the pressure of hands drawing down on my forearm.
I still remember what it felt like to run with two legs.
Where was my guardian angel then?
Turkish has woken me the past three nights, my terrors becoming more and more vivid with every nap. Each time I close my eyes, I fear for the moment that I will awake in the creaking home of demons. Every time I feel my lids become heavy, I fight myself to stay awake just a little longer. You can do anything to me; my mind will always be my most dangerous space.
Where are you safe if not in your own body?
He, Turkish, has tried to lay on me. He has tried waking me, and not waking me. He has tried talking about things that make me happy, memories of us (though very fresh and hardly memories at all) to put me in a better state. Nothing works.
I hear him laugh. I see her smile. I see them agree on one thing, and one thing only—to have had me, was their biggest mistake.
Get your hands off me.
I am sleep deprived as a result, not a choice I find ideal but hardly a choice at all. Sleep and risk death by fear, or groggily meander the meadow for fresh air and put fellow dwellers at risk of my short temper. I am not happy, I am not even passive: I am angry.
Angry at everything.
Angry that Turkish feels like a million pounds around my neck.
Angry the jungle is overwhelmingly hot.
Angry I haven’t had an appetite, and angry that the water is too damn cold for my liking.
I am angry that the girl before me has a canine as a companion while I am stuck with a constrictor as a pet.
I am not a pet.
You are just about as useful as one.
I don’t like you being tired.
Well, I don’t like you at all but you don’t hear me complaining.
Grass, dying from the change of season, clings to my hooves damp and filthy. I love this time of year. I don’t like winter, I don’t like fall, but I love to watch the world die. This is truly the closest we will ever get to an apocalypse until another meteor explodes our world. I watch leaves dangle with every ounce of strength only to fall into a crumbly death. I listen with every step the sound of blades being suffocated beneath my weight and left with an ugly yellow hue. I watch as birds fly far far away to avoid the season to come, and then pretend they get eaten or die a painful death from some sort of illness or injury.
My mouth is watering.
I know why my guardian angel never came, now.
He is too busy guarding the world from me.
I have lurked in the shadows all afternoon watching this fool sleep in a soft daze. The wolf won’t leave her, which is the only reason I haven’t allowed Turkish his monthly meal. I won’t risk him to a canine, he can pick a meal without the backup of a dog. Though he is starving (and so am I), I refuse to risk it.
I know now to lose him would be losing half of myself, literally.
Do you know what a Daemon is? Part of your soul becomes reincarnated as physical matter in some shape or form. I have done my digging on this sort of situation, researched every ounce of what this means and the stigma behind it. And to lose him, if he were to die, I would feel as if part of myself had gotten torn from my heart. He wouldn’t return into an energy form, he wouldn’t come back another shape or size, he would simply not exist. And therefore, part of me would be gone with him. It is why he is stuck within a radius of myself, unable to wander beyond the length of our invisible chain without both of us becoming ill and weak. It is why he feels every bit of emotion I feel, and why if I am in pain so he is. He is truly my soul mate, truly my second half—he is my world.
He will not die because some wolf didn’t want to sacrifice her friend.
So here I have been, watching. She sleeps softly, happily, and I hate her for that. I long for a nap that leaves me happier than when I last opened my eyes. I want to rip her limb from limb, transform into my other frame and suffocate her till her last breath exhales from her lungs. I want to see her eyes panic, her legs twitch, and feel her heart struggle for that last pump of blood. I want to see it all.
That bitch gets to sleep soundly.
She deserves to die.
Oh, guardian angel, won’t you please come guard my soul? I have only the best intentions at heart.
I suffer from daddy problems.
…because society has decided that to be an excellent excuse.
Turkish has tuned me out fully by now, perhaps he is angry because he is hungry. Either way he is halfway down my leg and slithering off into the brush.
Do not go far.
Only out of speaking distance.
OK.
Another being has decided that this female is of interest, perhaps not in the same way I find her interesting but whatever, who really cares anyways. He has approached her and is speaking to her and my competitive side becomes a little agitated. I have a damn python joint to my hip and here you are deciding sleeping beauty with a red mutt is more interesting.
It must be true; we are all blinded by doe eyed princesses.
Maybe it is the fact I haven’t had male conversation in a few weeks, maybe it is the fact that I am insecure and want attention on myself, or maybe it is the fact that I am just really bothered—whatever the reason, the motive behind the action, I find myself meandering over to their conversation.
Is daddy issues a valid excuse yet, angel?
I appear passive, strong, bold. My body swings ever so slightly with a confident sway, my crystal blue eyes heavy set on both their frames—comparing the weak to the strong. She seems so dainty, so pretty and so petite in comparison to the fancy knight in her wake.
“Is it too late to be included?” My voice is smooth, harmonized and feminine. I watch her wolf, used to having a predator at my side and feeling completely at ease. “I make it a habit to comment on a strangers habit and companion, personally. But seeing as you beat me to it,” she flicks her tail lightly against her side, “I will keep my commentary to myself.”
Well, now isn’t that a first.
“I am Smother.”
Now, now guardian angel. Where art thou in times of need?
Just kidding.
Continue guarding the world, lovely creature, they will need you more than I.