05-30-2017, 08:55 PM
Jinn
I had a dream that we were dead,
and we pretended that we still lived
and we pretended that we still lived
Sometimes he feels as though his life has been one change after another. As though nothing will ever remain sane and stable, comprehensible in the way he imagines Beqanna once was. He does not remember the before, but his mother had told him stories. She had lived lifetimes, with lifetimes yet to live, but nothing she had told him even closely resembled this.
Perhaps it is not surprising then that he stays in the shadows, lingering and surviving, but not truly living. His body might be hale and whole, but it is almost as though the living death he had physically endured for most of his life had seeped into his soul. Had blackened and tarnished the thing until he has become little more than half alive in spirit, even if he is no longer so in body.
And perhaps he simply thinks too much. Perhaps he has spent far too much time alone, far too much time with his own thoughts and conjured demons. Perhaps he needs company, a friend. Perhaps he just needs to try living for once.
The river seems like a good place to start. It is new and fresh, no memories to weigh him down. A place he can begin again. And then, as though the universe knows what he needs, he spies a familiar face. A friendly face.
At first he hesitates, unsure of his approach. He is a poor friend, and he is not entirely certain of his welcome, but with a deep breath and a steeling of his heart, he steps from the trees. Before he can think any further, can change his mind, his feet have carried him to the edges of the gurgling river, to the side of the black mare that stands in relaxed silence. “Hi,” he says softly, a bit hesitantly, as the tips of his hooves touch the water. “It’s been a while.”
Perhaps not the most original greeting, but then, it’s also been a while since he has made any conversation at all.
Perhaps it is not surprising then that he stays in the shadows, lingering and surviving, but not truly living. His body might be hale and whole, but it is almost as though the living death he had physically endured for most of his life had seeped into his soul. Had blackened and tarnished the thing until he has become little more than half alive in spirit, even if he is no longer so in body.
And perhaps he simply thinks too much. Perhaps he has spent far too much time alone, far too much time with his own thoughts and conjured demons. Perhaps he needs company, a friend. Perhaps he just needs to try living for once.
The river seems like a good place to start. It is new and fresh, no memories to weigh him down. A place he can begin again. And then, as though the universe knows what he needs, he spies a familiar face. A friendly face.
At first he hesitates, unsure of his approach. He is a poor friend, and he is not entirely certain of his welcome, but with a deep breath and a steeling of his heart, he steps from the trees. Before he can think any further, can change his mind, his feet have carried him to the edges of the gurgling river, to the side of the black mare that stands in relaxed silence. “Hi,” he says softly, a bit hesitantly, as the tips of his hooves touch the water. “It’s been a while.”
Perhaps not the most original greeting, but then, it’s also been a while since he has made any conversation at all.
