06-28-2020, 05:59 PM
i know i need us more than i need me
The fog of frustration and pain which plagues my mind prevents my senses from picking up on the arrival of the stranger for longer than I care to admit. Not that I pay much mind to my surroundings during regular times, what with mother and mama always by my side to lend me their adult eyes, minds, and protection. When at last I do notice her (the creak of a blackberry bush causing my squealing to cease) I feel my youth upon me like a heavy snow upon hopeful spring grass.
I forget my pain as I regard her in the gloom. Steps taken towards her (she of the blonde hide and the unicorn horn) result in a pandemonium much like mine yet different in its own right.
Please don't take me back there!
With such a speed that my reeling, sleep-deprived mind almost fails to keep up, the filly collapses upon the forest floor. Her sobs play a skilled countermelody to my prior wailing, as though our suffering could somehow harmonize despite the woeful, insurmountable differences the exist when contrasting our childhoods. While mother and mama have told me that I ought to be humble and thankful for the upbringing they blessed me with, their warnings did little to prepare me for what this soul before me had already, in such a short time, underwent.
And although I do not know of those things yet, my stomach lurches and my throat squeezes, some inherent part of me intuiting the nature of the pain this girl writhes from.
I hit the forest floor with a thud, the wound in my shoulder as good as forgotten. She could be my sister, I think to myself, shaking somewhat as I consider my options, here. She could be my Iri. Wishing I could make myself less threatening (as though a small boy covered in twinkling lights could ever be cause for intimidation), I reach for the girl.
I hope for her.
Pray for her.
I just want her to be okay.
With a sharp inhale, I loop my chin about her thin neck and pull her to me, not hesitating to start into a gentle rolling motion from knee to tucked knee there on the leaf-strewn forest floor. Above us, the sky brightens as though to answer my prayers; and, though the stars in my mane and tail continue with their subtle glow, my wings (the most culprit of my light-related traits) begin to fade.
Soon, we will be in the half-darkness, half-light of true dawn.
"I'm right here," I whisper; the hours spent consoling my dream-locked sister prepares me for this kind of conversation, though still I feel unprepared. As though what little I have to say could never be enough to shoulder whatever burden this small life carries -- especially as a half-yearling.
But I try.
"The scary part is over. You already survived. Hey, please, it's okay." I force myself to inhale as deep as my lungs permit, then to exhale slowly, audibly. This style of conscious, regimented breathing continues long after my voice fades to silence. "Breathe with me. I won't let anyone hurt you. I'm right here..."
"I'm right here..."
I forget my pain as I regard her in the gloom. Steps taken towards her (she of the blonde hide and the unicorn horn) result in a pandemonium much like mine yet different in its own right.
Please don't take me back there!
With such a speed that my reeling, sleep-deprived mind almost fails to keep up, the filly collapses upon the forest floor. Her sobs play a skilled countermelody to my prior wailing, as though our suffering could somehow harmonize despite the woeful, insurmountable differences the exist when contrasting our childhoods. While mother and mama have told me that I ought to be humble and thankful for the upbringing they blessed me with, their warnings did little to prepare me for what this soul before me had already, in such a short time, underwent.
And although I do not know of those things yet, my stomach lurches and my throat squeezes, some inherent part of me intuiting the nature of the pain this girl writhes from.
I hit the forest floor with a thud, the wound in my shoulder as good as forgotten. She could be my sister, I think to myself, shaking somewhat as I consider my options, here. She could be my Iri. Wishing I could make myself less threatening (as though a small boy covered in twinkling lights could ever be cause for intimidation), I reach for the girl.
I hope for her.
Pray for her.
I just want her to be okay.
With a sharp inhale, I loop my chin about her thin neck and pull her to me, not hesitating to start into a gentle rolling motion from knee to tucked knee there on the leaf-strewn forest floor. Above us, the sky brightens as though to answer my prayers; and, though the stars in my mane and tail continue with their subtle glow, my wings (the most culprit of my light-related traits) begin to fade.
Soon, we will be in the half-darkness, half-light of true dawn.
"I'm right here," I whisper; the hours spent consoling my dream-locked sister prepares me for this kind of conversation, though still I feel unprepared. As though what little I have to say could never be enough to shoulder whatever burden this small life carries -- especially as a half-yearling.
But I try.
"The scary part is over. You already survived. Hey, please, it's okay." I force myself to inhale as deep as my lungs permit, then to exhale slowly, audibly. This style of conscious, regimented breathing continues long after my voice fades to silence. "Breathe with me. I won't let anyone hurt you. I'm right here..."
"I'm right here..."
Indius