11-26-2018, 05:29 PM
Jinn
I had a dream that we were dead,
and we pretended that we still lived
and we pretended that we still lived
To his delight, she accepts the stray beam of light without question, youthful eyes brightening with pleasure beneath its delicate touch. For a moment, he allows himself to become lost in the purity of the moment, to enjoy a child’s innocent joy in a beautiful, ephemeral thing. It is a thing he has never been given, and that he could give it to another despite the awful reality of his existence soothes the most ragged edges of his soul.
It would be better, he thinks, if she never knew where that light came from. If she never knew of the monster who could build such fantastical shapes.
But the hope in her voice keeps him tethered to his hidden hollow, unable to retreat as he no doubt should. That brief taste of joy stirs a longing in him. A desire to see more. To give more. Perhaps the one and only time he might offer something so good and lovely, without fear of watching disgust bleed into her eyes or the sharp sting of rejection as she turned away from his frightening visage.
In this one small way perhaps, he could be her friend. Offer her comfort even if it is in such an insignificant way. And so he bends and folds the light until it becomes more solid, until it can curl lovingly across her skin, offering the warmth and touch she so longs for. He might have done so all day, but for a faint tendrel of guilt and worry that tickles at his conscience.
She is lost, and he could not keep her here, away from those she knows and loves. Those who are no doubt seeking her, desperate to find her. That knowledge wars with his own fear. With the horrifying anxiety of discovery and rejection. But in the end, his conscience would always win against the dread of his own failings.
The silence stretches so long that perhaps she has even forgotten her sad musings, moved on to new ones. But in the end, he breaks his silence, his voice echoing out from the safety of his hidden nook. “Do you… need help finding it?”
He does not peek out at her, his bravery not quite extending that far. A small part of him thinks perhaps he can remain hidden even. Be nothing more than her friend the light, beautiful in his absence.
It would be better, he thinks, if she never knew where that light came from. If she never knew of the monster who could build such fantastical shapes.
But the hope in her voice keeps him tethered to his hidden hollow, unable to retreat as he no doubt should. That brief taste of joy stirs a longing in him. A desire to see more. To give more. Perhaps the one and only time he might offer something so good and lovely, without fear of watching disgust bleed into her eyes or the sharp sting of rejection as she turned away from his frightening visage.
In this one small way perhaps, he could be her friend. Offer her comfort even if it is in such an insignificant way. And so he bends and folds the light until it becomes more solid, until it can curl lovingly across her skin, offering the warmth and touch she so longs for. He might have done so all day, but for a faint tendrel of guilt and worry that tickles at his conscience.
She is lost, and he could not keep her here, away from those she knows and loves. Those who are no doubt seeking her, desperate to find her. That knowledge wars with his own fear. With the horrifying anxiety of discovery and rejection. But in the end, his conscience would always win against the dread of his own failings.
The silence stretches so long that perhaps she has even forgotten her sad musings, moved on to new ones. But in the end, he breaks his silence, his voice echoing out from the safety of his hidden nook. “Do you… need help finding it?”
He does not peek out at her, his bravery not quite extending that far. A small part of him thinks perhaps he can remain hidden even. Be nothing more than her friend the light, beautiful in his absence.
