02-29-2016, 12:00 PM
tell me we’re dead and I’ll love you even more;
It becomes easier, to stay.
She never leaves the land. It is green and she is a god, here. Sometimes there are memories – a image of a skull, bells chiming, a stallion she once loved – but she smothers them. She buries them and smiles and if she smiles hard enough, lips peeled and teeth bared, she can forget.
Heartworm said let there be light and there was, light all over the land – her land. Her paradise.
(There is a memory that the animals lost their language and the world crumbled. It is not a sweet memory. She buries it.)
Her daughter is here, eternally young. She is real, and Heartworm holds her close every night. She has wings like the birds they play amongst and her life has never been so full, so sweet.
(There is a memory of a man hurting her, taking her, of bells chiming. It is not a sweet memory. She buries it.)
It is their land – a vast expanse of forest, filled with beautiful animals, snow-white deer and panthers dripping in jewels. Lions lay with lambs. It is always sunny. There is never a nighttime. Heartworm is never a skeleton, here.
There was a stallion, once, but then there is a black spot in her memory and when it disappeared so did he.
But never mind that, because she has her daughter, rainbow-sheened and smiling.
Never mind that, because she is a god of her own making, in a paradise she will never leave.
No one else should speak, here.
(Father?)
It comes on the wind so faint she might have imagined it. But something else – a remnant of the times she’s forgotten – makes her skin prickle. She calls to Irisa, beckons her to her side, places her lips to the girl’s soft skin. It is okay. It is her world.
(There is a memory of another girl, a spill of lavender against the white. A girl left behind because she was not part of this. A girl whose name she never learned. It is not a sweet memory, but it is not an ill one, either. She thinks of her sometimes but says nothing to Irisa.)
She calls out to the voice – the girl – and lets her into the world, though she is scared, though she clings to Irisa like a life raft.
“There’s no father here,” she says and she can’t quite look at the girl, the girl looks too much like Irisa (it’s the eyes, she thinks, they have the same eyes).
“Who are you?” she asks – demands – and then, “how did you get here?”
HEARTWORM
I am Too Lazy to make Irisa an account so hence a heartworm post. the place is basically an idyllic paradise - very sunny, lots of greenery, fantastical creatures, etc.