11-26-2018, 04:57 PM
Jinn
I had a dream that we were dead,
and we pretended that we still lived
and we pretended that we still lived
It is a novel experience, to find himself the recipient of such unflinching kindness rather than casual cruelty. Indeed, most never even realized how painful it could be, to be shunned and dismissed so thoughtlessly. Monster enough that he draws notice, but not so terrible as to inspire true fear. As though he is nothing more than a thing to behold in disgust and recoil to avoid. As though there is not a man beneath the mask of death he wears.
It is a rare creature that sees beyond that. At least in his world. Perhaps there is a plethora of these souls out there somewhere, but it seems he is not to have the fortune of meeting them. Indeed, it’s nearly impossible to believe such a thing actually exists.
But she exists. For a moment, he can only stare when she exclaims at the cruelty of those who had come before her. Even when she reaches for him, he does no more than flinch faintly, almost reflexively. Her nose is soft against his skin, sending a shiver racing along nerve-endings. It has been so long since he has been touched, so long since anyone has braved the thought of reaching out to skim death.
His mother had been the last, he thinks. She had loved him regardless, never once implying he might be less despite the pallor of his features.
The touch seems to last an eternity and yet is all too brief. Fleeting and beautiful and forever etched in his memory as a moment of purity, without malice. But the subtle spell is broken when she continues. He realizes he hadn’t responded to her compassionate words, though now it hardly seems to matter. He wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. Kindness is as foreign to him as cruelty must be to her.
“It’s Jinn,” he replies softly to the implied question, brows furrowing as he realizes he doesn’t know hers either. He opens his mouth to say just that when she continues, the question that tumbles from her lips stunning him into silence. His gaze leaps up to meet hers, his expression too open to hide the shock he feels. “Why?” he asks abruptly, unable to halt the confused question as it spills out.
Because, for the life of him, he cannot fathom why she would want him to. Though it is something he has longed for since he was a boy, experience has taught him never to expect such invitations.
It is a rare creature that sees beyond that. At least in his world. Perhaps there is a plethora of these souls out there somewhere, but it seems he is not to have the fortune of meeting them. Indeed, it’s nearly impossible to believe such a thing actually exists.
But she exists. For a moment, he can only stare when she exclaims at the cruelty of those who had come before her. Even when she reaches for him, he does no more than flinch faintly, almost reflexively. Her nose is soft against his skin, sending a shiver racing along nerve-endings. It has been so long since he has been touched, so long since anyone has braved the thought of reaching out to skim death.
His mother had been the last, he thinks. She had loved him regardless, never once implying he might be less despite the pallor of his features.
The touch seems to last an eternity and yet is all too brief. Fleeting and beautiful and forever etched in his memory as a moment of purity, without malice. But the subtle spell is broken when she continues. He realizes he hadn’t responded to her compassionate words, though now it hardly seems to matter. He wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. Kindness is as foreign to him as cruelty must be to her.
“It’s Jinn,” he replies softly to the implied question, brows furrowing as he realizes he doesn’t know hers either. He opens his mouth to say just that when she continues, the question that tumbles from her lips stunning him into silence. His gaze leaps up to meet hers, his expression too open to hide the shock he feels. “Why?” he asks abruptly, unable to halt the confused question as it spills out.
Because, for the life of him, he cannot fathom why she would want him to. Though it is something he has longed for since he was a boy, experience has taught him never to expect such invitations.
