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  • Writer's pictureRosie J.

A little free writing from a prompt…

Updated: Oct 12, 2022

I stare into the endless void outside of my window. The darkness licks at the edges of the frame, hungry. Searching. I should feel fear, but I don’t. I should run, but I don’t. My pulse should not be this steady. My body should not be this calm. I desire a visceral reaction to this thing blotting out my world, but it does not come. I find instead an understanding, between it and me. This blackness is alive and holds a piece of me that I had not realized was missing. Foreign energy courses through my veins and memories flood my consciousness. Visions that are not mine, but somehow are. Familiar in their unfamiliarity. I have been disconnected from my Self for far too long.

“It’s time to come home.” A voice beckons. The sound slides over me, sweet and sticky like honey. A hand forms from the darkness and rests a palm against the glass. I match my hand to it. A perfect fit. There are eyes–bearing a striking resemblance to my own–staring back at me.  I breathe deep, allowing myself a moment. My other hand now resting on the lock on the window, ready to fling it open wide.

“Come.” The voice again calls.

Something compels me to take one last glance around this place I have called home for so many years, against the wishes of the energy coursing through my veins. My gaze comes to rest on a photo in a simple frame. In the photo I am happy. He is happy.

I love him.

My heart pounds against my chest. A lump forms in my throat. A single tear trickles down my cheek. I look back through the window locking eyes with the form in the blackness.

“I want to stay.” My voice rolls out of me like thunder, with a power I did not know I possessed.  The darkness quivers.  Shocked by my defiance.  It fights to say something that will change my mind as if it is impossible to speak words against my wishes.

“If you do not go now, you may never come home.” The voice is tinged with sadness. I feel its sadness, but it does not compare to mine.  The overwhelming knowledge of my old life, the world and people I left behind, the search that ensued after my fall finally ending here on this morning, cannot compare to the grief I feel at the thought of him returning home to find me gone.  Whisked away like a wisp of smoke on the breeze.  No trace of my existence.  No letter of my intention.  Just gone.

“It is a sacrifice I am willing to make. Leave me.” I say.

“So be it.”  It has no choice but to obey.  Not all the memories are intact, but I know I am something to this Seeker.  To them.  Someone of power, but that is no longer my place.  I made my decision when I fell.

The darkness begins to recede. The hand on the glass fades away last, keeping the connection with my fingertips as long as possible. For a moment, the world outside my window is tinted in gray as the blackness slinks away towards a rift in the sky. My gaze lingers on the hand reaching out for me before it disappears completely.

I blink against the sudden return of the sun, my pupils adjusting to the light, and crash down to the floor, clutching a dirty shirt against my chest that lay nearby. His dirty shirt. His scent triggers the visceral reaction that I was looking for moments ago while staring into the void. I would not trade this for anything. Here. Now. In this existence, I am whole.

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