PHRENZY
short story: angel in a bottle (part 1 & 2)
Also found here and here on Bone, Lace
There is such a fine, fine line between fantasy and reality and it is easy to get lost in both worlds if you are not careful. Worse, you could be trapped somewhere you don’t belong. You could buy a map to guide yourself. When you have grown cleverer you will walk on your own and know the places to avoid, places that are full of danger.
But a young mind is a pure mind and everything is real. You believe a stranger’s words, you believe in your imagination, and you believe in yourself. Your heart is the compass, your mind’s eye the key. Once, I was proud to say that this was me. And then I became fearful because I was forced to see the differences between fantasy and reality. But strangely, I was blindfolded. My mouth was taped and I had a gun pointed at my head. The trigger was pulled several times.
I struggled for many years. It was like fighting a war, but only in my head. I screamed louder than anyone has ever done, and tried to drown out the voices who cried when I refused to listen. Eventually, I collapsed and succumbed to temptation. It was easier to give up and conform and live the lives of others who have died before and are alive again – alive but intoxicated, barely breathing.
Quietly, I sat in a dark little room and read an expensive map my parents had obtained. They made sure that the routes I had to take were inked on my heart so that I would never forget who I was.
But who was I? What was I?
These questions constantly rang in my head as I penned down thoughts that had been planted in my head by those who wanted others to think like them. I had stopped responding to my name and in my memory there was a faceless man who wrote a strange name on my hand in bright red ink and said, “This is you.” In my dreams I managed to wipe away the name and I was happy. But when I was awake I looked in the mirror and there it was, the word ‘ALIEN’ carved on the flesh across my forehead. It was a term coined by the creators of normalcy, an incantation to turn ugly ducklings into beautiful swans.
Those around me were horrified. They tried to conceal what they saw and took away pieces of my life that I had loved and made me whole. I thought longingly of a time in my childhood when I spoke to imaginary friends and was protected by a little angel who lived in a bottle beside my bed.
To be continued…
"‘Because,’ explained Mary Rommely simply, ‘the child must have a valuable thing which is called imagination. The child must have a secret world in which live things that never were. It is necessary that she believe. She must start out by believing in things not of this world. Then when the world becomes too ugly for living in, the child can reach back and live in her imagination. I, myself, even in this day and at my age, have great need of recalling the miraculous lives of the Saints and the great miracles that have come to pass on earth. Only by having these things in my mind can I live beyond what I have to live for.’" — Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
☓
ONE MORE DAY
From Bone, Lace by Lixin
Gently I push my toes into soil and
feel the soft blades against my feet.
The wind is cold but it sings a lullaby
in my ear and caresses my face, lifting
it like a lover does, kissing my lips until
the rain falls upon my skin. I reach out,
my hands try to catch the cool droplets and
they slip through my fingers but this alone
was a blessing, enough to quench my thirst
for sunshine that never lasts.
