MEMOIRS OF THE FORLORN.

MEMOIRS OF THE FORLORN

It’s a story you need to read; A tale as old as time. It’s a dramatic and diametrical reverberate of the cliché diatribe that is “happy ever after”; the lullaby which preceded the pillow-influenced snores and baby drools that characterised our childhood.

64 B.C.

JANE -Blurry picture…

I sit on a stool, my hair covered by a hood. My buff- coloured skirts fall short of my calves, and my bloody shirt melds with my skin. This grabby fashion is not of my choosing, I am a woman forced by life to hide my bruises; destined to be clothed in rags of my once glorious apparel. Through seasons and times, I, who was a princess in my castle, have been bought for mere coins and sold for even less.

Inside my head lives a tale; its spin, as potent as the product of Rumpestilskin’s wheel. Its prick, as poisonous as snow white’s bane.

I am a slave to the flickering candle light in my prison. Her fire shakes violently, as if her flame is unsure of how long its seat is assured.

When the sun comes out, my vision is covered so as to dowse whatever hope its light may spring in my soul.

One day, before my guards were woke, I sneaked a peak at the sky’s blue and all I saw was black. The sun was dark; I felt its heat on bruise, yet my eyes could not see its light. I should move even just to view the shine of the sun through my dim eyes. Maybe the blurry picture would answer the question that ticks in my brain like a grenade with no ring. “Why am I still alive?”

17 A.D.

ELIZABETH- beauty and BEAST…

I’ve been introduced to a dual nature- Happy and hate; Pain and please; Safety and dread; Beauty and Beast. With finesse, he flattered his way into my heart. His charming manner paved a path, broke down my defenses, killed my reasons and… snuffed out my light. I have no definition of day and night. My will to fight has been crushed. My future is nought, my words lost. Joy comes and stays, for a few days, and then before my eyes it turns to hate.

Hate springs up, startling me, its angry horn bursts out through his hair, and oh!, his once beautiful brown eyes turn green like the leaves. I stare at the apparition, and dreadfully await its strike.

The beast is hungry, his taste bloody. His eyes focus on prey and its predator feeds on my fear. He lunges and retreats, his demented mind joyful for my hiccups and horror- filled starts. He growls and roars, fists lifted in a typical attack manner. All I hear is a tiny screeching sound that has melted itself to the atmosphere around.

3^rd December, 1665’

Bella- Broken to bits…

Beauty makes a rare appearance.

He oohed and aahed, and cleaned my wounds. He pampers me with baubles and decorates my hair with ribbons. He nurses me back to health, and promises to rid me of my nightmare. He promises to come back with soup and slaves and buckets of hot water.

I nod uncertainly at his rare benevolence. He blows me a kiss, and exits the room, adjusting his postiche and simultaneously humming.

Slowly, I drag my scattered pieces to the vanity to look at my image.

I wonder when this became my normal;the broken doll look attached itself to my expression. When have I began to welcome the demented look on his face, even with the knowledge that it could only make my body shrivel and my flesh, tear.

“Leave Him!!! Run away!!” My soul cried, but my body disobeyed as it recalled the BEAUTY in the beast. I mistook his rough handling for love pats and my re-configured brain chose to misconstrue the obvious facts. My body betrayed my soul while my spirit lay dead.

My red-rimmed eyes smarted, and my abused lips were swollen. My battered body ached, yet I didn’t feel the pain. I have become wonder woman without the will to fight back. My feelings are a maze of complicated lack. The future seems like a road map of dead ends and deep gullies. My past is now the future I wish I’d held unto desperately. Oh, I’m afraid I’m accustomed to this dreadful nightmare that is, my reality.

3^rd October, 1738

Desiree -Beautiful Pain

How can pain be beautiful?? 

But, it is.

I came to this conclusion when I heard the sound… the sound of the whip shook my ear like thunder in the quiet after rain. Pain… the implication of the noise my soul had come to accept. Adaptation has become acceptation.

Stalker… Stealthy… Scary.

All these become the personality of my dread.

He crouched like a lion, His claws curved as he smiled with expectation. I looked at the beast and my heart beat for his ugly. Disgust became the slime crawling on my skin even as I longed for the horror. 

He flung the whip through the air again, but this time the sound that broke the quiet was loud, long and horroful. It took me a while to realize that it was my brokenness screaming out for salvation under the weight of my pain, while my tormentor relished the sarcastic ecstasy of shedding my blood.

His smile widened as my voice receded. At last, I drifted into the safe haven of unconsciousness, shocked at the realization that this was my normal, and it’s okay.

Pain has become my escape, my getaway card, my OUT.

13^th September, 1972.

AURORA- INTENTIONAL CAPRICE.

It’s the 19^th century, and still the dark ages. Maybe not to the universe, but then the globe is a miniature meadow that has lost its gardens and butterflies. At least that’s how my aching eyes see it.

I found this diary hidden beneath my temporal dwelling, and I’ve found comfort in the knowledge that it not just me, though I am pained for these women who have been victims of the beast.

I’m to be dragged by my hair down a valley, and up a mountain. They will light my skirts with flames, and watch my hair conflate with the dust of the earth. I am to be hanged for committing the sin of saying NO. However, I am unafraid. I’ll tell you why.

Few days ago, after another experience with the beast in which he kicked my second child out of my belly, I decided to give up. I bled till consciousness was a fading memory and when I stood between the space of humanity and eternity, I was shown myself. 

I shuddered at the image of what I am; I saw the beast hidden beneath my beauty. I was so sure I was the victim. When did my certainties collapse beneath me? All that remains is a bitter understanding. Would that I could make it vanish.

I looked at the personality of purity which held my whole life in the palm of His hand, and I hid my ugly from his potent gaze. He urged me to look at his other hand, and I saw piercings as deep as it was raw. I was amazed at the phenomenon which was out of place in the midst of His perfection. I looked past the beast in me, and I saw the cross.

Bits of me, pieces of mine, scattered and lit my heart with pain. 

Bits of me came together, and like the dry bones of Ezekiel, my weak, sniveling bits have become a strong whole.

This book will be discovered one day, and I came back to change the little I can with my words. My blood and a feather have I used to pen these words, please, don’t let this sacrificial prill be in vain.

You are reading these memoirs written by the forlorn in time and ages past, which were subject to the mishap of a person who transcended times, and seasons and only gives death. These people succumbed to the illusion of power that the beast had over them, they gave in to minority, when they had only to scream out their authority. Do not follow blindly, the status quo. You have been made to sail the storm. You are more than societal labels. You are… more…

Alas, these words are empty if you do have HIM. He’s the fuel to the empty tank of life’s roller coaster. I do not speak of the dual personality of man, but the Mighty supremacy of God.

Seek Him, you’ll surely find Him.

Farewell.

19^th February, 2018.

JADE- TREASURE IN THE RUIN.

Today, the sky is overcast, and threatens to drench my droopy parade. The trees beg the rain for her release, while I wish she ceases her drizzles. Under my sweater is a healing slice; an unprofessional incision made by shaking hands, a temporal relieve to the wrenching pain within. 

Depression becomes the sun setting on my evening, her wide spread tentacles have dulled my mind, and quickened my defenses. My blurry vision looked straight ahead,, and for once, my eyeballs were in agreement with what they view.

The ruin called out to my ruin, and I hurried up its unsteady steps into its debris. The gentle breeze shook the walls of the once furnished fortress, and it echoed through the house and emitted a sound akin to the scary chimes of an ancient gimmal. I lingered a while, and wondered why my dull mind pricked its ear and woke up at the sight of the atrocity I currently stood on.

I bent to pick the attraction, and discovered it held within its pages, my kind of treasure. I read its horrors, and now, I’m woke.

Tonight, my knees are on the floor, and my clasped hands on the bed. I uttered these words, “I believe. Jesus, my Lord, I believe", and my life has changed.

I have been touched by a tale as old as time.