disclaimer: I do not own any part of Harry Potter
They say that if a person is pushed enough, they lose the ability to divide reality and fantasy.
I don't know if that is true.
But then again, truth no longer holds the same meaning that it once did. The truth is a statement that is proven to be right. But in my world, I don't know what the truth is. Who knows what the so called truth is? Is there even a set reality? Does everyone see the same things I do?
Once you are pushed, you cannot stop falling, not unless someone catches you first. And there was no one to catch me. So I crashed. Everything suddenly became so much; too much. And so, they say, I collapsed. From the inside.
Sometimes my world is a happy place, sometimes it is so terrifying I want to scream. But when I want to scream, no sound comes out. I am left holding my knees to my chest, rocking, and my mouth open in a silent scream. In those times, my world is filled with darkness, mixed in with the occasional green flare. In those times, all I feel is pain. It is a crippling pain, one that almost sends me flying off the brink into a sheer nothingness.
There is always a man next to me. I like this man. He seems to understand, and he always appears in my dream world. Sometimes we play games together, lying in the sunny meadows. I pick flowers for him, and he makes garlands out of them and puts them in my hair.
Other times, we are in a school. We sit in lessons together, always about something that makes no sense to me. Then we sit beside a beautiful lake, or go to a high tower full of birds. A few times, we are joined by other people, two beautiful girls, one with long crimson hair and jewel bright green eyes, the other with short dark hair and a happy smile. The man is joined by other men (only boys, really though), usually four of them; two tall and handsome with dark hair, another tall but with sandy hair, and the final one short and pale.
Whenever this happens, I feel a strange sensation. I feel like everything is so familiar, that I have talked and laughed with those people before. But that's impossible.
While the times in the large school building (are all schools like that?) are filled with constant chattering and laughter, the times in the meadow are silent. The only sound is the sound of the wind slipping through the tall grass, or the rain falling gently against the ground and our skin. We never talk, the man and I. We don't need to. We simply look at each other, and we understand.
Somehow, I know that the man is like me. What I am like, however, eludes me. Sometimes I think I remember something, but before I can grasp it, it slips through my hands like fine sand. Sometimes sand surrounds me, each grain like a word on the tip of my tongue. It is then that I fall further, slipping some more into this limbo of uncertainty, all the while trying to grasp at those grains of sand.
One time, the man and I went on a journey. We travelled around a pristine white area, empty except for the odd trinket lying around. Each time we reached one, we would stop and one of us would pick it up. I remember one of them. It was a piece of wood, carved into the shape of an intertwined letter 'A' and 'F'. I wondered what that could have been about, yet for all my wondering, it seemed that I once knew the answer. But the answer slipped away, joining the infinite pile of sand at the foot of my existence.
Often, I can see them loitering around my world. Always dressed in a shade of green robes, ages varying, there are people holding clipboards, carrying trays of food, smiling comfortingly at us. I don't know what to make of them. Somehow, I know they mean no harm, but I do not trust them in the way I trust the man. I feel like they pity me. But why?
Occasionally, a boy and an old woman appear too. I like the boy. I don't like the old woman. Just as with the school, the beautiful girls and laughing boys, I feel like I should remember who they are. But I can't. I know they are important to me, but I don't know who they are or why. That makes me sad sometimes.
They have been coming for a long time. I've seen the boy change drastically over the times I have seen him. I've never been afraid though. At first the boy was small, and gazed up at me tearfully, chubby and round eyed, his hair neatly combed and short. Then he was still chubby, but slightly taller. He kept growing, so much that he was eventually taller than the man, but he didn't lose the chubby body and round eyes until a while later.
But he's never lost the expression he had on his face- one of tender love and sorrow. It is probably because of this that I love him so much. I didn't even love the man as much as I loved the boy. Then one day, he was different. Still loving, still smiling, but he seemed to stand taller and look proud. There was something new in his eyes, a fierce determination. All the times before, he seemed to stand hunched, as if trying to make himself smaller. He seemed downtrodden and insecure, like he wasn't good enough. I wanted to tell him he wasn't, and that I loved -no, love him, but only faint mumbles came out.
So instead, I gave him a flower from my meadow. Either blue or pink, every time he came, even now when he has lost his insecurities, I still give them to him, because I never want him to forget that I love him.
But he is not like me. He will not forget.
While the boy is kind and patient, the woman was impatient. I knew she wasn't going to harm me, but she gave me a bad feeling. I don't know why. Maybe outside of my dreams she is not like the beautiful girls or the laughing men.
Eventually, the woman stopped coming. For a while, the boy (now a man) came on his own, and then eventually a nice, smiling blonde woman joined him. She isn't like the other woman, because she was young and sweet, patient just like the boy (now a man). She waves at us, tears in her eyes and sometimes says a few words, but I can never make them out. Even so, I always try and smile at her to let her know I understand she is trying to tell me something. This woman is different to all the others I see in my dream world, because I never get the feeling I have known her before.
One time, I felt scared that the man was going to leave and never come back, just like the older woman did. I looked at him, panicked, but he just smiled serenely back. In that smile I knew he meant that he wouldn't. He would never leave me like the old woman had. If he was going to go, I could come along too. Maybe we could even go on another adventure together.
Sometimes, now that I have seen these people appear and leave again, I wonder how my visits to the school can be real. I watch the boy grow, but the beautiful girls and the laughing boys have never seemed to age.
They say that if a person is pushed enough, they lose the ability to divide reality and fantasy.
I wonder now if that is what happened to me.
So, yes, a little different from the normal style, but I hadn't written anything in ages, much less published, so I hope it's good. I'm sorry for the delay with Whispers And Lies- I'm losing inspiration, and it's becoming harder to write it. Nonetheless, I will try and get back into it.
Also, I realise this may not make any sense. However, I promise you it isn't a load of nonsense, so if you have any queries, please ask and leave me somewhere I can get back to you. Please leave a review- I've never written anything like this before, so I would like to hear what you think about it.
Much love and affection,
the not dead Kan
xxx