Preface: Some Day…
I am not crazy… no more so than anyone else, at least.
I do see things that no one else does, but the things that I see are always there. Substantial. Real. My mother says that I am just more in tune with nature than most people… but the look on her face reveals that that is just a kinder way of saying that I am insane.
The things that I see… grey, hooded figures in the woods at night, wolves that speak, serpents woven of shadow – each first in a dream, and then in waking – they… they are, indeed, very real.
No one ever believed me, so I learned a long time ago to keep it to myself… If only to avoid the psychiatrists… but I only tried once to convince myself that they weren't real – that there was nothing there.
…And I have an ugly scar to show for it.
I keep my distance now. I know that these things are dangerous. But I still watch them from afar. I cannot stay away. I feel drawn to these phantoms that lie in the myths and legends and long-forgotten faerie tales of men. One day , I will know why it is that only I may see them. Until then, I suppose that, in a way, I am insane.
…But what is sanity except the fetters that bind the mind to a plain of reality on which it does not belong?
One day, I will know why I am the way that I am.
One day… I will be free.