They Will Not See Me
I do not think they realise what they are doing, putting a weapon in the hands of a child.
I was wild, excitable, adventurous. Magic was compelling, Irresistible. Not surprising then that I did not stop to think of the consequences.
"It will be fun," I had said, sure of myself, of creating something lasting, eternal.
Would I still have said that if I knew what we were trying to create?
I think not.
There are times I am glad we went through with it. But for every joy there is much more sorrow.
And all I can do is watch.
Unseen.
Unheard.
Unknown.
I've seen the world pass by.
I am the watcher in the shadows.
But I cannot say anything, cannot interfere, a spirit without substance, less than a ghost, yet unable to pass on.
I wish. I wish for many things but the one I want most will not happen.
I want to go home.
I want to be free.
But I cannot tell them this; they who hold my life, such as it is, in their hands.
"It is a gift, a wonderful artefact," they say.
No. My mind whispers in response. It is a curse. Destroy it.
But they do not hear me. They cannot know what they hold in their hands. For like I, they are but children. Innocent. Naïve.
I am no longer a child. I have not been for many long years. I am weary of the world, yet cursed to remain by my own hand.
But perhaps my biggest regret is that I brought this curse upon those who were my friends.