How long can you remain with closed eyes, not slipping away and wetting your lashes? Most of whom I've met have been doing it all their lives.
My gift lets me view them, a slideshow of their pain, and if i ever so wish, then, to share it or even take it away.
There were those who feigned strength only to breakdown at a gentle touch, giants who stood on thin stilts to stand tall. To illicit kindness or to sob without shame, they always came to me like moths to a flame.
But now, the flame has lost its colour, I no longer sense warmth or frost. I still pity them, sometimes. Humans have become what they are, frigid bones wrapped in warm flesh, an assortment of gross lumps cluttered together in darkness, held upright and wrapped in untanned fresh leather.
I neglected the Law of Balance, what is gathered must be given. For long I carried everything myself, arrogant of the strength of my soul, maybe ignorant of it.
A woman sits before me, a tiny creature smothered in cushions. Bound in pride and fortitude that wilts and withers away. She does not utter words but cries to me, not silent sobs of sadness but screams of pure pain.
I speak nothing as I strain and sift through her memories. A man is found, one who broke his vows, who tainted fatherhood, a face soon to be among the many I store within.
Like a starved leech I suck the burns, the words, the filth and the scars into me. She wipes her tears, and leaves, fresh petals blossoming as my own withers.
It is night, the frost is kindly uninvolving. I keep my silence as the face draws near. Sacred silence sullied not; he is not given the chance. My hand clamps down on his neck just like his own on others, many times before, and like a hot poker I thrust what I have gathered into his brain. Misery upon misery without lull or respite.
His scream is one of the many that will join the coming days. The law of balance, what is taken is given, is restored.
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