When I Was Dead

The tale that is this mended heart.

When I was dead…

Zombie Christina.

Time was meaningless, a vague memory important in childhood, but in adulthood passing me by. The past was a dark place to dwell upon, to dwell in. A bottomless well where the worst nightmares crouched, calling my name and begging me to join them. No solid ground beneath my feet where I hung between painful realities. The future oozed dread in my bloodshot eyes. Screams in the silver night warned me away, for the coming times were hovered behind the clouds. In-between, in the place where I existed, pain stretched to every burning horizon.

Pain was pleasure, for it filled the void that expanded without measure.

When I was dead…

I lacked day. I lacked night. Minutes were worthless dust slipping between my fingers. The light shifted and sidestepped lethargic shadows that watched me stare in my isolation. Behind my chair the demons that were mine savored my self-tormented mind. There they’d linger, their claws sliding over my brain until they dug in my eyes.

And all the while they’d whisper lies and assure me the world awaited my demise.

When I was dead…

Hawthorne headstone.

I was little more than an apparition, a hollow, transparent excuse for the human being I should have been. Across a barren landscape I walked or sat or kneeled. There, where the desert met nothingness, I was unseen even to my own eyes. Meaningless. All my eyes beheld was the suffering that only my eyes could see.

Within were the tears not worth crying, for tears were worthless to the dying.

When I was dead…

You entered my life. You lifted the veil. You cleared my eyes. You flung back the curtains. You opened the door so my dreams could reenter. You reached within, found my heart, and showed me the hope that flickered there. You took my hand so I knew I wasn’t alone. You stood me beneath the sky so I could feel the sun and shimmer in the moon’s reflection.

You held me tight and when the tears came they came because I knew I was alive.

When I was dead…

Christina in blue.

…I was a different person than I am today. The seed that I was withered in stagnant soil until you transferred it to a garden I didn’t recognize because the garden was me. You taught me that. You saved my life. Eventually you had to go away, but I continued to grow. Now each minute, each day, each year is mine, for I’m a towering oak for all to see.

And all that I write, all that I do, stands as my heartfelt tribute to you.

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About Ontyre Passages

Alive and well in the Rocky Mountains. I'm a fantasy writer who also dabbles in poetry, short stories, and map making. My Ontyre tales are an alternative fantasy experience, the stories rich in mystery, adventure, and romance. Alternative fantasy? Not quite steampunk. Not quite gothic. In truth, the real magic is in those who discover what's within.
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