A Self-Study Within A Broken Mind

My grandma always told me of the blue skies before the time of the storms. “The blue just went on and on,” she said. “Half of what you saw was blue all day, sometimes spotted with white with clouds. It felt endless, until it wasn’t.” “Why did the storms start?” “We took the world for granted,” Grandma said. “At least those who were in charge did.” “Just a few did this to everyone?” I asked. “Why?” “That was the way of the world before the storms,” she said. “People looked out for themselves, while the world was dying. Since lightning is dangerous for everyone, it brought us together again.” “I would have loved to see the sky, just like it was before,” I said, closing my eyes to imagine. Grandma leaned over to kiss me on my forehead. “Blue dreams, my angel,” she said. It made me smile. And so blue dreams found me that night. I stood at the peak of a mountain, high above the dark lightning clouds. The sky absorbed most of what I could see, feeling almost endless. I woke up with the start...

“I wish I could see it snow just one more time,” she said. Her skin was pale white in the cloudy sky. Was she becoming a part of it already? I didn’t want her to go. We were on the roof of a building, standing on the ledge, two lost causes. My heart raced, but she just smiled at me. The white light coming from behind the clouds made everything tinted, highlighted with a milky notion. “Maybe we’re both portal walkers,” she suggested. “Wouldn’t that be great? We’d just wake up in new bodies at the moment of impact, live anew somewhere strange.” “Maybe,” I replied looking down toward the street. Nobody could see us yet. “But we’re dying anyway. I don’t know if even that would heal us.” “At least we’ll be together,” she said as a droplet formed at her left eye and begun a journey down to her pale lips. I didn’t believe her. The moment we hit the sidewalk, we would be alone in the dark, like I was before she showed up. It was about time that hesitation hit me. My feet were getting tired of ...

How does one describe the fears of all who reside in the light? Do you not call it darkness? If that is your answer, then I am the entity you call darkness, alive somehow. I know not myself how I survive, but I see, I smell, I feel, I hear, and I taste, just as you do. The cold does not bother me, while you, it kills. That is why you light fires, while I cling to the shadows. You're weak. I'm strong. You tell stories of me, such horrible nightmarish tales, but I cannot say they are untrue. Your fellow humans look to the dark as a thrill, and it is from there where I strike. They scream and cry, but in the end all is silent. This is not about survival. The dark is my domain, my home, I defend it. There is another name that humans call me, a name devised by them of no understandable origin, but I enjoy it. I am a Garavand. I listen to them, to you, humans. The shadows hug me, hide me. So many stories of you are created right before me. I watch the darkness within these humans ...