A Tale Of My Love And My Curse

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A Tale Of My Love And My Curse data-src=

To my loving phantom mother and vicious sibling, I tell you this story.

Mama always said everything was transient, like the passing of time. I never understood why she said it,
I never understood the breaking of her voice with glistering eyes holding so much rage and trembling spirit, bruised and beaten.
Maybe everything was temporary or was mama drunk on the chaos of time. “My seed do not live your life as I lived mine.”
Ma’s teaching today was different; it was solemn.
“Love, cherish, appreciate your bonds.” Why does mama sound like a dying royalty giving their final verdict?
Was there a reason mama said these things? Why was mama fading? She was losing her light and finding peace.
Mama’s final word were a guide to my journey, like a hell’s hound I searched for those words in the world of men,
Sniffing and licking every creature I found bond in, I cherished them, I adored them, and I loved them.
Like memories of my infant-hood that disappeared with growth, so I forgot mama’s first teaching “Everything is transient.”
Her final words were spoken in my understanding age; I remembered them like a haunted dream.
Days were bliss. I was a rising pleasure; I rose into the clouds soaring high above. I was untouchable. This was my everything, I enjoyed everything that was life, and I craved and loved life more than mama.
Everything was a tiled road, smooth and free. Life gave me everything mama couldn’t.
Yes. I loved life more than mama. Mama left me alone; she went to find peace alone.
Life was my reason for living; my bonds were my motivation to fly high. They became my family, my joy, my happiness, my destruction.
But life was not mine alone, life had countless children. I was just one of the zillion in life’s embrace.
The seventh day of the seventh month, I remembered mama’s first words clear as clean waters.
Mama’s words appeared to me in flesh and dreamt of her like a lucid dream, I saw mama again. Her glowing aura bathed in white light and serene face that held a peaceful smile like a drugged princess.
“Everything is temporary,” she said. The image changed and with my eyes I saw mama change into a witch with bloodshot eyes
Her spirit pained, her heart lost somewhere in the void only a gaping hole was seen. She was my witch, my good witch.
Mama was beaten by the one meant to love her. She held on for love and the vow they made on that blissful day, but how much had already been lost.
It was another blissful day and toothless grin. She sat in the corner watching her pillar support another foundation, forced to give her blessing.
A gaping hole in her heart told it all. Mama let go of love and cursed his seeds to never live like the sperm but the egg. To always have to let go of something I loved.
My mother cursed me a short happiness. She never knew she carried his seed and in her pain cursed her later lover.
The seventh day of the seventh month, I was made and became like that witch, to let go of the beating organ and fulfill my curse. On seventh day of the seventh month, I left.
That day my castle came tumbling down, my bonds broke by the dozen and love betrayed me. That day I fell from my height onto rocky shores.
Another mother left me for dead, life cast out her child regardless of my love to her, my sacrifice, my wealth. I was ousted like a witch ready to be burned
I was a witch cursed by another witch. Yes.
I walked out never to return to mother. Who do I have? Who loved me like I loved? I walked without a care in mind, crossed the busy road and was sent flying.
Tumbling down on glass, rolling, rolling and finally I stopped. I choked out “Mama.” She grimaced. Red liquid spurted out and circled my cold body.
I was pushing out my life, rejecting my body and the fragment soul felt the creeping cold darkness. They felt like warmth I was cold.
I trembled and right in my pool of red, I cried.
I still loved life, I still wanted her harsh embrace and loving but malicious gaze, I still held onto life. I was one of her and of her.
Yet I was trashed out the third time. They say three times a strike, it is a win. I was ready to lose and let go.
“It is time my seed,” mama’s angelic body said.
“It is time to let go.” I stilled my struggle and embrace peace. I never knew a witch hand could be so warm.

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