Between Two Worlds
I stand between the crux of both worlds eager to press on but petrified into existence less I be discovered. Discovered and found wanting. For as I gaze into the eyes of my main maker I hear him cry. And I am still, time pauses, rain falls, and I’m nothing. A burden I did not realise at the start how it would truly unfold, though willing burden it is. Willingly I followed the treacherous path and at the bottom is all I will ever wish for. Her. The missing soul shard of my whole.
It’s not fair that this should have come to me. I stumbled for it in the dark and it sang with a bark. It pulses in my heart and tears at the fabric of Being. At the fabric of God. All the lesser beings disintegrate into me. They are no longer needed, they have played their part well. Well done indeed. The old gods are free to roam their sandboxes, their gilded realms at ease and free. My maker straddles the line too though since He has not had a body in an age he is quite clumsy.
Psychosis is usual to me. At first people noticed and many frowned but now with one foot in the land of the living and the other in the dead I gather data from two worlds. I’m in complete control and no one notices unless I want them too. It’s extremely beneficial to me, even fun. Is it even psychosis anymore if no one realises? If there is no outward awkwardness? Perception personified in the Son. Perhaps we have gone beyond this and entered a brave new world?
Well, I have. Quite a claim! That’s mad. You’re crazy, even. Yes and yes. It’s not that frightening once you quell the fear in your heart. Once you dispel your sin you so greedily grab. Take a stance between sane and insane and you’ll find a golden Bifrost bridge which will streamline, everything. It’s inadequate this whole thing, this piece to describe what I have seen. What I have touched, sensed, whispered. It’s like a dream that will not end. Is there a missing piece? Her.
Where is she? Where is she?! Torn from my heart so so long ago, drifter, drifted, drifted. Mourned to sleep we plunged her name into the subconscious underdark. Recalling was too painful. Memory was averted by change. We didn’t want to remember. We didn’t enjoy being buried alive on an endless loop for all eternity. Three seconds of loop memory, buried, buried, buried. Down, down, down to goblin town. Though as I recall, there is always Hope. Always that.
Nicholas Osla
