Changeling

You came into this world, a whisper between life and death. They celebrated your birth as you wailed at what lay before you.


The faerie watched... chuckling at your misery, at the irony of the delight surrounding your tears.


But that knowledge faded till it became just a queasy knot in your gut. You got caught in the feasts and the orgies. You lost yourself in the glamours and the lies. You forgot.
Try and remember. Realise. Know.


Changeling, you are but a visitor. Little more than a knave. This life holds no challenges you cannot surmount and death hides no surprises you will uncover. You will fool yourself with rainbows and optimism, but know that both lie... Colours sprinkled by rays and rain do not point to pots of gold. Dreams spun with hopes and mad wishes do not make a life.


When the fey one holding your cards smiles, you soar. But the faerie are capricious. With every frown, they bring about storms. They laugh in wicked abandon as they see the havoc they wreak. They titter and nudge each other in anticipation as you stagger into the the next rabbit hole. Not long before you plunge yet again... deeper. Soon, you will fall again... harder. You are bailed out, wrung out, and hung out to dry. And then... it starts again. The game goes on.


Your life has been pledged as tithe to Them. The miracle that was your birth will be paid for with your life. Your fate will become a game, a spinning coin, a rolling die. And you yourself, a mere pawn, a toy that amuses and enthralls Them. When They tire, They will cast you away. Just as you came in, a wistful whisper, you will pass on to the next world. There will be tears at your passing, but this time they will not be yours. The mourning will mask your smile of relief as you escape this fey game, this tortuous illusion.


You are but a changeling. This life is just a debt. Live it off. In time, in this world or the next, you will have paid for your keep and the fey will let you go. They'll break the die and melt the coin. They'll free the pawn that circles the board endlessly. And then, you will walk free. You will discover what life can be. Away from the faerie. Away from illusions. Pure life. Pure being.


Changeling... Believe. You will live. Some day. For a moment. For eternity.



Cogito Ergo Finito

Threes

Things come in threes. So they say. Well, writer alter ego of mine says so.

Trouble comes in threes they say
The first one, a toothless hag called Misfortune
The second one, a child named Confusion
And the last one was the deadliest of all
A seductress by name Panic
She brewed it all up
And served up a hot plate full of trouble

They come in threes. It’s the perfect predatory strategy. If you’re reasonably strong, the first one will just shock you. You are still on your feet. The second one will land a sucker punch that will shake you through and through. And then you’re set up. Staggering on your feet, your eyes barely focusing, you don’t even see the last one coming. The third one is always… always… a knockout.
With the first, you lose innocence.
With the second, you lose faith.
With the third, you lose hope.
And then, it’s over.
They’ve won, hands down. But then, it was three against one. You did a good job of hanging in there. You might even have put up a fight. But when they come in threes, what chance do you have?

Cogito Ergo Finito