Origin

    The Old Ones used to talk about the Great Mother, also called She Who Rides the Wind and Bearer of the Living Flame. They said that she was glorious. Her scales shone with a multitude of colours, glittering like precious jewels in the sunlight. Moonlight only softened their iridescence, not dulled it. Her roar shook the earth and made the mountains tremble. From her union with the Sky, she brought forth the very first dragon eggs out of her womb and breathed the flame of life unto them. After giving up her flame for her offspring, the Great Mother was released from her earthly bonds and joined her consort, the Sky in the Aether. Thus,  Atum, the first male dragon and Ryara, the first female dragon were born. Atum was a great warrior and his claws were said to have been stained red from the blood of his enemies. Ryara was a fearsome sorceress and her magic was so powerful it could destroy a civilization. Separate, they were terrible; together, they were invincible. No one could touch them. One day, Mir the Trickster, told Atum that he found a being more fearsome than he. Atum roared in anger and demanded the name of his adversary. With a sly smile, Mir revealed his rival to be Ryara. Atum stormed off to face his sister. Ryara was surprised and confused when her brother accused her of usurping his position and challenged her to a duel. Left without a choice, Ryara faced her brother in battle. So evenly matched were they that their duel lasted for seven days and seven nights. On the eighth day, Atum made a mistake. He lunged for Ryara's neck but he tripped on a rock and fell on his back. Sensing an opportunity, Ryara struck with her magic and killed him with a deadly blow to the heart. After she came back to her senses, she realised in horror that she had murdered her beloved brother. Her grief was so great that her tears flooded most of the earth, creating what is now the vast sea. When she found out that Mir the Trickster was responsible for her brother's death, she vowed to avenge her brother by peeling off the trickster's skin with her claws and wearing it around her shoulders like a cloak. Knowing that he could not hide from Ryara's far superior magic, he decided to defeat her by doing what he does best. A skilled shapeshifter, he transformed himself into a beautiful human male and set out to seduce Ryara. When she saw him, Ryara lusted after him, not knowing that the human was actually Mir the Trickster. So, she brought him into her dwelling and was so consumed with lust for him that she forgot about her revenge. When she discovered the human's true identity, it was too late by then. He was able to cast a binding spell on her when she let down her guard during their coupling, thereby limiting her magic. Filled with rage, Ryara tried to kill him but he managed to escape to the safety of his home which was warded with strong magic. In her weakened state, Ryara was unable to break through the defences placed on the trickster's home. Dejected and defeated, she returned to her lair. Unbeknownst to the trickster, his seed had taken root within Ryara's womb. That was how the first dragon skinwalker came to be. This is our story. This is our origin.

The Ties That Bind

Last week, I was invited to a class reunion party but I declined to go because I had church that night. If I were to be honest, going to church was also an excuse to not attend the reunion. Why was I so reluctant to go to the reunion? I had not contacted them for a long time after I graduated from secondary school. I let my connection to them falter and fade into the shadows of my past. Occasionally, I think of them and reminisce about the times we had been through together. Yet, I never felt the urge to reconnect with them again. I let my friendship with them fizzle out. I chose to let it go. Refusing to go to the reunion needles at my conscience. Was I wrong to not want to see them or talk to them again? I'm afraid that even if I do meet them, I will not recognise them or remember their names. I imagine myself standing awkwardly by the side as everyone else talked, joked and laughed with each other as if time had never passed at all. As if we could just pick up where we left off.

***

Last Thursday, an old friend of mine called me and invited me to go mountain climbing with her. Another old friend will be joining us. Shamefully, I thought about refusing her offer. The moment of hesitation passed. I agreed to go. When I met up with them, there was an air of uncertainty between us. It had been so long. I never sought them out. They have new friends and new lives. They remained the same in some ways but it was clear that they had changed. We all have. When we talked about our respective lives, I realised how diverged our roads have become. The more we walk our own paths, the further we are from each other until one day, we will be to one another merely people whose paths converged for a single moment in time, never to meet again. Like perpendicular lines.

***

The ties that bind us are so frail and brittle. Stretch it too thin and it will break. A severed connection. Is that what will happen to my new friends? Will we eventually become strangers to each other or will we remain friends for the rest of our lives? Well, whatever the case, I am glad and grateful that they are in my life right now. It is enough.

P.S. May God bless you.

To Read Or Not to Read

I don't remember exactly how old I was when I was first introduced to the delightful world of reading. The first book that ever really captured my imagination and inspired me to write was Christopher Paolini's 'Eldest', the second book in the Inheritance Cycle. Back then, I wasn't very choosy about my reading materials. Whatever I can get my hands on, I read. The only books I don't touch are of the non-fiction variety. I devoured all of them indiscriminately. I did not care whether the writing was good or bad because all that mattered to me was the story itself. But as I grew older, I began to gravitate towards certain types of books. I fell in love with magic and the fantasy genre became my favorite. These days, I try to avoid young-adult fiction which focuses on romance. I want to read fantasy books which do not contain hormone-filled pages of angsty teenage love affairs. There's nothing particularly wrong about them. I just want something more now. After I joined Goodreads and read the reviews posted there, I became even more discerning in selecting my reading materials. I try to avoid books which contain too stupid to live characters, ludicrous plot devices, slut-shaming, abusive relationships portrayed as normal and desirable, bad writing, too many inconsistencies, a boring plot, insta-love and a whole host of other negative things that ruin my reading experience and make me want to gouge out my eyeballs. It makes me want to reread all of my books to see if any of them possess these unfortunate traits. Would I still be able to fully enjoy them despite their glaring flaws? I know that no book is perfect but I want to read quality books that stimulate my mind, strike a chord in my soul and teach me about life. It rankles and scares me to know that some books contain disturbing messages that disguise themselves as harmless or benign. I want to avoid these pitfalls when I write my stories. Dear future readers, when I become a published author, would you be so kind as to review all of my works with brutal, no-holds-barred honesty? I would really appreciate any constructive criticisms that you can offer. Thank you.

P.S. God bless.

Drought (In My Head)

Arid
Dry
Dusty
No clouds
No rain
Harsh sun
Harsher heat
Beat down
Bowed back
Sweat trickles

Mouth dry
Throat parched
Eyes waver
Sees
Trees
False hope
Just
A
Mirage

Cracks
Gouges
On land
On skin
World breaking
Man following
Jagged pieces
Scatter
Like sand
In the wind

Then

Silence

A Dream of Dragons

     It wasn't the most sensible thing to do but she was feeling bored and there was a decided lack of entertainment in the cozy confines of the lair. She poked her head into the fireplace and started wriggling upwards to the small square of open sky at the end of the chimney. Her claws scraped against the soot-stained bricks of the chimney's inner walls, sending clouds of fine ash into the surrounding air. They didn't bother her. She was a fire-breathing creature after all. After a few minutes of squirming and clawing her way to the top, she felt the cool morning breeze caressing her scales as her head finally cleared the top of the chimney. Her slender, sinuous neck, bulky body and long tail followed soon after. She was free. Shaking the fine dusting of soot from her green scales, she slowly unfurled the wings that were tucked tightly against her body. She felt the muscles of her back flex as the slightly translucent membranes of her wings snapped open, sending a gust of wind rattling through the tiles of the roof. The joints of her wings ached a little from disuse but the pain quickly faded as she got used to their weight and span. She indulged in a moment of vanity as she arched her neck up so that her iridescent scales caught the sunlight, glittering like a bed of emeralds with glints of gold. She eyed the scenery before her, hungrily taking in the view that had been denied to her for so long. The valley and the blue-grey mountains beyond beckoned to her like a song that resonated within her very heart and soul. Home. She flapped her wings a few times and adjusted her stance, loosening her limbs and tightening the muscles of her back. Taking a deep fortifying breath, she teetered at the very edge of the roof and launched herself off of it, causing a few tiles to tumble down onto the ground. She let herself fall through thin air until her claws almost touched the ground, and then, she brought her wings down and propelled herself upward with all of her strength. For one terrifying second, gravity refused to let her go but she soon broke loose from its grasp and found herself skimming the top of a sea of swaying grass, her wings beating a steady rhythm in the air. She let loose a roar of triumph and flew higher into the sky, leaving behind the farm and its environs far, far below. She hung suspended in the sky as she turned her neck around for one last look at the quaint farmhouse and the stables next to it. She would miss the farmer and his boy. One day, she would come back and repay them, she promised herself. Releasing another loud roar, this time of farewell, she spun around and headed for home.   

Stray Thoughts

The mind departs
But the heart lingers

The mind shies away
But the heart longs

The mind stands firm
But the heart wavers

The mind

The heart

Torn

Divided

Unfall

1

"I can't let myself fall for him." It was a desperate plea, barely louder than a whisper.

Why not?

"We're too different. Anyway, he will never fall for me. I don't want to get hurt." A sigh this time, more resigned than sad.

You can't avoid pain forever.

"I know that but I'm too scared. And even if he liked me back, what then? It's not like we can be together."

Does it really matter if you're different from each other?

"Of course it matters. He can't change. I won't change. It can never be between us." Frustration, a living, coiling thing.

You are a fool for wanting to taste forbidden fruit.

A bitter smile. "I know. It's not like I can help it."

How does it feel like being near him?

"Unbearable. It is as if all my body cells can't help but gravitate towards him. My eyes can't help but find him. My body can't help but be so, so aware of him. I'm an idiot." A sad laugh.

Will you be able to stop yourself?

"I have to. I just have to."

Desperate.

Determined.

2

She instantly knew that he was different. He avoided looking at people and walked with a shuffling gait. Restlessly, he moved from the living room to his bedroom and back again. He kept picking up her dad's bag, as if offended or distressed at the sight of it. Her dad gently took the bag from him without a word. He had always been a kind man. She made sure never to directly look at him, uncertain whether it was rude to stare or to ignore his presence. "Go back to your room and stay there," his father growled at him. He obediently marched back to his room, head hanging like a chastised kid. The maid quickly locked the door to his room with a key. A shameful feeling of relief washed over her at his absence. She could still see his fingers which were hooked through the bars of his room door. She averted her eyes.

3

The phone dropped from her nerveless fingers. Snatching her car keys from the table, she rushed outside, started the car and drove off without looking back.

***

"Grandmere, are you alright? How do you feel?" she asked breathlessly after bursting into the hospital ward. Her grandmother's beloved face stretched into a wide but tired smile. "Still alive and kicking as you can see." She chuckled weakly. "Grandmere, you shouldn't joke about this," she admonished her gently as she took a seat beside the bed. "Now, young lady, this is my disease and my life. I am free to joke about it as I please." A violent fit of coughing overtook her as she said this, her frail body shaking with each rattling cough. "Grandmere!" she reached for the button that would summon the nurses. "Don't, child. I'm fine. Please." she pleaded her only grandchild. She reluctantly took her hand away from the emergency button and handed her grandmother a glass of water instead. A sob suddenly escaped her throat. Before she could stop it, tears were gushing down her cheeks and she was buried in her grandmother's warm embrace. "I don't want you to die, Grandmere. I love you." Her grandmother gently stroked her hair and murmured soothingly, "I know, child. I love you too." Tears were shining in her eyes. Her chest heaved once, and then, she was gone.

Live, Love, Learn and Literature

     That used to be my life motto. I wanted to live life to the fullest, love with all my heart and soul, learn new things every day and immerse myself in the world of literature. That used to be how I see things. Now, I don't know what my life motto is any more. I feel like a vagabond with nowhere else to go and nothing to live for. A ship lost at sea, searching in vain for any signs of a lighthouse or landmarks to help guide me through treacherous waters. I must be a pretty bad sailor to not be able to read the stars or bring any maps with me. I'm messed up like that.

    I had a dream today. A disturbing dream. All my hopes, fears and desires must have spilled over into the day dream I had just now. It was, at times, quite vivid. I won't write down the content of my dream but I will tell you that only dreams can make the impossible possible. Dreams are such an interesting and fascinating topic. Maybe I should study it further. Hmm.... Food for thought?
     Maybe one day I will live according to my old motto again. I just hope that it won't be too late by then.

P.S. God bless.

Much Ado About Nothing

     As humans, we tend to overreact in a lot of situations, whether good or bad. It's normal to feel overly excited when things go our way, just as it is normal to experience crushing disappointment when something bad happens in our life. But I think all of us should try to exercise a modicum of restraint even if it is hard to do so. Time and place, and the company we keep should be taken into account before we do or say anything we might regret later. When you are overwhelmed with emotions, it's hard to keep your cool and act calmly and rationally. Extreme feelings tend to cloud our minds and make us act foolishly. So, let us all take a step back from our emotions for a moment and look at things objectively before deciding what to do or say in any situation.

P.S. God bless you.

Where Dreams Go to Die

     Have you ever wondered what happens to our childhood dreams once we grow up and abandon them? Is there a place where all our lost dreams and dashed hopes are stored? Do they just fade away and cease to exist like morning mists in the afternoon heat? Or maybe they're never really gone. Just hidden and buried in the deepest, darkest corners of our minds. Imagine a graveyard filled with gravestones marked with words like:

Aria Hunt used to dream of becoming an astronaut.

1995-2000

Nothing lasts forever. Not even the stars.

Fascinating, isn't it? There might even be mausoleums for bigger dreams and wishes. Wouldn't it be amazing if there actually is a graveyard of dreams? It would be called 'The Cemetery of Forgotten Dreams'. Our dreams, whether big or small, are fleeting and transitory. I guess it's true that nothing lasts forever. Not even the stars.

P.S. God bless you.