By Y.T.C.
I miss having hands.
Cleaning them, holding a cup to my lips, running them through a field of flowers.
Using them to sign his black book.
I miss having legs.
Running home, stretching, lying in a cold stream.
Walking towards that dark prince.
I miss having a soul.
Loving, laughing, living. Belonging to that race of humans, finding purpose in our closeness.
Finding freedom in giving it away.
His false promise, my desperate gift. Ripping and tearing he took them away. “You will be free,” he said, “from everything that binds you.”
Watching you now is all the life I have.
Love how deep the darkness of this story yields to a great reflection of self
That first line made me shiver foreshadowing what horror would come.