Mortal Flight

Mortal Flight

You play a melody that speaks to my senses in low modulus notes. The poetic flute that creases my soul in folds of wonder, so acute.

I listen to the words and they hold my heart in a graceful embrace. I look into your eyes and I hope to escape my fate.

Your breath is so sweet, but you are a mortal man. I know this but I cannot help the bubble that rises, so effervescent, on euphoria within my essence.

Meridith, has sent notes to Faustus. I know that she has done this thing to me, and yet, I greet her amiably at morning prayers, everyday. The High Priestesses of the coven looks, sadly, gaunt.

Betrayal weighs heavy on her, her eyelids droop when she looks at me. She knows that I know.

I’m useless at witchcraft, for which I’ve been hewn, but I’m a damn good hacker, most of the time, anyway. I’ve traversed the crystal shimmer, for all that I’m worth, but I can’t find the message that Meridith forwarded on the network to the wizard, Faustus, the conjurer of the foil.

Magic exists in parallel, or so they say, the ordinary and the extraordinary, side by side, almost the same. The eventful and the uneventful, mirrored across the divide that separates me from you, my love…my love.

My love…

I understand that my abominations are the reason for Meridith’s concern, I understand that I lack control, that I practice erroneous magic. There are numerous examples of my misdemeanors. For instance, everyone was horrified when I flunked materialization by appearing, without the requisite cloaking, on the floor of the Target supermarket. The whole deal was caught on cctv, and broadcast across the human foil.

It was an interruption of magic.

…I understand.

I failed at weather manipulation, too. I tried to circumvent a hurricane in the Bahamas, but, instead I froze the rain, in mid-air, an incongruous, newsworthy sight.

I exposed magic.

What if we were caught?

I’m useless at witchcraft, and I shouldn’t be such a bad witch. No, I should be a good witch, given my illustrious lineage. Afterall, I was born of witches, wizards and elves. I have very important ancestors, really!

Witches, what are we worth? Well…

In the plasma that reacts to the synapse of lightning that escapes across the foil, magic transplaces matter. I know now that these reactions are miracles for mortals.

But...I yearn for your voice. A reason to exist. Obviously, I want to provide the surreal, but I want to experience it, too.

I should know my place, because it would be the ultimate chaos, the negation of our realm.

Witches know. They know that there’s an untraversable divide. A no go area.

My sin...

But, he’s different. He’s cognisant. He’s connected...I can’t explain.

He scathes me bare.

But a world without miracles?

I would undo magic...

So, I laugh, even if I can’t find Meridith’s warning note, I revel in the nebula of blue and purple delight. I hear your tune, my love and I savor the verses you scatter for my delight.

But, I have to choose witchcraft, the foil, miracles…and flight.

I understand.

The drawing is my own. Digitally drawn on my iPad in Art Studio