#QueerBlogWed: As Real As You Wish to Be

On December 19, 2018, P.T. Wyant posted at ptwyant.com a Wednesday Words prompt involving cards, a bottle, and cookies.

This Tale of the Navel was the result...

“Have a cookie.” Gabrielle lay a plate in front of me, along with a bottle of water. The round, brown discs smelled of cinnamon, chocolate, and spices, making my nose hairs tingle. 

At the same time, my stomach churned, filled my throat with something bitter. 

No. I couldn’t have a cookie. Not yet. 

“I’m not sure if Christopher is ready to start eating.” Damian passed me a card. “Why don’t you look at this instead?”

I accepted the flat, painted piece of paper. I gazed at the tower, my fingers tingling. Violence, rage, and a dark satisfaction at seeing the stones of the edifice shatter mingled with a pain, as if someone struck my own side. 

I took a deep breath, feeling my stomach settle, satisfied with the rush of emotion. 

A closer look at the image of revealed the cloudy sky overhead, the lightning striking the walls. Pain lanced through my own side, mingled with a insistent, yet sensuous caress which made all the hairs on body vibrate. 

The tower on the card was in flames. The lightning loomed with merciless rage across the cloud, licking, hitting, ripping at the stone walls. It illuminated every defect in the damaged rock, giving it a pitiless brilliance. Two tiny figures hung in the abyss between stone and sky. One clung with desperate fingers to the wall. The other fell, still reaching out in desperate toward his companion, the tower, or maybe the sky itself. 

He looked so fragile, overwhelmed by the elements around him, stones raining down upon him, with him as he tumbled from the heavens. 

The storm gazed down at him, sending its bolts of energy afterwards to catch him? Or to strike him again? 

“Why do you show me this?” I dropped the card. I reached for the bottle, my hands shaking. “Why do you think I’d prefer this card to a cookie?”

I lifted the bottle to my lips and tried to take a hearty gulp as I’d seen Gabrielle do many times. 

Instead I took a tiny sip…and started coughing. 

“Forgive me. I only wanted to feed you.” Damian gazed at me, eyes wide. “I never thought…I was showing off my work. I painted that card myself.”

“It’s very different than Waiting for Rebirth.” I put down the bottle and picked up a cookie. 

I lifted it to my lips and inhaled the scent, but I didn’t feel like taking a bite. I still leaned forward and took a tentative nibble. 

Soft, sweet, crunchy…I began to choke right after the flavours filled my mouth. 

“What am I doing?” I put down the cookie and wiped the tears from my eyes. “This isn’t my world.” I gazed to the card with the burning sky and tower. 

“You like this place, though, don’t you? Give yourself time.” Damian smiled and reached out for me. The touch of his long, cool fingers reassured me. “Just because you came from somewhere else doesn’t mean you have to go back there.” His long lashed, rose purple eyes locked with mine. “This could be your world, Christopher, if you let yourself be part of it.” 

Let yourself be part of it.

I’ve never forgotten his words. Every time I’ve feared fading into shadow, I’ve recalled them, held them to my chest, like I once I held Damian’s hand. 

They’re my talisman against my worries about not being real. 

I’m as real as I’ll let myself be. 

At least I hope so.