ORIGIN: It’s a family tree.
Grandfather was a pathfinder. He was born a mouse and died a bat. Nobody knows where he got his inspiration from, but we got ours from a deer. Let others spend their life jumping and walking sideways, we will stay put and be kings.
I grew up in a cave. It was night all year round, but I only ever fell into a dreamless sleep. I struck out on my own in the dead of winter and hung from the branch of the first sun bleached tree I saw. I waited with batted breath for a dream to dance into my eyes. I didn’t know that it would be as breakable as a snowflake, and I finally understood why my mother couldn’t help wrapping me in pitch-black bubble wrap. But I wasn’t her. I make my own mistakes. Spring, Summer and Fall, I drip blood onto the crown of this forest, and in Winter, I dream.
Somebody once told me that crowns are pointed like the sun because everybody has to orbit the king. But I have no interest in making the rules or disappearing behind a tangle of puppet strings. I would rather be given a wide berth. Stars can be named for a price, and I am sure money will buy me all the space I need.
Blood and air are synonyms for life. But I have grown disillusioned with how people define that word. Plants haven’t given up on hope, and I have decided to change my diet. I will only drink red leaves from now on. Because warm air goes up and Autumn isn’t the season of despair. Green is meant to bleed into red. And I will fly high with a bellyful of resilience.
I don’t miss all those stalactites and stalagmites. It was like sleeping in the mouth of a beast that is all bark and no bite. Plants were the first to conquer land, and I’m ready to take the mantle from those deer that leave so much to be desired. As soon as I bleed this planet dry, I will fly to the moon and put those craters to good use. It will be antlers in full bloom, as far as the eye can see.
Bats like me only have two pointy fangs, we can’t compare to five-point stars, much less to eight-point deer. I heard somewhere that there is no peace without bloodshed, and I wonder what would happen if two stars locked horns. Bat saliva can deaden the pain, but grudges are known to live on in ghosts. Maybe there is no such thing as a blinding light capable of erasing memories, and a black hole is all we can hope for.
A deer gave you its crown, will you put it to good use?
Soon I will be king and blood will drip down my fangs. Forget dappled sunlight. All that’s green will rust and fall to pieces. There will be bare branches as far as the eye can see, ready to put a stake through the heart of winter. You can’t get rid of hopelessness with pretty words. You can’t be afraid of fighting dirty.
Darkness will outlast us all. I have yet to lay eyes on a light that isn’t on a countdown to being snuffed out, and sadly passing the crown does nothing to reset it. I don’t believe in picking up where somebody else left off, and I’ve already made my peace with the fact that I won’t get to live on in my bloodline. So you see, I would rather not leave my mark on this world.
I don’t care for crowns that have been shaped after stars. Distance doesn’t make the heart grow fonder, it only breeds indifference. There’s a reason I drink blood, not water.
My first day as king, I will raze this forest to the ground. I will close my eyes and listen to my echoes drop off the horizon.
When I was a little fawn, all alone in my bed of grass, I couldn’t wait to grow up. I used to daydream in the dappled shade of my forest, but I lived for that moment when the clouds would cover the sun and only my white dots remained. It felt like I had been given something that would stand the test of time. I couldn’t wait to take after the sun and watch my dots grow into stalagmites. But nothing came of them. One day they were just gone, and a puncture wound appeared in my heart. Who knows, maybe that’s the true mark of adulthood.
When I was young, I fell in love with a wind-up toy, but I was told that first love never lasts. Its key reminded me of a butterfly, and I was quick to change my diet. We are what we eat, and I thought that I could build forever on a stomach full of butterflies. It didn’t work, of course, but I have no regrets. Deer shed their antlers every year, and I probably won’t be an exception. But I wanted to be able to look back with a smile at one point in my life, at the very least.
I grew up in a house full of books. They weren’t haphazardly scattered across the floor. There wasn’t a single yellow page in sight and there were bookends on every shelf, showing that we cared. Snow absorbs noise, and I always thought that there was a reason deer shed their antlers at the end of winter. There is beauty in symmetry, but it doesn’t seem to be working its magic anymore. Those fallen leaves at the beginning of winter aren’t upholding their end. There’s not enough red on the ground, when all I want is to read my books in peace.
Do you know those white dots on the fur of a fawn? I think my mother mistook mine for stars, because all I heard while I was growing up were the wishes she made upon them. I never had to wonder what she saw when her eyes were closed. I knew the me behind her eyelids better than the palm of my hand, and I would be lying if I said that I never tried to live up to it. Show me a child that doesn’t thirst for their mother’s love. But eventually my fear of disappearing won out, and the color behind my eyelids gave me its blessing. Red is the color of dying stars, and one death in the family is more than enough.
Right: Do you think it will work?
Left: I don’t see why not. I’m sure that wind-up keys were designed to look like hearts and the mechanism to wind back time can’t be all that different.
Right: I wish friendship came with a built-in failsafe that shut everything down, like a deer in headlights, the moment it threatened to take a wrong turn. I really wish we didn’t have to resort to this.
Left: I know, but soon our friendship will be good as new.
Right: But what if a ghost of the hurt we have caused each other lingers over our hearts?
Left: Then we will ask a bat to spit on it, as if it were a wound, and it won’t hurt anymore.
Left: That butterfly bandage looks really good on your nose.
Right: …
Left: I mean it. If I were a bat, I would give up blood and risk sunburn just to get a closer look at you.
Right: …
Left: Forgive me? Please? You know how I am. One of those children that believe that covering their eyes makes them disappear. Fawns are safe from predators because they have no smell, and I just wanted to know how it feels.
Right: That’s fine, but you should have left me out of it.
Left: I thought about it, but what if I made you feel left out? That’s not what friends do.
Left: Come, I will treat you to strawberry ice cream.
Right: I don’t want to get my hopes up.
Left: Don’t worry, this ice cream shop comes highly recommended.
Right: By fawns?
Left: By bucks and does!
Right: Are you sure?
Left: Yes! I’ve seen the white spots on their fur with my own eyes.
Right: Then… Then I won’t have to say goodbye to my childlike wonder? It won’t leave me to fend for myself in this ash grey world?
Left: Probably not. Even if worse comes to worst and all the stars fall from your eyes, those strawberries should still have white dots to spare.
Right: Do you want to play catch?
Left: No, what I want is to make you pay.
Right: But we are already even. Just look at the butterfly bandage on your nose and the one on mine. They match.
Left: Why would I care about some scratch when my heart is all bruised up?
Right: Fawn brown?
Left: Does it look like I’m ready to forgive and forget? I’m still in the black and blue stage and I’m here to give you a black eye.
Right: Should I feel blue?
Left: Don’t bother. I have no use for remorse that isn’t heartfelt.
What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you see an umbrella?
Deer: Rain stains on the window. A distorted vision of what’s outside my heart. I know why does lick their fawns clean and make themselves scarce, but a little bit of dappled sunlight didn’t make up for the loneliness I felt back then.
Bat: I don’t have a creative bone in my body and I don’t feel like racking my brain, so the answer is my wings.
Child: It was the Halloween before our parents’ divorce. My brother said that he wanted to bob for apples one last time. I could never quite follow his train of thought, but I think it had something to do with leaving paradise. I’ve always found apples too tart for my taste, but he had already filled an umbrella to the brim with his tears and I could only play along.
What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you see a red pencil?
Deer: I’ve never been good at sitting still. If I had gotten my hands on a red pencil when I was young, I would have colored over my white spots and defied gravity right then and there. No more staying put where my mother left me, I would have followed my heart before it was too late.
Bat: Wooden stakes aren’t readily available, but I have yet to meet a child that hasn’t tried his hand at coloring. The longer you live, the more jaded and disillusioned you become. That’s why I wouldn’t mind dying at the hands of someone that has just begun to color their world and still takes that freedom for granted.
Child: Sleeping beauty pricked her finger on a spindle, and when I still wasn’t too old for fairy tales, I sharpened a pencil to follow in her footsteps. Darkness scared me, but I wasn’t allowed a nightlight. Blood is warm. It’s sticky. And I thought that color would stay behind my eyelids to comfort me all night long. I had yet to learn that rules aren’t written in pencil.
What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you see a crown?
Deer: The green leaves above my head, that seem to be caught between duty and love. But you know what? Even though everybody needs to breathe, only deer like me embody the colors of autumn. And those leaves fall for us, everybody else be damned.
Bat: Do dentists still use crowns? I won’t lie, I’ve always envied those glow worms that can turn the ceiling of a cave into a starry night, the color of that fairy that turned a wooden puppet into a real boy. However, for every force, there has to be an equal and opposite force. Say, a well full of coins that couldn’t buy their wishes. So I guess I will get a gold crown and start pulling my weight.
Child: Come to think of it, Daddy never said that I was a prince. Maybe that is why I grew into such a good realist.
What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you see stars?
Deer: The white dots on my fur. But don’t you even dare! I’ve already called dibs on those wishes.
Bat: We have been sadly maligned. Bat teeth barely leave a mark. You should blame someone else for puncturing the night.
Child: My father took me out of the city, one summer, when I still had a toothy smile. I was on a first name basis with pigeons and rats, and I had a passing acquaintanceship with dogs and cats, but I didn’t even know crickets existed. It was the first time I felt grass beneath my feet, and I lost count of the stars above my head. They wouldn’t shut up. And I didn’t believe my father when he told me that the stars weren’t the ones chirping. I wish I had.
Circa 1969 rabbits were booted out of paradise. But it’s alright. Wild boars are good diggers and, with a little incentive, they should be able to recreate the moon on earth in no time at all. What’s a firstborn or two compared to paradise?
Did you know that rabbits can die from a broken heart? Wild boars have an extra layer of protective skin, and it would be nice if I could borrow some to shield my rabbity heart. My worst nightmares come in shades of loneliness, but I don’t suffer from blinkered vision. I am aware that people have sharp teeth and hurt each other with every other word.
Apparently, a group of wild boars is called a sounder, but I don’t think it has anything to do with sounding the depths of each other’s hearts. Rabbits easily fall prey to loneliness, but I think it’s better to keep things skin deep. Warmth. Without deep sea monsters in sight.
Life is one big contradiction. Wild boars prefer mild weather, and even though space is not for the faint of heart, rabbits were the first to set foot on the moon. I’ve been told that I should speak from the heart, but I have only ever exchanged words that have left a bad taste in my mouth, or none at all. And a little bit of toothpaste can take care of that.