It’s time for a change of dictionary. The first word is RAPUNZEL, but we don’t like its translation, so, we will just go with pretty flowers, because if there is one thing fairytale characters have it’s beauty. The other words are strongbox (TRESOR) and oracle (ORAKELSPRUCH).
This is the story of a flower, that has been put inside a strongbox, as if she were a treasure, so that she can be kept safe. So that no God can whisper in her ear, and no one can eat her, wanting to hear what the Gods have to say.
Rapunzels are the only flowers that can survive a divine possession. They are the only flowers that can survive having a whole universe inside their minds. That can listen to the words of a God, and keep all those stars inside them, without forgetting a single one of them, or being outshined and erased without a trace. Rapunzels are an intermediary. They are the flower oracles eat, because their minds weren’t made to contain the universe. That is what people believe. But flowers know the truth. That Rapunzels are survivors. That they are the ones that eat. That possess, outshining the oracles and claiming their bodies for themselves. And one day the time will come, to open that strongbox, and let the strongest flower, the most beautiful of them all, be the one to whisper in a God’s ear, and usurp the universe.
Soon, I will be put inside a strongbox and no one will be able to eat me. The universe won’t whisper in my ear ever again. I won’t know any secrets, and I will be safe. I will be the only light in the darkness of my box. My flowers already look like stars and, soon, I will have words of my own.
Someone wants to keep me safe, that’s the only thing that counts. I’m a precious flower, and nothing else matters. They say that cats eat tongues, that God is the Word, and I will gladly eat the universe, to repay the kindness they are willing to show me.
They have promised me that one day the universe will be mine. That I will get to reorganize the stars to my heart’s content. But I know that once said, words cannot be taken back. I don’t want to make any mistakes. I don’t want to be haunted by regrets. That is why I have decided to start practicing with the flowers in my hair, as soon as they put me inside this strongbox and lock the door.
Isn’t it kind of them? They don’t want me to be afraid of the dark, all alone inside my strongbox with no stars in sight. They have wished me sweet dreams, and they have given me a teddy bear. So that I have someone to talk to, and I don’t forget my words. The ones I will need to replace the stars someday.
They told me that if I wanted to be let in on the secrets of the Universe all I had to do was eat one of these flowers. But something doesn’t feel right. It’s too easy. There must be a catch. I will be cautious. I will start with a tiny bite. Just one petal. Just one tiny secret, to sate my curiosity.
Being an oracle doesn’t sound so bad. Sure, I would prefer to have the Universe’s secrets whispered in my ear, I would prefer to hear my God’s voice. But the flowers are pretty, and they don’t leave a bad taste in my mouth. I still get to be closer to my God than most everyone else. And that has to count for something.
I may be about to become an oracle, but that doesn’t make me a monster. It’s true that I am a hungry little thing, but so too is everyone else. Everyone wants to be let in on the secret, on things that belong to someone else. I don’t understand why I have to be called a monster, just because I was chosen to be the oracle everyone else wishes they could be.
Seeing what no one else sees is nothing but a cruel burden. I’m tired. I just want to go to sleep. That’s why I have come prepared. I brought my teddy bear. I’m ready to eat this flower and go to sleep. I’m ready to let this flower take over my life. She can keep my voice, she can keep my name, I never wanted to become an oracle anyway. I will go to sleep. I will dream. Of bright stars and a God that will always see more than I do.
Pretty little flower, these are the words your oracle has to repeat. On the second day of winter there won’t be any fish in the sea. A star will be born that day, and I need someone to teach it how to swim. In the dark. In that place where ten thousand fish move as one. Fluidly. For a moment. Becoming one with the sea.
Pretty little flower, these are the words your oracle has to repeat. Three days from now the sun will get stuck in the horizon. The ghosts of all the yesterdays you have already forgotten will turn in their grave. They will undo all the work the sun has done, they will refuse to be buried once again. They will rob the sunset of its blood, to haunt you, until that stolen blood dries up or you ask for their forgiveness, and promise not to forget who you are ever again.
Pretty little flower, these are the words your oracle has to repeat. Tonight I will blow out all the stars. There won’t be any more wishes. Only the moon will be allowed to retain her light. If you want something, you had better sharpen your teeth. Unless you would rather learn to beg and howl along with the wolves.
Pretty little flower, these are the words your oracle has to repeat. I’ve decided that I like clawmarks more than fingerprints. But I am not completely heartless. I will give you seven days to say your goodbyes. Then I will break the mirror, and start again.