The Oracle {{ Eight (CBD 1)

I no longer fear the creatures that go bump in the night, because the images that go bump in my head are far scarier.

They lay dormant behind my right eye, suffocated and weak, tired and helpless.

tired helpless weak. Alive. 

From peace to hurricane, and suddenly the inside of my skull becomes a battleground. Fingers thread themselves to skull, desperately trying to suffocate the future amongst the blood stained fingers of the past. But the past holds no power against the might of the future. I fight a losing battle every time I try.

They break free of all chains that bind them to my body, and dance across the sky. Pulsating, vibrating, taunting my spirit with their movements. Breathing quickens and knees wobble, creaking bones giving way to the bang bang bang of the battleground of my mind.

Not even darkness can rid them of their abilities. I know it from experience.

But I fall anyways.

---

Cha Leviane could not weave the threads of her past together to form a coherent future. 

Piece by piece, she scattered. Piece by piece I joined her.

The healers say migraines, I hear them through locked doors and shattered vodka bottles. But they do not know the burden that rests on my shoulders. 

No. No. The sound of a gunshot and Cha Leviane's burden became my opportunity, wrapped in the silk of her shortcomings and the stars of her past life. My fingers never had the grace to weave silk like everyone else.

But my tongue did.

What was once my enemy is now my friend. I welcome the pain and the battles, the pulses and the darkness. After all, the future is never painless.

Migraines, they say, doubt laced within their voices.

No. I am much more. I am the Oracle.