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Those who are dead…











With bloodshot eyes she awoke from a dream that seemed to have lasted a lifetime. Red feathers were scattered around her body, her dark pelt was worn out and patchy. The magpie-coated doe softly bit her lip as the tears streamed down her face. She wasn’t crying, she couldn’t be crying. What was there to cry about? She had awakened from a dream, just like she had done every night before this one.
Slowly she rose to her feet, the diamond-like teardrops falling from her cheeks onto the ground. The sounds of the everlasting forest were like poetry, like coming home from a long journey. Her mind was blank, but somehow she remembered this place. A place filled with a feeling, a feeling of energy and warmth. A feeling which motivated and which gave her all the right reasons to hold on. A feeling called happiness.

Slowly she made her way through the forest, not caring to take a look around. It was quiet, the sun had already set and there was nobody in sight. Somehow she longed for company, for the warmth of a living body right next to her. She wished she could meet someone and ask her all the questions on her mind. Who was she? What was she doing here again? Her head was aching and her body was soar, like she had been thrown down a cliff and merely survived.

Time is so short...





In a flash a familiar place suddenly came to mind. A place filled with graves and broken buildings. She seemed to remember something. The place wasn’t as depressing as one would expect from a graveyard. The sun would often spread her light across the area and turn it into a sanctuary. Poppies surrounded the constructions of stone and sorrow, turning it completely peaceful.
Yes, the doe remembered now. She would often come to this place because it was her sanctuary. After a long night she would wake up next to a little pagan idol, while the sunlight was tickling her eyelids. It would be one of those rare nights she slept peacefully, without demonic nightmares that came to haunt her now and then. Nightmares. She would dream about people dying. Nightmares. Death. Nightmares. Death. Visions. Visions of death. She panicked, what was she doing here again? It didn’t seem like much of a purpose to live, while dreaming about everyone else around her dying. Wildly the doe shook her head; she wasn’t planning on living for something horrible like that. She wanted to go back. Now. Wherever she came from, it was probably a lot better there.
The young doe closed her eyes and prayed her wish would come true. But it didn’t. For a while she stood there, in a patch of purple flowers.

Her eyes felt stingy and unpleasant. Her nose started to tickle, if only she could scratch it. The feeling became worse and she started to feel a little woozy, tears coming out of the corners of her eyes. Then suddenly, she sneezed. And she didn’t sneeze once, no, she sneezed multiple times. The feeling didn’t stop when she sneezed and only seemed to get worse.
She stepped backwards, while still sneezing. It felt as if her lungs were going to come out. That was when she remembered another thing. She was allergic to flowers! Yes, extremely allergic! A smile appeared on her face. The memories came rushing in like a fresh wave from the pond. So she liked sitting by the ruins and dreamed visions about death. She knew was extremely allergic to flowers.

She liked to sing.

She lost her feathers in winter.

She was a hopeless romantic.

She longed for company, but was too shy to approach it.

But the doe knew for sure she had known other deer before. She had felt the warm, wonderful feeling called happiness. She knew she could feel that feeling again, if only she knew were to look. Her head no long ached and her body was filling itself with an unknown energy. Her chocolate-brown eyes seemed lively again as she trotted through the forest in search of a sign. Rushing towards the ruins, the only place she really remembered, she came across something she hadn’t seen before. It was a huge mushroom circle, giving off puffs of blue smoke. Inside the circle there seemed to be a little fountain, crafted by the hands of a creature unknown to her. The water from the fountain was pure and clear and she somehow longed to drink from it. The circle itself seemed to be pulling her in, almost against her will. It seemed like a small, safe haven inside the big forest she found herself in. In the circle she could see little creatures bouncing around. Squirrels, ravens and bunnies seemed to be in their little haven too.

A random deer noticed her presence and approached her. She took a step backwards as she let the deer step out of the circle, it’s pelt suddenly turning from brown to silver and it’s antlers from long and spiky to thin and black. The deer was feminine, with a beautifully crafted wooden mask on her face. As the other deer looked at her, with eyes of the brightest shade of blue she had ever seen, another memory struck her. She hesitated slightly, before speaking. It was almost like a whisper.

‘Fenqua…’







***

Inspired by and lyrics from Coldplay's 42