Monday, 06 August 2012

• Mythology Writing Prompt Entry

  She lies awake inside of me, seeing from the very eyes with which I use to see. She is as much a part of me as the fingers that fly over the keyboard, typing out these very words you read now. And perhaps it is she who guides me in this verbal endeavor. For it is about her.

  She is Ravenira. I feel perhaps she has been with me since the beginning, a quiet and subdued creature who lay in wait for the day I would become aware of her presence. Of vampiric nature, she is beautiful; My old soul.

  I was raised to be an obedient child. My mother was overly sheltering and my family highly religious. And while the other cousins would run around as heathens, I would sit quietly and read or else merely observe. At 5 I could hold an intelligent conversation with the adults. And when my grandfather died, there arose within me something bitter; An early understanding of the cruelty this world would hold for me.

  Ravenira is my strength and confidence. She is my internal fire and will to live. She is everything, physically, that I wish to be. Her fiery red hair flows unhindered to the middle of her back. Emerald eyes see everything, and snap with the intensity of an inner strength. The curves of her body are soft, feminine. Her skin milky white and pale as the face of the full moon. She is graceful, intelligent, educated.

  Where the world has thrown it's stones, she has taught me to keep fighting. When I feel as though the will to live has vacated my soul, she gathers me into her arms and whispers to my heart the words I need to get back up. At night, I am immersed in her past, which I see in my dreams.

  I first came to know her when I had just entered my teenage years. I had always envisioned her, but discovered her then. Her name was given by a friend. A name I'd never heard before, but one that fit so comfortably into my mind, with her persona, that I knew instantly it was hers. Soon I was getting to know her well, as she appeared in much of my writing. She is a musician, a gypsy, and a writer. Her stories are beautiful, painted in hues of blood red, midnight blue, shining silver, and soft ivory, outlined in jet black ink.

  She is no guardian angel. She is a friend, the only one I can depend on. Because as I've learned, who else can you depend on if not yourself?

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