Revenland

I

I always seemed to have a fascination with death.

By fascination I mean a fearing curiosity that could not be quenched, for death seems to surround me where ever I turned.

I use to think of it as my curse, even at a young age I knew it wasn't normal to look at a man on the street and think, quite certainly: He's going to die.

There is not a moment in my life where death ceases to haunt me.

I can recall my earliest memory quite vividly.

My aunt's house was decorated in pink streamers while plastic bottles and baby carriages were scattered on the tables. The house was full of laughter and joy at the news of the baby and my aunt stood beaming with pride as she rubbed her round tummy.

It was perfect.

Well, it would have been picture-perfect if I hadn't been crying softly in the corner.

My father approached and crouched down to my level.

"What's wrong Blaire Bear?" He asked softly.

He was expecting to hear that a toy had broken or that my cousin had stolen the end piece of the cake. For what does a child of four have to worry about besides such things?

"Why are they so happy?" I whimpered out as I tried to wipe away the tears with my small hands.

My father furrowed his brow in confusion, "Well, Aunt Lori is going to have a baby! Wouldn't you like another little cousin?"

"But she's dead!" I wailed as I broke into tears once again.

Everyone gave us looks after my strange outcry and my father tried to sooth my sorrowful spirits with a sugary treat.

That memory seems to be seared in my brain, never to be forgotten. Along with the memory of the small casket of a stillborn slowly descending to the earth as my Aunt Lori watched, awfully pale and tearful.

As I grew older and I realized how unusual these thoughts and intuitive feelings seemed to be I tried to ignore them. It felt, at first, like I was closing my eyes to the obvious; like I was closing my eyes and stating that the sun had disappeared completely from the world because I merely couldn't see it.

I knew I was only ignoring the truth.

But the longer I ignored, the less I felt it and the more I could feel Death slink back into hiding.

I forgot, however, that death was a beast, and it only remained silent when it was preparing to pounce.

______________

I was never the superstitious one, which seemed to drive my Nan mad.

Her and her family moved from Ireland to America when she was a child, so that meant that she still firmly believed in all of the myths of the Fae.

As a child she was convinced that a Faery had chosen to torment her just because she wouldn't allow it to steal away a strand of her blonde hair.

"Oh, If I hadn't been so vain." She would sigh as she recounted the story to me, "They'll likely torment me to my grave!"