A SHORT STORY
This piece attempts to see death in a new light, not as a shadow one might fear.
JasMINEs to AMadora
It was windy, the wind smelled of jasmine: sweet and pleasant. I smelt it from some distant place, but to me it felt near as though the fragrance was evaporating from me, like I was the source to it’s beauty. I stared at the waves, which waved it’s occasional greeting to the shells as it rested on the shore.
“Hi. I am Jasmine Maqualine, the source to beauty, the birth mother of jasmines, the flower that smells of hope, love and care. It’s all me. I am Jasmine”, I said into the conch I held in my hand, hoping it would voice my thoughts out to everyone out there. I was abandoned on this shore, unwanted. No on realized that I was the source to all their beauty, all their make-up was for nothing, it was me modeling their faces like it was clay. I held beauty. I am beauty. I sat there my hand brushing the carvings on the conch, marveling the sharp features yet so smooth and undisturbed, I held it to my ears and heard the warm waves voice the words of the world, “Jasmine…Jasmine Maqualine the source to eternal beauty, the prettiest of all, the mother of love, care and hope. You hold life for us as though it is something that is dissolving to nothing but you hold it together. Jasmine, you hold our lives, you are us. Beauty.”, I heard these words like pins of the lush green grass, few years back these words would have been butterflies to my ears, pretty and warming, but now they pierced as though the words were mocking my strength. It filled me with range and hate. It pierced me, the soft unshaken sand felt like a bed of thorns, I got up and let the waves brush my toes removing the blood that sleeked out from the cuts. The water froze beneath my feet I was grounded. I was rooted, with no way; right or left. I stared at what was once the soothing water, filled with music and rhythms shadowed by the light shine of the mesmerizing radiation of the sunlight now burnt my skin. The beauty of the ashes, the black glimmered with a smirk, I was surrounded by hate, death and disrespect. I kept telling myself: I am jasmine, the source of love care and hope. The one who carries everyone’s beauty and affection, now destroyed, and pulled apart: A world of hate. Death. Disrespect.
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Sitting on the skulls of the dead, smelt like rotten flowers once dead, now blooming, sh was close. Jasmine was pretty, too much love, care, and selflessness, gave too much hope. More than they needed, made them overconfident, demanding. Filled with wishes and desires, needless to say I admire Jasmines courage, but everything has to have an end, raising me higher on my throne of skulls, “Thank you. I am Amadora Ghastly, betrothed to love the dead. To give life death, the power to a new life. I hold the minds. But sadly not the beauty that shapes them to others. That is why Jasmines mine, death shall be seen, not sparkle in ones eyes or the beauty in ones body. Not the desires that surge all’s mind. Death, the ether of life either side there are possibilities, death in the middle, holding the river: life, holds it all.”, my voice echoed onside the conch, I could smell Jasmine, the sweet pleasant smell of death was far but to be in my hands. I could hear the tremble in her voice, the thud of her heart, the shrieks of the pain from her heart slowing down. Suddenly, the conch cracked the heat of life and warmth of sunshine blinded everything, it was my enemy. It filled the room, my hands shook my skin cracked vapor of dead souls filled the room: not the inviting smell of smell of Jasmine sweet and pleasant, the medicine to cure death itself.
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Metagrabolised. Aghast. Incredulous. Aggrieved. These words swam in my mind, giving me the power to prove what I was worthy of, beauty was more than just lust and desire, it was the beauty of ones mind and thoughts and emotions, not just looks, killing me would kill death as well, Amadora’s beauty of hunger for ones soul, was her thoughts, the beauty of it I held. I used power not to show authority, but to help, that was beauty. The power to believe in yourself, to believe that you can do anything. Beauty. “Amadora, will you listen to the songs the bird sing and know that their life is more than the beauty of their voices. Will you listen to the hearts of people and understand that they are crossing a crooked bridge. Amadora, you too are on a bridge that has broken in its edges, one wrong step you will fall Amadora, you are close to taking that wrong step, killing me Amadora will leave you empty, killing me will remove the beauty of each individual, you can’t take me, I hold more than you can grasp in all your skulls. Amadora, learn to believe.”, I sang into the conch. Death was beauty, beauty of peace. Death had a welcoming smile when offered with a glass of wine, it shouldn’t be poisoned, the beauty of poison was to quench thirst not offer dehydration. Beauty in all. Death was beauty, the idea of leaving is the transformation to becoming. you’ll mean the world to those whom you part with. Death prevails the beauty of ones presence, shows you how to love. “Amadora,” I called upon reaching her throne of skulls. She looked down at me, her eyes cracking with jealousy. I took a bunch of jasmines and placed it, the fragrance filled the room, Amadora looked down her eyes were a dark blue, they sparkled,she smiled as she smelt the sweet pleasant smell of the jasmines, “beauty in death”, she whispered as she embraced the jasmines.
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