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The Calling

December 1 2002 at 9:44 AM
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Mahtab Feresh'teh Azizian  (no login)

 

-Mahtab Feresh'teh Azizian-




It happened often, the Calling. There was no pattern to it, no rhyme or reason.

At least, none that she could perceive.

The one thing that was the same, was that it started at night, close to midnight. She would be sleeping in her bed, or reading, or just sitting in her room and watching the world through her window. And then, she'd feel it.

A slight pull in her mind.

A slight tug on her feet.

A slight longing in her heart.

It would beckon her, luring her with its seductive song. And what could she do but follow? Never in her life, had she ignored it. Ever since she could remember, she had willingly gone. It had always led her into a wooded place, a small glade, something where the moon could easily shine down on her.

Or, was it the stars?

She'd reach the glade, slender purple fingers pulled off her clothes. The cold never bothered her during the calling. It was as if she wasn't a part of the physical world, as if she was a part of the shadows and the light. Purple skin and hair glowed faintly beneath the moonlight, soft and pale.

She'd kneel on the grass. Always, there was something sharp there. A rock, a piece of hard wood, sometimes glass. Mahtab would grasp it in one hand, cut open the palm of the other.

The pain.

It hurt. But it was so sweet. She wanted more. Always more. And so, she'd slash her hand, over and over again, silent groans escaping purple lips. Purple blood, dripping onto the ground. Soaking into it.

It made her feel... real.

As if she was tying herself down to the physical world.

Mahtab, didn't understand why, or how. Just that, she had to do it.

After one hand, she did the other, slashing her soft flesh, rubbing both hands onto the ground, forcing her blood to seep into the earth. All the while, lips would be fluttering in silent chants. She never remembered them, once the ritual was over, no matter how hard she tried.

It didn't take long, perhaps 10 minutes at the most.

Mahtab, would put her clothes back on, making sure the blood didn't dirty anything. And then, she'd slowly sneak back into her room.

Her hands healed come the next day, concealing all evidence.


 
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