Return
The point in return. You were there, here and now, under the yew trees. The poison slipped into your body through the needle. You glanced at your father, sitting content under the tree, as you stood at the crossroads of the small pathways zigzagging through the ancient woods that had been there before you were even born, before your great-grandfather even knew words.
This was the place where a new life began. A branch of a yew tree had more power over life than anything else that existed. Bury the branch with your loved one, and they will have a chance to begin again.
You were here for that chance. If you endured this, if you survived this, you would take a place beside your father and be the spring of spirit and wisdom. Your destiny came like a wave, as a rapid drum in your chest, traveling down your legs and up your throat. You hold down the need to vomit. You had to die before you became. So had my father done.
The crossroad stood still beneath your feet, as if anchoring you to the world. The scent of the forest slowly died around you, and you only noticed then that your body had dropped to the ground, but you kept standing there.
Your father arose from his meditative stance and looked straight at you.
“Child, it’s time to return. Body is a substance that you control like the mind.”
You glanced down at the dough of what you were meant to be.
“Return?” you said, but there was no sound, only the idea birthed into the universe.
“While the body is a vessel, imprisoning our mind from traveling into the stars, without it the others won’t hear. That’s the lesson.”
“What about the poison?”
“You have to ask for it never to exist. For the moment you put it in your mouth, not to have happened.”
“How?”
Your father tapped his head with his forefinger.
“Oh.”
You looked at the body and then at the yew trees. You rewound time, watching your father offer you the needle; you took it, and instead of putting it in your mouth, you watched it disintegrate into sparkling stars, then vanish as if it had never existed. You merged with that point in time, as if that moment pulled you back. You watched the last glow vanish, and you licked your lips as your father handed you the sweet flesh of the yew tree berry to be enjoyed.
—
There are so many wonderful ideas, myths, and stories about the world and what they symbolize to us. I never knew all the facts about the yew tree if its name hadn’t suddenly appeared in my mind as I wrote the first two sentences, and somehow the story became all about it. (It became because the story was to be written in the second person.) And by pure happy accident, it symbolized longevity and regeneration, and also death and resurrection, fitting perfectly with the prompt about rebirth. What I got today was a contemporary magical realism story about rebirth, written in the second person. As always, I took liberties with the writing style. Nothing new there. This time, I think I might have gotten the magical realism part right. Not sure about that. I still struggle with what it means and how it compares to fantasy. If someone can enlighten me, please do!
I try not to write about death tomorrow. I think we have had enough of it.
Thank you for reading! Have a magical day and see you tomorrow ❤
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