paradox ⛤ h.s.

⛤ two ⛤

tw: miscarriage/abortion

My vision is blurred. I can't tell if it's tears or the fallen raindrops taking their places on my heavy eyes.

Heel to toe, heel to toe, heel to toe.

Creaky planks seem as though they're screaming amidst the silence that has possessed the community as they watch me shuffle across the makeshift platform. My feet taunting me as they drag me closer and closer to my demise.

⛤ ⛤ ⛤

I look over at my sleeping, bare-chested husband in our bed. The linens I took off the clothesline yesterday draped across his equally bare groin. He's snoring lightly with his lips parted. I quietly make my way to the edge of the bed, gliding gently out of it. I grab my nightgown that is placed neatly on a stool near my side of the bed and throw it over my nude body.

I just had sex with my husband for the first time in months, and I feel dirty. It didn't feel genuine, or like love at all. Something is going on, and I can't tell what it is. I just need a cleanse.

I make my way downstairs silently, trying not to wake my husband. I wince as I step and the floor groans loudly, peering over my shoulder to see Issac stirring. Once I'm sure he's not waking up, I expertly reach the bottom of the stairs and scramble to grab what I need. Quiet as a mouse, I slip on my scuffed boots and grab my velvet cloak and satchel from the closet.

I pull my hood up to shield my face as I step into the night, carefully shutting the heavy wooden door behind me. I look up to see a full moon smiling back at me- perfect. I make my way through the village and into the thicket and down the familiar path I go, passing Mrs. Mayberry's house. I walk until I see the little old shack that I consider my oasis. It is adorned with bricks that were laid by no other than Mr. Mayberry himself. He built this shed for Mrs. Mayberry and she has been gracious enough to pass it along to me.

I swing the door open, quickly closing it behind me and with a flick of my wrist, candles light up the room. The walls are lined with string that holds dried herbs and shelves that bow in the middle from the weight of my many concoctions. On the far side of the room is a furnace that houses more shelves on either side, filled with my most prized possessions: Mrs. Mayberry's spellbooks, more dried ingredients, tinctures and trinkets. Surrounding the furnace are my plants, which need watering. I sing and talk to them as I nurture them with leftover water I have, charged from the last full moon. I'll need to make more tonight.

Every full moon, I do a small ritual to cleanse and ready myself for the month ahead, and to thank Mother Nature for the bounty she has given me. It is one of the first things Mrs. Mayberry taught me- gratitude is key.

I grab a jar to collect the rainwater, a feather, a candle, and a piece of black tourmaline. I step outside into the clearing behind the shed and place the items in a circle with myself in the middle of it. I take a deep breath and close my eyes and begin to summon the elements, digging my fingers into the cold earth beneath me.

"My spirit is grounded deep in the earth. I am calm, strong, centered, and peaceful. I am able to let go of fear and trust that I am eternally safe. I am worthy of all things beautiful."

It feels as if my whole body vibrates as I hear the wind pick up, the trees swaying violently. The draft carries the whispers of my ancestors and I feel a single raindrop hit my nose. I open my eyes to see the candle now lit, the feather dancing with the wind, and the crystal illuminated by a beam of moonlight. The rain picks up as I begin to whisper the familiar words: