MERA =. Origin // Legacy // Grief // Acceptance

CHAPTER ??? - nine lives for a cat of nine tails

Fuck, was the first thought she had.

Often her first thought in the morning, the fuckin wing she carried around was terribly unbalanced, her left shoulder always panted with a dull ache -

And she had tried to fly again, recently, and much like every other attempt she had before, likely will have again, she came crashing back down.

She landed on her left shoulder first, of course she fucking did, but at least the wing blocked most of the damage.

However, her knee took the full impact of the concrete. Every time she fell from the heavens, it demanded a different limb, a different life, a different integral function of her already bruised body.

Of course it took from the limb with the least damage.

Truth always demanded an equal sacrifice for the price of flight, and I mean? In total fairness, it was equal time.

Truth let her purchase a full twenty four hours of freedom, to fly with a wing that's never worked right, and my GOD.

My gods, my devils, it felt so good to fly.

But it always has a cost, and Truth grinned his shit eating grin at me again, he always does - and I paid the cost, again, loaning against my own life force, for the price that great, to feel something I've missed.

It's been a very lonely life. I confess it.

Have you ever heard the parable of the loneliest whale?

Let's give her a name. I thought of Bertha first because isn't that great fkn name for a whale?

Bertha was born with a perfect heart but a bad voice box.

Her ma helped as much as she could but she could barely hear her, even when Bertha was just a calf.

And then Bertha stopped talking.

And then Bertha drifted into the sea, and no one heard from her again.

The end.

Except, that's not the end,
But the real end, is just as heartbreaking.

Bertha is a real whale that lives the loneliest life in the Atlantic Ocean because her echolocation sounds off on a frequency that no other whale can hear.

We hear her. We know her! We sympathize with her struggle. We give her a name and we love her.

But Bertha can't hear us, and her family can't hear her, but every day she wakes up, she still sings her song

To an ocean that wants to hear her

And simply cannot.

Bertha is the myth of Sisyphus and I love her with my whole heart because I am her and she is me.

My vocal nodules are so much a part of me it's not vocal fry, it's a fully burnt to a crisp vox unpopuli.

But if you can stand to hear it,
If I can be brave enough to keep screaming,

I do know someone is paying attention, they're just not in my ocean.

But I'll keep singing my lil song,

Swimming my lil swim,

Eating my lil krill,

Just gonna keep swimming.