Most days I feel as though my body is buzzing...
As though there are a thousand and thirteen bees swarming through my veins shaking me throughout time so that I am constantly everywhere at once.
- Stuck - between - the past -,
- present - and - future - simultaneously.
So much so that it is a fantastic miracle that I am able to do anything at all.
It is quite daunting to be expected to function when your body is full of bees.
And to be expected to speak! What an awful scene it would cause if I were to open my mouth and hundreds of bees began to fly out and attack the unfortunate soul who was unlucky enough to speak to me. No! - it would be much better if I were left to sit in my room and dream out of my window.
Just me and my bees.
My bees and I.
Buzzing in a content harmony.
Yet instead I am sitting in a carriage, Yes a carriage. If you would have asked me four years ago if I thought I would ever spend my first carriage ride with my family as we travel to my uncle's manor, INSTEAD of with some silly boy trying to make me feel like a princess; because some idiotic men decided that our home should be in the direct center of their war.
Well,
had you have said that to me, I would have laughed and told you that you feed to much into politics.
Now no one is laughing because there is no power, Gas is scarce, and we are lucky enough to be in two wars. An international energy war and civil war. Wars that I personally never asked to be apart of.
Yet,
that's just the way it is. There are wars and the people that they affect most never have a say in whether they wanted a war in the first place.
This is something I've tried to bring up to my mother. But she just nervously bats away my words with her thin brown hand as though the topic would go away if only she swatted the air enough as if it were a bad smell.
She does this often.
Tries to dismiss words with the wave of her hand. She was never good at dealing with tension, and this is no different.
As she was packing her things I asked "Can't we just fence off our land" and she just waved her hand as she fluttered around her room placing things in her suitcase.
"Why didn't we find out about this sooner?" I prodded her. Again the only answer she gave me was a wave of her hand
.
"Why are we going to Issacs Manor? Abigail and I haven't even seen him since we were children!" I exclaimed stepping in front of her.
My mother looked down at me. Her thin face stained with worry. Her face is always engraved with worry lines. Sometimes I wonder if that is where I was born from. That maybe I was a personification of her worry. Maybe she is the hive my bees came from.
"Are you packed?" She asked with a sigh. I shook my head no, on the brink of tears. I am always on the brink of tears.
"Please, I know this is hard," she started cupping my face in her hands. Her hands were cool and unusually steady. My bees seemed to calm. I expected her to continue. To lul my bees to bed and to hold me.
Expected maybe too strong of a word. That is a lot to expect of a mother made of paper. But it's what I wanted.
"Please pack quickly, we have to go" She finished, letting go of my face and turning to take more from her closet.
YOU ARE READING
The Acceptance Of Wing Beats
قصص عامة"Is grief supposed to feel so much like guilt?" Aamira Omenma is like any other girl with bees in her veins. She is buzzing. From her grief, from the wars, from the bees. Her only comfort being writing in her journal. After a carriage accident Aam...
