They are More Than What Meets the Eye

Can’t you see them, floating around me? No? It is no surprise. There seems to be no one, other than myself, who can see them; every part of them. Their wings are that of the flower petals of summer, and the burning icicles of the freezing winter. It’s hard to be the only one with eyes wide enough to see the, skin soft enough to feel their touch, and ears sharp enough to hear, both, their antics and their songs. They are such tiny little things; some can even sit comfortably in the palm of my hand. And one, such as myself, who has The Sight wishes you could see their immense beauty. But not all posses beauty alone, that is both on the outside as well as within. Oh no, there are great horrors among them that are almost too terrifying to recollect, never mind encounter. Some are all of you deepest and darkest fears that are most desired to be vanquished forever, but still remain, lurking deep in your soul, waiting for your weakest hour to strike.

Many times have we who are gifted with The Sight encountered and even still endure such things. My earliest memories are filled with them, and it is my greatest wish… no, desire to be rid of such horrid thoughts and visions that do haunt me. The greatest fear, though, is not of the creatures themselves, but of others who would be my judge if they ever knew of my gift. But, while contemplating that thing that has been called a gift for all of my life, enlightenment has come to me and shows that it is no gift, but only a curse that cannot ever be broken. Yes, it is nothing more than a curse to my people, as well as myself, which comes with seeing the greatest beauties in the world.

Many of my folk, including myself, have seen what they can do. They are worse than girls bullying each other over a stupid boyfriend. Even worse than war, for you cannot even see your enemy nor even recognize them as an enemy. Oh, believe me, they are, they are the worst enemy anyone could ever have for they know all of your deepest secrets right down to your most malicious thoughts. They know all and they have the power to use it against you. And they will, for entertainment. Your fear is their food and your crimson blood is nothing more than their wine.

You doubt me yet? Oh, young one, though my years are few, these eyes of mine, as well as my mind, have aged with their every stroke of viciousness. They have borne witness to the very acts that have just been described. They have seen flesh being ripped from limb as the victim’s blood splattered across my face, my hands, arms, legs, chest, and slipped between the spaces of my toes. Want to know what the worst part was? The blood was my mother’s as she died protecting me, and it was still warm. Her emerald pain-stricken eyes still burn in my memory and kill my soul in a way nothing else has ever achieved. Every time my mind subconsciously wanders back to that dreadful night, the night when my whole family was murdered before my eyes because of their gift, it feels like my heart is being torn from my breast and ripped to shreds.

Now that you have heard a part of my story, answer me this. Tell me in all honesty that one could ever posses, for my judgment of your response is not my goal. Is my Sight really the gift you once thought it to be? Or do you now realize why one, such as myself, would be reluctant to share such as horrific world with you? Do you finally understand why you needed my protection all those years?