Fantasy's Delusion

Things are not real or fiction. Existence stops at the mind, you either believe or you do not. This is where sight begins and ends. So who is to say what you see is what I believe?

I live in a world of fantasy, but only my insanity is real to you. I am locked away. Deranged. But the pills do not work. Will not work. Magic runs through my veins. Even now, as I speak these words aloud, you laugh. How limited is understanding when we do not listen to each other's perspectives? You say I am haunted by ghosts of the past, and demons, but you do not believe in the supernatural.

Who are we to tell another what goes on in the world? Their world. Perception is a son-of-a-bitch, but I am the daughter of dragons.

Carry on, they told me. For through you we sustain our power. Through you, we continue on immortals in a hapless world of flesh and blood, lies and scheming.

Did they love me, or am I just a vessel meant to be trapped forever in the limbo of my essence and physicality? Forever burdened with a dream they can have no hope of disproving. The heart speaks not the fables of man, our minds are magician enough. Capable of making the truth *poof* disappear despite what corporal actualities interact with us on the daily that we would rather not admit to.

Dragons, they are everywhere. Shoulder to shoulder with the masses of a “society” that would deem them nothing but folklore. Vampires, witches, unicorns, elves, fairies, you name it and the laughable geek or wistful child comes to mind… then it exists even now amongst you and your “normalcy”. How many unsolved crimes, tragedies, and salvations could be named and rewarded if only mankind would just open its minds, pull back the veil, and realize there is more to everything? We, the human race are not alone, are not omnipotent beings sent to destroy the earth with our greed. She has other custodians, more respectful tribes and peoples.

Man seeks to destroy, has even tried, but failed, for blood runs deeper than revolution and claim, magic even deeper still.

I see both sides. I walk both sides. This is my fourth time in an institution that wishes to intellectualize my beliefs. In a place where one God rules, but whose faith was twisted by mortal hands. The same that grasp at my bones and call me a fanatic.

Hypocrites!

You shall destroy yourselves. They shall laugh. And I, in my urine-stained padded cell shall whisper into eternity… I told you so.

“Told me what, Vera?”

Danmit, the “Good Doctor” has taken it upon himself to visit me personally. I roll my eyes to their slitted corners and turn on the charm. Is that not, after all, how the Joker turned Harley?

“Once upon a time, there was a little girl, whose skin knew not a tone, but everywhere this toddler went, calamity was sure to follow…”

…

Coven, Clubs, and Clans.

Somewhere a child cries in the distance, but unlike the howling despair of other city nights, this one makes her heart ache. She has left the child, her child, all alone, but she dares not turn back. It has been a long time coming. What more could be done for it? Though it tears at her soul with every mile, it is better than her flesh.

Vera was never supposed to happen. Not to her. One stupid childish indiscretion and you are forever damned in the eyes of this community. The Community of the Repressed. Those other dweller folks who were too powerful to be contained, but not interested enough to rule supreme. It is not as though she was the first. Inter-species affairs are quite popular among the mid-thousand-somethings. A sewing of oats. A rite of passage. The rebellious act of youth looking for a good time because they are not yet ready to take on the mantel of their ilk.

A certain thrill exists when you know only you can see each other for what you truly are in a room full of eyes. Amongst unknown witnesses who stare, but cannot see. She is still fond of the memory, just not of the result. There is a code of conduct. You can play, but you are not to breed. Wouldn’t want to complicate how we co-exist with the rest of them on this gifted green earth. That would be interfering with the natural law of evolution, and one must always respect mother, or else become one of the flesh dwellers.

Well, it happened.

Vera is the result of the union between Dragon and Witch, but perhaps they will be more forgiving of her than she can be.

The crying has subsided, now just a faint echo of the mind. She is free and her daughter left to the mercy of the Dragons.

“I’m going to have to stop you here today, Vera.” The doctor said, removing his eyeglasses as though I am the most trying of patients. “I mean, what you are suggesting is theoretically impossible. If these supposed ‘mystical…”

“Beings.” I provide.

“Okay, beings. If they cannot cross-breed without an overpopulation problem, then how have they not inbred to the point of sterilization?”

I both can and can’t with this man. I mean, at least he plays at taking me seriously, no matter how much he might emphasize certain words and phrases. Still, he sure sucks at continuity! I have to sigh and roll my eyes before I can reply, and why not? He always over-exaggerates his exasperation!

“I never said only one line exists of each race, but in a community, a village of people, you tend to marry your own.”

“Is that not racist?”

“There is no discrimination. They are all equal in their cohabitation of earth, but strength and survival come from numbers. They are invisible enough as it is, to keep blood strong and cultures preserved, they mustn’t scatter or dilute their peoples.”

“What about war? Surely all these presented demographics cannot agree on everything.”

How, not quite condescending, is his tone, but cocky, as though he is trying to catch me in a lie with the logic of his so-called reality.

Once more I look at him in a way that reflects his challenge. “The only thing anything true to its nature has to fear is that which will turn on its own when it already has more than enough.”

The Good Doctor shifts in his chair.

“Have I made you uncomfortable, doctor?”

“Why no, Vera, I’m simply settling in for a long story.”

I glare but have to remind myself it is only I who can see the true threat of the venom dripping from the fangs of my satiric grin. He will just see a puerile nutbag’s attempt at a threat. Better to endure and obey his request.

“My mother left me,”

“Abandoned you, you mean.”

“Doctor, if you are to hear a story, you had better listen.”

Though he nods an apology, he still must retain his impression of power by spreading his fingers wide, palms up, in a “simmer down” motion of sane authority. Asshat, my tone has remained as steady as the hum of my kin’s ferocious breath in its belly, whereas yours has a different cadence every few words. Still, I continue. I know this game very well, and it is my turn.

“She left me,” I almost hiss the words. It is at this moment I catch a small reaction from the Doctor’s outer left brow. Was it convincing? Am I breaking through his limited barrier? “In a park, their park, under the light of a full moon’s releasing gaze. I believe it was in Scorpio, of course, it was, who better to cut a tie and never look back? It was a crime of passion, thus I am its waste and must be released in order to move on in purity.”

“Is that how you see yourself?”

I shoot a warning gaze, a twitch of my glare. Does he also feel the fire in this? I proceed. “It really is a wonder she dared step foot in their territory under such a powerful watch. Ah, but Scorpios know how to keep a secret, don't they?” I laugh. “I could have died of exposure, I was but three years old, but they felt me on their earth, smelled me in their air, and, to some degree, I would like to believe, felt me in their blood.”

I have to break from my story for a moment, for every time I speak this journey, I gain new insight into my own. “It’s funny, I do not think people, as they are, give dragons enough sensual credit. They are deep-feeling creatures in every respect. Psychic but in their blood and in their bones. Though their minds be cold and bladed places, sharp like the edge of a spear, their wisdom is never accredited to its true source. Being of knowledge does not come from learning, but from being in tune with what has come before, what is now, and what it will mean for the future. I feel that if time were to take a physical form, it would be that of a dragon, and each scale an era. Forgotten, but remembered, hardened and scared in a repeating pattern of movement and sinew.”

I can feel my eyes have detached, for is this truth not of me as well? Does this power not also run in my veins?

I am quick to snap back and shake this high out of myself. I do this often. I am a two-sided coin. My mind an endless scroll of natural healing prayers and fire. Part Witch. Part Dragon. Part Witch. Part Dragon… but which part?

I look to the Doctor. Damnit, it has happened again. Another incantation. Dreamily, he gazes forward, entranced by my words.

“That’s beautiful.” He whispers.

I can’t scold myself, though I shake my head and scoff. This is what has helped me before. It is never intended. It just sort of happens. The curse of my nature and the nature of my curse.

“Thank you, doctor.” I force a blush, resigning myself to my freedom like it’s the crappy third-place prize at a county fair. “But don’t you see, I’m not crazy… I’m a writer.”

Like clockwork, the lightbulb over his head flashes on. “Of course! Of course!” he says. “This is all just a big misunderstanding! Don’t you worry that pretty imagination of yours,” He gives me a pervy uncle wink as he rushes up and out the door, “I’ll go and get it all sorted out!”

Again I and the stained walls and flooring of my four walls are left alone. I take in the smell, deep into my chest as though I wish to remember every detail of it. He will sort it out, alright. I will walk out of here by this evening, but I shall not be free. Words are not an art I paint on the canvas of their willing ears.

I am no writer. I am real. This is real… but because it is what they fear, they shall never really hear and we shall be forever entombed in the hearts of their fantasies and wishful thinking, save the few deemed crazy.