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Among my Souvenirs

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The first beam of sunlight is released like an arrow is from its bow. Honing in on its target, weaving through the dying darkness, the golden arrow meets its mark. It pierces my unexpecting lids, assaults my innocent eyes and drags my very soul from its sanctuary of slumber.

By strength of will, my lashes laboriously part. I am greeted by three shelves of chocolate wood, each parallel to the last. Adorned with cuddly teddies, swirling snow globes, glittering figurines and other such trinkets I’ve accumulated from my travels around the world.

I vacate my room, abandoning my beloved bed as I prepare for the challenges of the day. As always, I am acutely unaware of the young couple locked in an intimate embrace on the back seat of my Lamborghini model car, of the Teddy climbing expedition being carried out on Pooh Bear’s honey coloured tummy, or of the Flake Jumping Tournament being held in the snow globe from China.

As I leave for the concentration camp that is high school, (particularly during exams), I am as oblivious as ever to the Lilliputian world that thrives among my cultivated treasures.

Miniature people with wings of enchanted water leave trails of refreshing mist as they flutter by. That mist morphs to reveal the figures of fragrance waltzing over crystal dance floors. This is the only way the Aroma Spirits are visible, though their tantalizing scent never fails to turn heads as they glide to the music emanating from the Sound Spirits. The embodiment of every human emotion is engrossed in a hearty game of tag. Beings of auras, with bodies of liquid gems molded into human form, illustrates emotion personified.

The beauty of the scene cloaked from the prying gaze of the mundane, is hideously out shined by the woman overlooking the carefree frolic of these fabled creatures. Her body is of the purest of white light, she exudes unparalleled power. Her shimmering curls cascade down her elegant back. She floats, suspended over the seemingly ordinary shelves, sky clad, watching over her children.

It is her delicate hand that cast the veil that shields, as well as divides the world of magic from that of mortals. It has been this way since people of magic were massacred during the Witch Trials. In 1692 one particular mortal grew jealous and came to the conclusion that if she couldn’t have power, no one could. As the niece of the reverent in Salem, she was able to convince her uncle that all power was demonic.

Extending her sculptured arms, the woman of light, Morrigan, spoke the sacred incantation that would protect all that she loved. However, over time her name began to fade. She was forgotten and had to fight to maintain her shield to stay alive, for evoking a name gives it power. Eventually Morrigan was forced to change her name, else she would fade entirely.

Her new name, though it denied her existence as well as the existence of those she fought tirelessly to protect, replenished the strength she had lost. She is now called Imagination.



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