7. A Beast Summoned ...

Illustration by Robyn Hunt

There is a beast, a most frightening thing, summoned in the silence, in the howling wind, summoned in the darkness, the dead of night, summoned by looking into the heart of a fire, summoned in the still. A murderous beast, possessing insurmountable strength, destructive in its intent. A monster, an imagined thing, teeth, poison, fangs, legs, a thousand eyes, one hundred tongues consuming our flesh, our souls. This monster is your true reflection, on the surface of the moonlit lake or in the gilded mirror of a storybook. Wherever you might find it, wherever you might choose to see. Such fragile, brittle idealism, how easily the façade cracks … shatters into shards. Some of the pieces large, others imperceptible. The thing grows out of your silence, your fear. A curse is repeated in those words you uttered when there was no one else to hear. You thought you had lessened the beast’s power whilst staring into the boiling pot -your messy, unappetising, concoction, inedible, unpalatable. You summoned it closer to you. You helped it grow. It possesses some of your features, your eyes, a few strands of your hair. Perhaps you even miss the beast when you can no longer see it. Perhaps you need to feel the warmth of its breath upon your cheek, even though it smells foul, like rotting meat.You breathe, breathe it in … your heart slows… it slows. You open your eyes, you look again, and the beast has gone … it has gone.

By Robyn Hunt (C) 2020