ENTRY.
Going to the Shore was the second worst decision of my life, the first one was choosing to be born as a fae. There’s a story people tell about Obatala, when he decided to craft human destinies he got bored halfway and started drinking, that’s how the blind, the crippled and the misfortune are created. People say that when you go in to pick a head, if you choose to select one yourself rather than letting Obatala himself pick you are bound to pick a terrible destiny. I think it says a lot about Obatala that he made better looking heads when he was drunk..
ENTRY.
The Shore is beautiful in the way a five star hotel is beautiful, you feel like you're at a museum and can't touch anything, after a day there everyone is begging to go home, to where mistakes can be forgiven and are not painted on a marble wall for all to see. But there's no home for fae children.
Everyone remembers the Iron Wars. That's another problem with Humans, they keep grudges the way trees keep sap, building and building around it. Today my mind is tearing me apart again, I want to just lie down and stop moving. But I can’t, I’m the last Lightning fae and I have to save the world.
Dear Diary, What is the worth of a life? At what point is our debt paid? Is it the cost of a bullet? How many bullets were wasted in the Iron Wars? I don’t want to pay for the sins of others.
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I take off my clothing deep in the forest-no sense burning them-Then I’m off, a bolt of lightning arcing across the sky, I land in a garden, no blade of grass is singed but deep down I imagine it, the green grass burning wild, the roof of the bungalow collapsing, surrounded by flames, like the cover to an upturned pot, a pot of boiling frogs. I press the doorbell, there I stand in my naked glory. An old woman answers, she’s holding a rowan walking stick, one family member lost.. I can see the threads of iron that are woven cleverly through it, beautiful workmanship. “The Lightning Fae is here.” she turns her head and announces into the maw of the house.
A family walks out, two daughters my age, a father and a wife. I steel myself, the daughters are giggling behind their palms as they stare at my waist. Sometimes I wish I don’t have a body. “Good Morning to this esteemed family on behalf of the Unified Republic. I am a lightning fae and on behalf of druids and fae, I apologise for our greed and the damage we cause to respectable humans everywhere. I hope you forgive us and our continued presence on your planet and I’m prepared to serve in whatever way possible.” Hot lightning burns behind my eyes, but it’s just lightning, I’m a lightning fae, I can control it, it’s not tears. It's just lightning.
“Get off my frontyard, you leprechaun.'' The father’s hair has bits of wood braided through his locks. A lost wife then. I’m green, green with envy. She has escaped this world. I leave then, a spark of lightning flitting across the sky, thirty-six states more. It feels like a thousand years when I get back to the Shore Hessia is waiting to take my memories, she can’t really remove them, but when she’s done they feel like dreams, bad dreams but vague and misty. Sometimes I wish I had her skill, so I can share my pain, but then the next month rolls around and it’s time for another Pilgrimage, and I’m grateful that she’s there at the end of it, brown palms cupping my head like a cup, and she pours the memories out, slowly.