Her Ghost in the Fog

During the day she dwelled in the woods, becoming one with the shadows of the trees. Barely visible to the untrained eye. Her footsteps were as quiet as the whisper of the wind.

Most of the times she silently observed the travellers passing by, lurking in the shadows. She prevented eye contact with them at all times, because eye contact immediately placed a responsibility towards them on her shoulders. Eye contact requires some kind of reaction. It is like peeking from behind the curtains when somebody rings the doorbell. You don’t open up and invite them in, but they know you’re there, alive, breathing, thinking, feeling. As long as they avoided direct contact with her, she wouldn’t harm them.

Legend has it that late in the afternoon when the birds return to their nests, you can softly hear her chant, if you’re one of the chosen ones. That’s right, up until this very day she won’t allow anyone to hear her voice, except a chosen few.

Apparently she has the ability of looking into the mirror of your soul. And based on what she observes beneath the surface of the skin, she decides whom she will trust with the vague sound of her voice.

You will never find her beside a pool of water during the day, regardless of how peaceful or serene it is. For she fears her reflection. Especially during the day she prefers to stay close to running water, distorting the view of herself, momentarily making it more bearable.



Once upon a time, in a lifetime prior to this one, she was introduced to the girl in the looking glass. They despised one another. She tried to make her peace with the girl in the looking glass, because maybe she was prejudiced or didn’t have an objective view on the picture staring back at her.

Hence she decided to look through the window of other people’s eyes and borrow their opinion on what she saw. The outcome was exactly the same, in some cases, even worse. Since that day her reflection became her worst enemy and she avoided it wherever possible.

But once the sun nods its’ head and quietly rests itself on the horizon, twilight gently takes her hand and slowly guides her out of the shadows into the open moonlit spaces.

And she spontaneously starts playing hopscotch in the clearing beneath the trees. She rolls the dice of life, gives one jump forward and balances herself with difficulty on only one leg. Because that is all that life grants you sometimes, one leg to stand on in a very limited space. Borders. There are always borders.

The sound of the dice rolling, dancing nearly, before it lazily falls over to one side, teazing her anticipation of what is to follow. And she can thankfully place both her feet on the ground, feel the soles of her feet embrace the rough texture of the ground.

She gains confidence in this game.

Then suddenly .. again .. over and over .. she stumbles with open eyes across your name.

She stumbles ..

Your name ..

I fall ..