from
mosaic (4) by freda karpf
She could accept, even
relied on the sound and sight of the waves to bring comfort. Why not another
animal or person or character, or bunch of dill bringing contact with someone
she loves? When she felt the connection
she would feel as if she had touched something or someone that felt
ancestral. But who were her ancestors?
The waves, the sky? Too big, too vague. What else?
Who else?
~
Memories come through her like
ghosts. Are these what is left of her
ancestors? As she tried to weave the
reality she wanted into being she remembered that ghosts and golems are the
descendants of people. In some
situations, they were necessary and binary, like the golem. A word on their forehead meaning life gives
them life. A flick of the last letter,
knocking it off their head and they’re dead.
The power of words is like the power of waves. They keep coming and meaning folds back into
the sea again.
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