worst story ever

some reverse psychology so i can actually finish this lol

CHAPTER 1

Kelda woke up shrouded in flannel blankets and feathered pillows. Small lights of energy danced around the back of her glowing red eyelids, and she watched them for a second, and acknowledged the moment because it was quite pleasant to wake up like this, she doesn’t remember ever having this experience before. She takes her time. Then slowly peels open her eyes and through her lashes she sees a large glass wall. Beyond the glass wall is a forest and sitting on the ground in front of her was a faun. She opened her eyes more, still, tranquilly, witnessed. They were both still, both looking. She stayed there for a minute.

Kelda doesn’t want to scare the faun, but the door to go outside is nearby where it lay, she didn’t notice the door behind her.

How did I get here?

She feels strangely calm and examines her body. She looks at herself, feels herself and is still giant. Her memories are next, the important ones, her family, race and culture, are still there, her name and her skills, she questions, she needs to confirm it. But she doesn’t want to disturb the faun. But everything is moving, so she keeps it going, it’s all a feeling at this moment.

She is outside now, and the faun is not there anymore. It was there, but it’s gone now. It’s a small homestead in the forest. She walks the perimeter, she looks out into the forest occasionally, she walks to the front porch and sits there. Nothing much more comes to her mind. So, she goes back in to inspect the homestead. It doesn’t have much, it seems, just the basics, and then she goes into the room next to the bedroom she woke up in. It’s filled with books some comfy seats and a desk by the window, pens and paper, writings. But she wasn’t so much interested in who’s it was, but she was interested in the books. She ran her fingers across the spins on the shelf and picked out Failed States by Noam Chomsky. She sat on the porch and ate the book. It was a couple days where she stayed in the cabin, waiting for something and nothing, reading the book until she was finished. After she finished the book, she decided to walk into the forest to see what was there, maybe she would see the faun again.

She soon realized that she was in a mountainous forest the ones she remembered as a child, the one where her mother had said she arrived, when she formed under her mother’s armpit.

Kelda continued walking into the forest and found a stream. She started to follow the stream to see where it led to. She walked along until she came upon the bottom, a spring, a fountain, the kind she was named after. She undressed and dove into the water. She could still swim. She left the water to dry off.

She saw a buck in front of her and it was as serene as the faun she saw the other morning. Light shining behind it, glowing like the inside of her eyelids.

Is that her father? Kelda though to herself

He leaped and plunged its sharp horns inside of her stomach and then retreated back to the serene vision she first spotted him at. She held her stomach tight feeling the warmth of her blood cover her hands, not able to take her eyes off of the deer, she curled over onto the ground and laid there staring at the deer and saw it did not just have blood on it’s horn from her, but when she looked over the deer she noticed it was also wounded. A bullet had tore through the deer’s leg. It was in so much pain, and his eyes were raging, it’s soul was a fighter, and it’s baby, the faun was sleeping behind him, nestled head underneath a tree, not so different from when I first saw the faun sitting down in front of me a few days ago, but this time it was sleeping, pillowed on the bed of fallen leaves and silky iris bush.

Kelda, with the last of her energy and will, rolled herself back into the water, bearing and soaking in experiencing every ounce of pain, finding a strange sensuality in this moment, seeing everything more clearly than she ever felt before, it was confusing, to feel that the air was beginning to feel foreign for the first time. She was bleeding out in the crystal waters. Her eyes and surroundings sparkled as the light from the star shined.

Not so long after she entered the water a gator appeared to her and nestled its head underneath her palm that rested atop the water. The gator silently asked her to lay inside of its mouth. She heard her. The gator’s mouth opened and its tongue made itself into a bed for her. She floated inside of it closed her eyes enjoying the last glimmer of red behind her eyelids before the gators mouth shut.

CHAPTER 2 

She kept missing the point, all her pictures she ever made never had a strong focal, what was the point, where was the point? Maybe, she should have chosen to do philosophy rather than art? People didn’t like her art so much because she never really had a clear message. But how could she help that? Nothing had ever been made so clear to her, why would she be able to point to an issue she doesn’t necessarily believe to be an issue at all than more a construct that’s been overexaggerated and integrated without much question or thought. All that she knew was either a lie or had been or will soon be dismantled, even words she thought she knew how to spell were wrong, like opossum, she thought it was spelled possum. Like her father had asked her repeatedly, are you retarded? No one really enjoyed listening to her, even when she was right, no one cared, or assumed she was wrong by default and then when people found out the things she had pointed out that were very accurate observations and insightful solutions to things they had forget she ever said those things at all, and now those people are thinking they had come up with it themselves, when really we all already knew this – to be in a constant state of remembering. It was all very frustrating for her, to be able to share things, these valuable insights and people not care and not be ready to hear it, and not want to hear it from her in particular, who was she anyways, nobody, because she didn’t want people to pay for her, because she didn’t want to be a part of any class people discarded her completely, so people didn’t find her valuable, besides the people who loved her, the world didn’t care about her though, not yet, because she didn’t want to pimp herself in anyway, all she saw, to function in the system, mathematically it seemed you’d have to pimp yourself in one way or another. She would have to move back home at some point and one way to survive is by serving people and them giving her money to be pleasant, forced pleasantry for survival, a less aggrandized bard in today’s world. People did appreciate her sometimes, like inside the institutions she paid to get into for other people to see her work, and they would have to actually be critical of it, they had no choice, she was paying them after all, like at university her tutors and professors, doctors, researchers, well respected people in her field praised her mind and her force, her potential. But that was the only time she got much validation. When she spoke, people heard her, and were affected by her, but easily forgot about her, and easily focused on louder male voices, any male voice sounded more reassuring than hers, a woman, in our world they make woman out to be liars, people question and don’t believe anything I say unless I prove my point with examples and historical references not just theory, it must be proven or else my voice is suspect by default in this male dominated world, a world that would rather not exist than to be be loved by a woman like her. She worked in support and care and she was living in a society who valued death more than the living – who paid more for coroners than care takers, who paid more for caskets than hospital beds. Alcohol more accessible than insulin. They would rather see her dead than to take her seriously, this is the world she live in.

How many times do I need to come back?