Fragments of vanished dreams were hidden in my secret garden, where I passed my nights crying bitter tears of grief and frenzy. Without a doubt, I was not surprised when the decrepit windows shattered as the impetuous wind made them sway in a rhythm that reminded me of a funereal elegy. The ancient clocks of my antique manor ticked each minute as if I were on the verge of waiting for some spectral visit to announce me dreadful revelations. And so the nights passed although I didn’t notice how fast time was proceeding since the day I lost all my cherished treasures, of which all that remained now were fragments of vanished dreams. Not enough tears could express the devastation devouring my heart viciously with a destructive passion. Affliction tried to softly soothe me as if the only way to embrace sorrow was to become despair myself with all the dismay I could possess. I wandered aimlessly near the small lake, which mirrored my mean-spirited mansion beneath the veiled countenance of the moon while hiding behind a shroud of dismal clouds. I desired so badly to smell the black flowers of vengeance, which adorned my garden once upon a time. Tired and torn my heart was aching with the utmost distress in the middle of a gathering of ghouls, which chaperoned me slowly like shadows from the Otherworld. No longer was I waiting for fate to alter the course of tumultuous events that ricocheted through my existence. My imagination was leading my yearnings astray into the abyss of oblivion, so discouraged by a chaotic mess of unfair fears. Alas, without any hesitation, I dared to attempt to free myself from that grip of oppression, but every endeavour of mine was in vain. Nothing had remained in the sacred place of my secret garden but fragments of vanished dreams, of which only memories faded by the mists of time remained to me.
Elisabetta Esther
Tag: Literary Fiction
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Fragments Of Vanished Dreams
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Unconditional Quietness
Unconditional quietness numbed me into a slumber that made me regret all my desires and reminded me of my foolishness. I might have forgotten who I was because of a multitude of versions of myself inhabiting my soul.
I couldn’t clearly see what awaited me, since my fate was hidden beyond a gloomy swamp of illusions and deceptions. A forest of mangroves was discouraging me from advancing. Hence, I was ensnared by their leafy claws.
I could no longer tell imagination from reality, so profuse were the visions that enthralled me. I felt no fear or panic, nevertheless, I could hear a lullaby of illusions pulling at my heart with silken hooks.
That hypnotic stillness was concealing my undoing. A dreadful oblivion was awaiting me as I became its adored prey. I had no choice but to become a tiny and fragile creature surrounded by withered flowers and relics of beauty. And so I was cast away and I vanished in dismay.
All my lost dreams and eagerly guarded treasures resurfaced in the marsh of desolation and turmoil. I had reached the edges of the realm of oblivion.
So forsaken was I in the chasms of my daydream that I had forgotten the existence of the stars on a majestic winter night. Truly, I had sought too long the sense of my existence, and I had never found it.
In my unconditional quietness, I had found chaos and tragedy. There wasn’t even a fragment of hope that I would be redeemed by my destiny. I had been cast away by the luminaries that glimmered in all their magnificence.
The moon hid behind gloomy clouds so thick that it was impossible to ignore their yearning for spells and magical hexes. The sky’s immense shadows touched my swamp, melting in it like ethereal soap bubbles.
Elisabetta Esthe