Page 120 - KCMAGAZINE 20230717

I shiver, feeling the thick and I move closer, feeling the dried leaves
moist mud filling out the spaces
between my toes with each step
I take as the plants reach out to
brush past my calves. I inhale the
rich, intoxicating scent of rain and
grass, the scent pumping through
my veins and filling my lungs. The
lush leaves of old trees sway along
the wind in greeting, and I smile
back at them.
It’s a quiet day in the forest,
I think to myself with a hum. The
nymphs must be out playing again–
or messing about with the humans,
their second favorite pastime.
The fae have been complaining
about the withering flowers in
their territories. After a series of
sickeningly sweet veiled threats,
I am inclined to take care of the
matter before they carry through
with their promises of violence.
As I enter their domain,
the shift in the air is faint, barely
Memento noticeable– but it’s there. Vague
silhouettes
tiny
of
shadows
mori, dash about in my peripheral, as
mischievous chimes and jingles of
my dear. bells ring out softly from all around
me.
Written by Kuan Ker Zhi It was obvious when I had
reached where I was needed. Among
a field of teeming wild nature filled
with dense and luscious nature–
splotches of muddy colors scattered
throughout the bushes corrupt the
picture-perfect scene, sticking out
Illustration by Kuan Ker Zhi
like a sore thumb.
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The prison of flesh and blood that
between my fingers carefully. I smooth out holds us will melt away like candle wax,
their curved edges gently, feeling the ever- becoming a burgeoning ecosystem for
evident bump of their veiny textures as I the beetles and the bugs, the critters, and
did so. the birds– It will be their kingdom for the
taking.
The Narcissus flower that used to hold
its head up with such pride and elegance– Soon, the decay will gradually fade
much like how its human counterpart out like the wisp of a dancing flame in the
did– is now dipping its head in shame and wind with time.
forlornness.
Then, it will be the moss and fungi
The honey-golden petals which that thrive upon their new home, nuzzling
resembled the soft silk of sunlight that it themselves into every curve and edge of
was once so prideful of, have now become our exposed vertebrae, before snuggling
wrinkled and shoddy. The alluring hue into the narrow gaps and cracks of the
that was once the envy of the others, is yellowing calcium. The foliage will
now washed out and muted, a depressing accept us as one of their own, curling
air now looming over the flower that had and wrapping us up with their bodies in
lost its glory. a welcoming act of acceptance. All while
the earth takes in the shell of what once
As I pick their frail and withered was a living, breathing life into their warm,
bodies from the bushes, I sing their praises gentle embrace filled with eternal comfort,
to them in a whisper, as if I were telling every trace of stardust and iron in our
tales of Greek gods and goddesses. veins will be reclaimed by the soil then.
What is beauty without
Nature works in funny ways I can
impermanence? never fathom. As even in death and
decay, there exists flourishing life within,
Life is designed by nature to have blooming and growing like unyielding
wildflowers– the beautiful symphony
death be inevitable to us all– we are bound that is mortality in death, and death in
to it regardless of how fate strings our story
mortality.
together.
When the maggots and worms However, that is what allows us to
burrow into the remains of what once was cherish, to appreciate all we have, to hold
a majestic stag, standing tall and proud our heads up high like a flower that only
with its pristine coat of fur, and the antlers has less than a moon to taste the sweet
that sat atop its head like a crown, befitting nectar that is life.
of royalty– Is it not, we as living beings, all
end our journey at death?
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