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Little Mary

This is girl speaking. I wrote this story, but I am not entirely sure why anymore, or what it even is supposed to mean. Maybe someone out there will figure it out before me. 

"Little Mary went missing on ice 3 times throughout her lifetime.


The first time, she cannot recall. A third hand memory, delivered to her in after nine dreams. Past the witching hour, she would lay, braids tucked under the snow and flakes of words she never spoke falling. She told herself she would stay as long as she had to wait for something to feel, a tingling in her fingers or a stomp on her heart. Nothing ever came. The moon bore no witness as the wolves had gone to sleep, and their last remaining hope, a pup not even past two, down south. And the stars... the stars were counting all the little final breaths underneath her lungs, the fishes who had made it to the depths but suffocated under pressure. There was a strange calmness to the scene, a dying which she saw no need to fear.


But,

she woke up. 

She would always wake up. 


The second time, she can recall but is slowly forgetting. Her mother had taken her to a frozen lake, slid her long fingers through hair cut to the ear, bare for whispers: “I will cross and be where summer would never take me. Please, know that whatever happens to you now, can be blamed on me, because I will not look back.” She had clung to her mother’s underskirt, asked what overgrown eyes could tell a girl who normally tramples on sprouts. But clothes had already been stripped off, and she suddenly stood higher than the body they once held. For an hour, she walked. She was not afraid. She did not wait for anyone to find her. She just hoped, thought to herself, that maybe fairies exist, and if they do, it must mean that their wings can withstand it when the air sinks.


But,

she got back home. 

She would always get back somehow. 


The third time, she can recall and it is all she now is. Her father had yelled at her, a name so cruel that only reincarnation could forgive her sins. So, she ran out the door, tears which had been mistaken for anger. It was the last day of winter, yet she refused to let spring bring her to summer, so she hid where it could not find her, on the other side of the lake. By the trees, she laid down, and she waited for a new star to appear, for the wolves to start singing. It was a scene she was all so familiar with, a dream which she had spent her heart trying to find, so that she would never have to wake up again. Her father yelled for her, the name which is only known by her, and as the sun set and the shadows grew, she saw his regrets. 


But,

she did not leave.

She would never leave."


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