Where Chaos Slumbers

I stand just outside of the witch’s apothecary. I can hear the crashes and smashing from outside the rickety wooden door where carvings of sacred runes I don’t understand line the threshold. My rusty iron sword quivers in my hand.

Why, I think. Why would she dare approach the witch’s hut? My worn leather boots are already soaked through from the puddles of melting ice I had to trek through to reach her. I think of warmth, of my bed, of her in my arms and my heart writhes in my chest. I breathe in the smell of crisp air and witchcraft and gently knock on the door.

The door swings open abruptly – as if a shock of wind as pushed through it. I drop my sword but the clatter is drowned out by the cacophony.

The cacophony of smashed bottles and glass jars of eyeballs and frogs legs and whatever else the witch has kept locked up in this dwelling. The cacophony of the wind as it howls through the open door and broken windows. The cacophony of the monster that tears through the cupboards, wailing, a black mist wrapping around its pallid white skin.

Its eyes fixate on me but it makes no move to attack me. Instead, it leaps from shelf to shelf, ripping the contents from their snug homes so they shatter on the wooden floor. 

My heart leaps into my throat with every cracked artefact. Memories shoot through my mind. Summer evenings lying on the cold stone floor of the kitchen with her, trying to keep cool but smiling through the heat nonetheless. Winter mornings bundled in blankets as she tries to find my hand between our many layers of duvets.

And every night, her breathing has lulled me into my slumber. Without her, I have crumbled.

The pain that twists my gut at the thought of her going astray – that is enough to shake me from my reverie. I pick up my sword. The monster growls.

“Where is she?” I scream at the monster, desperate to be heard over the raucous noise of the destruction whirling around me.

The monster doesn’t even turn to face me, wrapped up in its mission to destroy the apothecary. I sure hope the witch is far, far away.

I feel the chaos closing in on me and my lungs cry out for air that I am struggling to give them. The cold is biting and clawing at my face and extremities. My life has deteriorated into anarchy that I can’t wrangle. I need her back. I need my warmth and my light and my life back.

Warmth spreads through my heart as it clings to the memories of her, of us dancing barefoot on the rug in our living room, of me brushing her cheek as her eyes slowly close and drift into sleep. But that very same warmth just gives the cold and chaos more to feed on until I am frozen in agony.

I brought my sword, to try and triumph over the monster. But it looks so pitiful now in my quivering hand. Am I shaking from the cold, the pain or the fear now?

As if meeting its climax, the beast comes to face me. Its gaze bores holes into my eyes. Its forest green irises swirl with something I can’t comprehend. 

“Give her back,” my voice is small but I can hear it. And I think the beast does too. It has stopped its rampage. “I need her. You don’t understand but I need her.”

But maybe it does understand? I can no longer look directly into its eyes as I crumple to the floor. I try to hug myself, to feel that flicker of heat I know must be somewhere in my heart still. That fire that keeps me going. The embers of the chaos I have learnt to harness.

My memories fall back into my cozy bed and for a moment while I am in that dream I can breathe again.

I blink and a light shines through the apothecary. The ruins of the witch’s belongings are still all over the floor but a halo of sunshine beams across a scratched up pillow. A small pillow but a comforting pillow, bathing in the only ray of sunlight that cracks through the clouds and the wind from outside.

And there she is. The monster is gone. Now, only my precious love remains.

Her black and white fur, curled up in the pillow. Resting her beautiful green eyes. Purring softly.