Island of Anchors

I

The veins bulge on the map, etched in the back of my hand

            Deep maroon rivers; crusty, peeling skinned plateaus

Pulsing weakly, faintly iridescent, amazonite

I try to twist my hands

            To see my palms

Slowly

Gently

Dammit

The shackles cut into my wrist

A thousand pointed needles dance viciously against my eyelids

My heart makes a heist attempt, trying to break free from my guts

            Reaching up to the base of my throat

            Before it lurches dangerously down, sending off vitriolic sparks

Sharp suck on the ice dagger- winter’s breathe sashaying through the wood slat windows

            Freezing my insides

On the bright side, I can see my palms now

II

When I was born

            My lifeline was a silvery figment

            Seen only if the Sun was exceptionally joyous in the early morning

They said that I wouldn’t live long, claimed I was a wisp of a girl, a ghost girl

That I was already almost gone

But my mother, mule-minded, refused to believe them

And so she raised me, doggedly, and with immense love

Until I dwindled on something bordering existence

The angels took her away from me five years ago

III

I begin my climb up the broad, spiral staircase that should lead to the top of the lighthouse

That is where the Demoness resides

If she intends to take my most prized possession, my life, away in such a fashion

            After stripping away my dignity, peeling it like onionskins…

Then she shall come down with me, into the jaws of the Fire Palace

The steps are cold on my bare feet

And the stone walls hiss at me through the gaps as I walk past

Once, something furry brushes my leg, pitter-pattering down

            Likely, getting a late-night snack

After the second bend, the gibbous stops guiding me through the window

Absolute, stifling darkness

                        Still, I continue upwards

IV

The Demoness hunches over the loom, her old woman’s figure crooked and jutting

            Her hair- balding, greasy, and matted

But most importantly, her spindly fingers running through the threads

            Muttering bitter curses to interweave into the lives’ of children unborn

And in one fluid motion she snatches the glinting scissors at her side and snips a string

            One

            Two

Something inside me snaps, by instinct I lunge forward, and grab the scissors and she falters her dementia-ridden eyes flashing mildly, in that instant I thrust the scissor blade deep into my palm

            Making my own lifeline

Hot white searing pain; blood gushes out

            A single red ruby drop falls on her skin

All of a sudden, she collapses to the ground

            Then, as if breaking through a shell, out of the carcass of the Demoness emerges a Heavenly lady in a gossamer white gown

My eyes squint against her aura

“You have done well child.” She says.

“You have created your own destiny. Go forth and live it- it holds no bounds.”

“You’re ship awaits you at shore.”

V

I set sail that night, on a broad-bowed boat

But I left my anchor behind

As a symbol of hope

Because the Demoness will return someday

~ Soumya