The waving gown

As the sun rises and the sky is clad in a bright red, blood has been shed at night – they say. I cannot help but often think the morning sky reflects the unnecessarily spilt blood. Sometimes the sky does not turn into such a bright red and rather remains in slight pink shades. Like on the morning a couple of decades ago. I knew I was too late at least for this one particular individual.

I often observed this strange woman just wearing a light pink gown wandering around in the nearby grasslands towards the forest, into which she then disappeared. It appeared more like she was slightly dancing on her nightly routine wandering, consciously breathing in the air and feeling content with herself and at peace. In a slight breeze, her thin garment and her long dark hair would gently stream in the air and as she disappeared in the eclipse between the forest, I heard her singing a gentle humming of an old Norse song. That song would fill the shallow air with the silent fluttering of the forest leaves the entire night until the sun would rise and fill the sky with the most precious golden colours. The lady would then return again every night, no matter what other pressing issues might have easily darkened the thoughts of the village she lived in. She would also not be seen during the day.

I remember the horrendous night when I was already sitting on the porch with a nice glass of red waiting for the lady to pass by in the distance, letting me enjoy not only the night as it would be, but also savour the benefit of her soft voice. Instead, I heard terrible screams from her cottage. Quickly I ran over to her place only to witness from a distance how she would get dragged out of her small place and taken away in a caged car by men clothed in white. I dared to draw in closer to her small cottage in order to enquire what happened to her and why she was taken away. She was a useless eater, they said. She lived alone and was said to have only one eye and one hand. As I peeked into her cottage I discovered small balls and other tiny bits and pieces covering the floor she apparently made herself with tiny bells for one of the cats I found hiding under a chair, which was seen as a waste of material. I could not notice anything pointing to an understandable reason why she was taken away. The village was haunted by severe droughts which made the food supplies rather short for the humans living in that area and they seemed to look for anything and anyone they could in order to get rid of in order to have more food available for the other inhabitants or also to have a scapegoat for present weather conditions. “She’s a witch!” I heard another person scream.

The witch hunts would have been a few centuries ago to that point, but humans obviously still liked to use that term especially on women who lived in other circumstances. There was nothing wrong with the lady. She was neither a witch. All that was ‘wrong’ with her was that she was different and therefore by senseless choice denied a life like any other human.

I followed the hints I received to find out where the woman was brought. She was brought to a sanatorium far away, which was filled with numerous similar humans suffering the same fate like her. At night one would hear them scream in terror, screaming for help, pleading to let them go as they were randomly maltreated and punished with electric shock therapies. During the day they were all calm and silent, drugged up with lord knows what to just sit there staring into the void pathetically. I decided to step in and help the innocent humans. At night I would return to that place and at first smuggle into the main doctor’s office in order to convince myself of the reasons and diagnosis the people held in the sanatorium where put there. I found no worthy information in their files, so I went into each room myself to check each patient’s psychological and overall well-being while the nurses and the doctor were busy in other rooms with their torture. All I found were hopeless humans. Nothing was wrong with them. The one or the other probably struggled with some stones in their paths of life, but there was still nothing profoundly wrong with them. None of them had developed a serious mental illness. They had only one thing in common: they were different. Some were slightly disabled but managed to find their way in their lives. Some told me they were more awake at night and pursued what they loved at night. One gave birth to a dead child and another surrounded herself with dogs at the place she used to live. I found only one patient who really struggled with his life, but with the right calm environment and a new pursue in life, he could easily be put back onto his path. I asked them to stay in their rooms and went to the room where the doctor and the nurses were busy ‘treating’ a patient with electric shocks. I could hear her screams down the hallway, echoing through the entire building. A glance out of the window showed me it was about sunrise. I rushed my way towards the room, opened the doors with a jolt and sent the nurses and the doctor flying through the air at the wall with a minor hand movement. On the stretcher in the middle of the room, I found the lady in the light pink garment. The sun glazed slightly pink through the windows directly onto her now silent body. Her heart stopped beating under the ‘treatments’. I was too late.

I gathered the remaining patients and asked them to board a bus I found outside with which they were probably supposed to be brought elsewhere at some point to press them into ‘acceptable’ shapes. We drove back to the small village. I bedazzled each inhabitant of the village to leave the place and thus I could give the former patients a new place to live. The villagers were not happy in that place anyway and it was for the best for them to move on, giving the former patients for being different a new chance to live. Soon a younger woman found the small cottage the lady with the light pink gown used to live in. She was fond of the cats that already lived there. With time, that place turned into a small cat sanctuary. The one who loved to surround herself with dogs created a small dog sanctuary. The people I moved there found their true fulfilling happiness in that village and turned it into one of the most diverse villages.

I am glad I helped them back then and I still do visit that small village from time to time wondering what is wrong with humans not to grant other humans a life they deserve just as much, calling them ‘useless eaters’ or labelling them with names only because they are different either on the outside or on the inside.

– Horatio

PS: And don’t forget, our first book ‘The Vampyre Memoirs – Bohemian Rhapsodies’ can now be obtained at Blurb, Amazon and CreateSpace as a print version and at the Kindle store or Smashwords as an ebook 🙂

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