The Hills Call pt 1

I was 13 when I ran away.

I wasn’t going to leave town forever, just long enough to scare my parents a little.

Thinking back on it,

it was over something so little,

that I’m almost angry at myself for leaving.

But I did.

And I got lost.

It was the Sods.

I know it was. There were sods everywhere and I couldn’t help but get lost.

It was crazy.

One second I was walking the road and then the next

I was in The Hills.

When I had returned home,

after my older cousin found me and took me back,

I told my parents what happened.

But they never believed me. Even to this day.

My parents told me

I was too old for faeries.

But I knew that I wasn’t.

Because one is never too old for magic.

***

I smile sadly as I see everything rush

by me in a blur of colour.

I hate taking the train.

I don’t like the metal and

the overpowering odour of exhaust, coal and fumes.

It’s a fucking sickness,

a silent one at that.

It doesn’t even have the decency to be loud

and in your face,

save for in peoples coughing and choking.

The fumes just

linger and

linger and

linger until you inhale them.

And once you inhale them,

they’ll turn your lungs and heart and soul black.

Someone on my left is smoking a cigarette.

Huffing and puffing out clouds

of cancerous fog.

I roll my eyes and shake my head.

I never saw the appeal in smoking and drugs.

Another person farther up in the train car

is steadily eating nonstop.

Just fistful after fistful of

chemically toxic and life endangering

sugars and colours.

Somehow, these people never realize

how bad something is for them even when it’s

dyed sickening shades of the rainbow.

It seems that only I notice

how evil you humans are.

It seems that I’m the only who can

actually still see the colours of the natural world.

Nobody else sees the shades I do.

They gaze at the world in a

multihued lens of chemicals and toxic tones.

They see nothing but plastics and metals that burn.

I wish a million times to never turn out so sad

and lonely. I know my wishes will

eventually come true.

Because I’m one of the touched ones

and I know of

The Old Ones From Down Under The Hills.

***

It’s hot and sticky~ the air is just so clingy.

It drapes everything in a slick oil like coating

that renders everything gross and unpalitable.

But I have been taught to see and feel

beyond that grease of human smear.

I will see the greener grass

and the bluer sky

with the endless, endless

meadows of zinnias and yellow roses.

One day, my efforts will be seen.

***

When I was younger,

before I ran away for a week,

I taught myself to read and speak

The Language of Flowers.

So that if any of

The Old Ones came to visit me,

I’d know what to say.

I used to leave out

small dishes of porridge

with a tiny pat of butter

so the Homely Ones could eat.

I used to spend hours searching for any

four leaf clovers.

I used to do anything to make them see me.

And eventually, over time, they would.

But I had to learn to wait.

***

My whole body is stiff.

I haven’t been able to sleep

for the past three days,

and I am beginning to see things that could

possibly not be there.

I know that who I am seeing are not

The Old Ones From Down Under The Hills.

It’s the ones that I was always cautioned about.

Shadowfolk.

Never take any of their deals,

the tomes said,

They are shifty, and tricksey,

and you will regret them swiftly

as they make you into their meals.

So I am trying to ignore

the shifting blackened mists that dance

out of the corner of my eyes.

I am tired. So, so tired, but I can’t sleep.

My whole body feels like it’s on fire.

But I can deal with fire.

I take in a deep breath and then I exhale.

Mist and Shadowfolk try to tug me into sleep

but I keep my eyes open.

The Old Ones like those who succeed.

So I must remain awake.

***

The train ride to work is long, and on my way home,

it’s worse. People are irritable,

but somehow always chatty. They bump into me,

sneeze at me, cough on their

gross five fingered hands

and they never say sorry or excuse me or forgive me.

It’s always watch where you’re going,

mind yourself, what the fuck- watch it!

The train rides home used to be fine:

I’d be able to see the stars

and rolling green hills in the moonlight.

Sometimes I could swear that I could hear

the music of The Old Ones.

I used to be greeted by an old kind woman

who understood everything I said about

The Forgotten Ways.

Then she passed on, leaving in a puff of pollen

and now the world is darker.

The train ride home is now nothing but

unkindness, hopelessness and malice.

It’s malevolent, while the woman was

ever so benevolent.

***

I’m staring at the tile of my bathroom floor in shock.

How-when did this happen?

I hear someone ask me.

It’s probably my flatmate, Willa.

I can’t answer her. I don’t want her to cry.

So I just stare at the tile of the floor,

vaguely aware of the throbbing pain in my head.

I can’t tell what’s real

and what I’m imagining anymore.

I can feel blood run down from my nose

and from my temple.

Oh, Connie. You look really bad,

Lemme call an ambulance.

***

There are tubes everywhere.

I can’t see but I can feel.

I have a pulsating violent headache

and my body feels like I’ve been run over.

I can’t speak with all the tubes sticking out of me,

so I mimic writing.

Some doctor sees and hands me a pen and paper.

What happened to me?

Why are you pumping me full of toxic waste

and chemicals that label themselves

as medicines?

You were attacked. What can you remember?

The Hills. I was in The Hills.

I want to go back.

The doctor shakes their head and walks away.

They don’t let me leave.

***

Soon enough, the doctors take out

the cancerous tubes of “medicine” from my throat.

Once they leave the room,

I get up, forcing myself out of the hospital bed

and stumble around the room.

When I remember how to properly walk,

I find the door and exit.

I don’t care that I feel like shit.

The Old Ones Down Under The Hills

have better medicine than these

gross, toxic humans anyways.

I stumble and hobble through

until I spy a familiar door.

This is my flat door, I think.

Locating the spare key under the gnome,

I let myself in.

Willa almost immediately sees me.

Why are you here, Connie?

You’re in bad shape still, dove.

Why don’t I take you back to–

NO, I shout.

I’m not supposed to shout, not at her.

But I couldn’t help it.

No, I just need The Hills.

I say softer.

But as soon as I reach my room,

I fall onto my bed and don’t get up.

I remember I was in The Hills,

and it was all merry,

and there was wine and fruit.

The Hills are home to me.

***

I took the train again today.

I fucking hate this damn train.

It smells like cancer and rot and metal.

That’s the worst part.

All that damn metal.

It burns every time I touch it.

Looking down at my hands,

I notice that my phalanges

are too long, with my middle and ring

fingers too close together.

I guess they're finally noticing me.

I shrug and look out as

the green hills rush

by me in a blur.

And within that blur, I see one face.

They raise a hand and wave.

I can’t help but wave back.

***

Those damn

Shadowfolk

are back.

When will they see

that I do not want

their stupid deals?

I roll onto my stomach

and bury my face into my pillow.

One day.

I swear that one day,

I’ll be home.

***

I’m sitting in the meadowed hills atop

the shores so white they glow.

The coast below me where

I can hear the roar of the waves.

I’m supposed to be at my

group meeting with that counselor

but I wanted to look for

four leaf clovers instead.

So far, I haven’t found any.

Though I know I will.

Somewhere off in the distance,

I can hear high laughter

and the sounds of

a merry banquet hall.

I’m curious but I know that if I go there,

down to their party without

being able to See,

then I’ll be banished and forgotten

by these beautiful people.

So I continue looking for clovers.

After hours, the sun has set,

alighting the clovers to gold.

And there! in a patch of

sunlight so dreamsical,

a special sign just for me.

A four leaf clover.

I pluck it and witness as the

world turns into a vivid dream.

Every colour is amplified by the music.

This world,

the one that I see with the clover,

is far brighter than any of the toxins of the

previous one, but

this new world isn’t sick.

It’s healthy and beautiful.

I’m home.

***

Four leaf clovers are unusually rare,

comes a faint and echoey voice.

The face appears next to me and I smile.

It’s The Blur,

the one I saw while passing on the train.

Some say they are Fae tears,

But the Fae never cry,

That is why they are so rare, my friend.

Blur helps me to stand

then leads me to

the festive banquet hall.

They hold my hand and

start to lead me in a dance.

It’s merry here.

It’s merry,

and I am never going home.

***

sickness seeps in from the farthest corner

it works it’s way slowly

until there is only the

grey and sick and rot

how dare they

how dare YOU

you infect my world

with vile words

you cut us all to pieces

what was once merry

is now

gone,

and i’m made to

board that stupid train

the stupid fucking train that rumbles

evilly on its stupid fucking rails

all those stupid fucking people shouting

and cursing

and being angry

well

i am angry too

so i’ll shout and yell and scream

***

they look at me like a diseased rat

i ramble and tell them about

the old ones from down under the hills

but they just applaud

toss me a coin

and laugh

when i say it’s all real

i tell them how welcoming they were

how often i could trade

my trousers

for

a dress

and how often

they’d doll me up in

gold and silver shimmery

make-up and black lipstick

i tell them how pretty i looked

and how much fun it was

but they spit at me

when i say i wore a dress and shimmer

they spit at me

but i bear through it all

because i remember

the grassy hills

the aquamarine ocean

the lavender clouds

and all they see is

grey grey grey

and metal and sick and rot

when the sun comes out

from behind those rainclouds

they shriek and shout

what the fuck is that

while i laugh

i am the only one that remembers

the sun

and

The Old Ones From Down Under The Hills

and

The Forgotten Ways

i’ll always be here

to remember

because this time,

i’m not going to forget.