The Weiver

It wasn't until recently that they saw themselves; the face in the mirror was never their own. They were a mind piloting a vessel, two separate things. They adjusted, acclimatised. They were never comfortable but they made do. Things were changing on the journey to adulthood; their body prepared for a play they wanted no part in, a role they never auditioned for. Piece by piece, biology stripped more from them, dragged them further away from the physical. 

 

Ivy sprouted from their face; a torment subtle at first but unignorable eventually. To touch that which was theirs irritated the flesh but wounded the soul; vines constricted, bound the brain. They learnt to live with it, ignore it, their mind detached a little more.

 

Molten lead poured down their throat, pooling in their larynx; it sank rather quickly. The words that came from their new voice-box lacked the lustre they had before, they had darkened in the depths. Toxins leeched into their words, every speech left them feeling sick. They learnt to live with it, ignore it, their mind detached a little more.

 

Things changed as they grew up, as the shackles of adolescence fell to the side. Free from their bindings, they realised that, in this world of colour, things aren't just pink and blue; there was never a binary, never just two options. They saw the shades inbetween and, for the first time, they understood what they meant. They found themselves or rather, the person they could become. Alone, they planned, they researched, they prepared. Alone, they went. Each step towards the goal was one they came closer to themselves; the physical and mental reunited.