Of Past Lives And Whatnot
Joy Boniface@joyboniface871111
3 months ago
Growing up, my mom always told me I was an old soul trapped in a young body. She would recount with a smile on her face moments I've behaved more maturely than children my age, even as a baby.
As time passed by, I discovered that she was right. I didn't have many friends both at home and school–except you count the mice and birds I spoke to as people–because no one felt comfortable around me, they felt threatened. People said I have a mysterious beauty, eyes that could see through anyone and an intelligence that is not of this world. Whispers followed me everywhere I went, every room I entered fell silent as if the messenger of death had entered.
People called me strange, odd. I started believing them. There were times I felt like I'd experienced something even before it happened. I couldn't explain it but it happened occasionally. It was as if I was outside my body and witnessing it happen.
I didn't like the attention I drew which made me rarely step out of my house or use a cloak if I must. My room became my safe haven, next to that was a secluded spot in the library where I often go to escape the reality of my life.
On this particular day, I was nose-deep in a huge book I found lying on one of the shelves in the library. I was so engrossed that my environment faded and I couldn't tell what was going on around me. Each word of the book pulled me in and it was like I was living the lives of the characters.
Like a crazed man, I breezed through the pages and didn't notice that something was wedged between the pages of the next page I flipped not until it fell to the ground. As I bent to pick it up I noticed that it was an old photograph given the print and color. How did it get here? It was a picture of a group of people standing in front of a grand, decaying mansion. On closer inspection, I discovered that one of the people in the photograph is unmistakably me. I almost dropped the picture on Discovery.
Why was I seeing myself in a picture this old? Scratch that, what was I doing in a picture this old? Could I have lived before?
Shoving the picture into my bag I dashed out of the library like someone being chased by a mad man leaving the book at the page I stopped at, and the cloak which was like a second skin, dangling from the chair I sat on.
I needed answers. But who could give me that?
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