Dodgeball

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There was a game I used to play with my sisters and brother during my growing up in Ithania: we carried a ball of leather blown to fit into our grasp about and chased each other similar to a catch-me-if-you-can though throwing a ball instead of extending a finger.


One day playing in the great white plains my smallest sister managed to hurl the ball too fast and too strong and it shattered through a wall of mirrors breaching to the other side and disappearing in the darkness.


I volunteered to cross to the other side, stepping precariously around the shattered glass thorn afraid that I would cut myself, though still not cautious enough and letting my blood drool as I reached for the ball.


Though as I took a hold of it, the world changed and the side I trespassed grew illumianted with a thousand lights, the home of my siblings growing ever dimmer, blurred and unreal. I called over to them, but they could not hear me or understand me well: I will never truly know.


I tried to cross the shattered hole again but to no avail: I found myself stepping back to the other side ever more with only a glimpse of blurred vision over the frivolous and colourful forest where my sister stood.


I decided to cast the ball over to their side and wander this new world I found alone.


Adrienne d'Ortonnaise
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