My Book - a prelude

"...Breeze picked up around her into wind. Wind augmented into gale. As sudden as it came, all was still, serene. A lone leaf broke off from its branch, the first of the epichon, swaying as it fell like all other leaves did in its fall to earth.

At this moment Isnalla opened her eyes, and saw the lone dead child of the epichon as it danced its last dance in stagnant air, and a shiver coursed through her, an unexpected rush of fear and alarm. She traced its zigzag path with her eyes as it meandered towards her, of true knowing and of true understanding what story the single leaf would tell. And as it came down to brush her cheek in a last but affectionate caress, she burst into tears upon its touch, feelings uncontrolled and overwhelming imbued into her. She had never felt such intensity of emotions before and instantly she was suffocating, the weight of a thousand tragedies in its coming strangling her, like hands around her neck choking life from her, stealing her slowly by each passing second. It was as if the single dead leaf had told her its entire life story, what it had seen in the years of its living, and what would come in the years of its passing. While beautiful some pieces of its memory were, fatal it was to her other sorrowing prophecies to be fulfilled.

Gasping and forcing herself to suck in air, Isnalla curled up feebly. This was not happening to her, she thought. To others, it was less important that emotions be controlled and managed, for it could not affect them like it did her. She had known long ago that she was different, her mind more powerful than others, her emotions affecting her a thousand times more than it did others. She had more control over thoughts and emotions, and reality could sometimes be shaped by her mind, wrought as iron could be. When she had come closer to maturity, her emotions also began to have a life of its own, and many times when it was still uncontrolled, these emotions would twist reality to extents her mind allowed, and sometimes it went beyond control. It was a very dangerous thing, for if she believed that she had died, she most probably would. But she had learnt control from her grandfather four years ago, she reminded herself. She was in control now.

How could this happen then, she screamed silently. She could not let this happen, not by a single leaf, epichon it may be. Tears clouded her vision, and as she made out the vague shape of the dead leaf, she saw it withering quickly, and as it withered, she almost gave in to the surreal contemplation that she herself would wither away with emotion.

Isnalla shrieked aloud this time, releasing her last breath and fighting back emotions alive in her. She scanned her memory of all happy things, frantically flipping pages of thoughts like a book, desperate to find the single conviction to make herself live, as she knew how close she was to believing herself dead.

Finding nothing useful and returning to anger at her helplessness, she flung away thoughts of her life she lived, threw away memories of family and friends, hurled away knowledge of all she had seen and heard and felt and tasted and smelt, and finally she knew she had the answer. She retreated into the remaining shell of nothingness, and as quickly as all the emotions that threatened to envelop her had come, they crumbled and disintegrated into emptiness. She had discarded everything out of the room in her mind and locked the door, allowing entrance to none. Not until she was ready again.

Hours went by, she sat in a meditating pose in her room, and days passed.

On the seventh day, she stood up, opened the door, and came back to reality.

Looking around her, she saw a dismal scene - she was surrounded by ashes of leaves of the epichon trees, and as she gazed upon the last leave upon a nearby tree, it fell, and during its falling, it disintegrated, and all that reached the ground was dust.

Weak from self-isolation and too exhausted to make her way home, Isnalla exercised her remaining strength to map out her present location in her mind, and cried out to her grandfather for help, conveying to him the image of her whereabouts, blacking out before he could reply..."