The Shattering
It began on one of those still, unremarkable days ð§♂️ðŊ️ — silence filling the house, parents away, time unmoving.
A crash. ⚽ðĨ A stray ball from the children outside had shattered a great earthen pot ðŠī.
The plant was wounded but alive. I lifted it, gave it shelter in a smaller makeshift pot.
Yet the broken clay clung with roots still wrapped around its shards — like memory clinging to bone. ð§ĐðŠĩ
The Weight
I gathered the fragments, placed them into a stiff paper bag ð️.
Heavy. Awkward. The kind of weight that feels like more than matter.
With no plan, only impulse, I carried it to a barren plot nearby — a three-foot wall enclosing emptiness.
My thought: Throw it. Be done with it.
But the bag felt fragile, ready to tear.
So instead of a direct heave, I swung sideways — a strange, spiral flick of the hand ð.
A movement I can only call… half-ritual.
The Bird
And then — it happened.
From the corner of my eye: a bird in flight ðĶ
.
Wings stretched, midair, cutting across my vision.
ðĨ⚡ BOOM.
In that instant, my inner sight cracked open like a lens of fire ð️.
I saw Him — a being, half-formed, rising behind me.
-
Male, towering, turbaned.
-
Waist dissolving into smoke.
-
A jinn of the in-betweens ð§♂️.
As my hand flung the bag to the left ➡️ …he surged past me to the right.
An arrow of invisible force.
And the bird — struck by nothing — froze mid-flight.
Then dropped, lifeless, like a stone. ðŠķðŠĻ
The Silence
The bag was gone. The act was done.
But what had I unleashed?
I walked to the bird. She lay limp, her head twisted. ð
Not an accident. Not chance.
And then, a whisper — not my thought, but Mother’s:
ð️ “The being took her subtle body. A sacrifice.”
I did not question.
Did not cry.
Did not even think.
Only silence.
The Knowing
I already knew of those who dwell between worlds ð —
in trees, roots, quiet corners where human eyes seldom linger ðŋð️.
But this?
This was a two-foot indoor plant. Barely a sapling.
I kept still. Said nothing.
Not even to Her.
Days later, my parents returned.
I asked my mother what plant it had been.
She smiled casually: “A money plant.” ð
Native to Africa. Kept indoors for prosperity.
Google confirmed.
My heart didn’t.
The Warning
So here’s what I tell you:
Care for your plants. Especially those inside your home. ðĄ
Because you are not living with just leaves and soil.
And no — I will never tell you how to dispose of them. ðąð
♂️
That is between you, the plant, and the unseen. ðŠŽ
The Seed
I kept the roots.
Wrapped them in a small envelope ✉️, carried close.
I know now: it wasn’t random.
That spiral throw, that chant of the Mother’s Name humming in my blood —
it was a code. ð
An accident, yet a ritual.
A door opened.
A being awakened.
And though I have never asked him for anything… I know one truth with absolute certainty:
☠️ If I ever did… he could topple a kingdom. ðŊðĨ
Comments