Wake Up, Ellie 1-Breakage of Souls
Meera
Ellie was a simple, unassuming girl with shiny golden locks and rosy skin. She was petite than most of the adults and her own friends, they were taller than her which always made her feel shy and a little scared as to what they would do to her once she wakes up. Their sinister gazes and evil grins were imprinted in her mind as she did not dare to talk to any of them. Sure, a few tried to approach her saying things like “ we are not what we look like, trust us ” or “trust me, we will make sure you reach back safely!”
Even though she wanted to receive their help, she was reluctant to trust them. The mere thought of what would happen to her once she speaks to anyone here is enough to send a cold shiver up her spine.
Each passing day she grew anxious and her worry seemed to increase....it's been months, several months and there was no sign of chances to escape this world. Was she going to be stuck here forever? Are those creatures going to lurk in her surroundings waiting for a moment of weakness for her to show and then attack? Her mind spinned with many unanswered questions. She sighed and sinked back in the couch as she tried to recall the words they whispered before they put her to sleep on that fateful day which she didn't know would change her future forever.
“Don't let them fool you, goats fly, sun is dull, moon smiles, evil cries, good in there…dies eventually. Wake up, before it runs out, the precious glass, be careful who you hand it to, once it's broken, it's broken forever, the dream to wake up and once the night dawns on you, pray to God hoping it's not that late,” as she recalled the words, she couldn't help but think that only if she knew…if she knew that this is how her future would infold in front of her, maybe she would've never agreed to it and this would've never happened. She shook her head, her mind again spiralling back to those creatures.
Ellie shuddered at the thought of interacting with those tall, creepy, lanky creatures she was forced to live with, it will be over soon right? Her eyes briefly glanced out the window as she scanned the street, there were no humans, except her, the rest, were entities, which kind? She had no idea, all she knew was that they're creepy and she should avoid them, or so she thought. Ellie sat down on her bed and prayed to god before heading to bed. Later in the night she was awoken by the sound of repeated knocking. She knew it was them, the tall, black, soulless creatures. She can't ignore them, she can't risk to do so. She quickly rushed down the flight of stairs and looked through the peephole, to her surprise she saw an old, elderly woman with unsettling kind eyes. Though hesitant, she opened the door and looked at the woman waiting for her to speak, the old lady grinned from ear to ear as her eyes crinkled up. Something about her kindness made Ellie feel odd, she didn't know what it was. She glanced behind the woman ’ s back to see many of those creatures screeching and some looking at her with lifeless eyes, somehow she sensed that they were trying to tell her to leave but she couldn't hear them, somehow, all of those screeching sounds were like a white noise in the background.
The elderly woman still grinning whispered, “ come to my house for dinner dear you seem hungry,” she whispered it in a low voice almost as if she didn't want the creatures to overhear. Ellie nodded and agreed as it was the first time that someone ever talked to her after her arrival.. In this world. The old lady gestured for her to follow and Ellie did, she was almost in a trance like state, she wasn't the type to easily trust someone, somehow this old lady had managed to numb her senses. As Ellie followed behind, she saw the creatures,they were never hostile, they never approached her. All they did was gesture some weird signs to her which she couldn't understand.
Suddenly as if snapping out of the hypnotised state she looked at the old lady and before she knew it, a small part in the back of her brain whispered “ run ” And she did. As she was running she saw the old lady, the one filled with kindness, turn into a humongous beast with black, leathery skin and dull bright red eyes and from a distance she could've mistaken them for a sun if it wasn't for the black skin. She glanced up at the moon which was smiling, almost grinning evilly at her plight. Suddenly she was hit by an old, rusty book in her face by the creature whose hand seemed to burn at the slightest touch of the book but somehow it wasn't concerned about the pain.
Ellie hid behind a tree while panting heavily as she opened the book and read the pages. Each flipping page hit her like a truck full of realization. The creatures' gestures somehow resembled those in the books. Her fingers shakily traced the chants as she began to read them out loud, hoping to wake up and reach her world. Each word that left her mouth began to make her feel like her body was slowly being moved after a thousand years. She felt her muscles go weak but she didn't dare to stop chanting the words from the book as the red eyed monster stalked closer to her. Soon she heard the wind whisper softly, “till the time your light burns out, don't open your mouth, don't recall what was meant to be buried, now wake up, Ellie.”
She gasped softly as she woke up, sitting up on her bed. She glanced around and to her surprise, everything was normal. She was sure that she'd spent days in that dimension, but now she's awake, and no one seemed to notice? She crawled out of her bed and hastily changed into her clothes before walking downstairs only to find everything was in place. Nothing was out of the ordinary, right?
“Oh you woke up, Ellie!”
Her mother exclaimed and her heart dropped into her stomach. The same voice that instructed her before she slipped into the sleep, into the dimension now greeted her like nothing happened. She wanted to confront her mother about what had happened but remembering the warning, she was forced to swallow her words.
The Weight of Wings
TiaMani
Daedalus never trusted the sky.
He trusted stone things that could be measured and held. He trusted walls, blueprints, the weight of tools resting steady in his hands. The sky had no weight. It could not be built, only entered. And anything that entered risked falling.
Icarus had known this for as long as he had known his father’s voice.
He had been raised in the dark corners of Crete, beneath the arch of his father’s shadow, where the world was built from things that could be controlled. There were no soft fields or open hills, no wild streams to wade through. Only stone cold under his palms, rough against his knees. The labyrinth had been his playground, though he had never seen it as one.
In the mornings, the scent of hot iron filled the air, the forge burning long before the sun rose. His father’s hands were always busy, twisting bronze, shaping gears, carving wooden models of things not yet built. Icarus had learned the language of his father’s work before he had learned his own.
At night, he lay on his cot and listened to the wind press against the high walls. His world had always been edged by walls first the labyrinth, then the tower, then the unspoken ones in his father’s mind. He had never been told he was a prisoner, but when he asked about the world beyond the waves, his father would only say, Not yet, my boy. Not yet.
But Icarus had never been good at waiting.
The wings were heavier than he expected.
The leather straps bit into his shoulders, the wax smooth and warm beneath his fingers. When he spread his arms, the feathers caught the light some still dusted with down, others sharp as a falcon’s. His father had shaped them carefully, trimming, binding, fitting each one in place.
"Not too high," Daedalus had said, testing the bindings one last time. "Not too low, either. The sea will take you just as quickly as the sun."
Icarus nodded, but the words barely touched him. His mind was already stretching past the horizon.
Then the wind lifted beneath him, and the ground fell away. The sky did not take him. It freed him.
The first rush of air slammed into his chest, stealing the breath from his throat. The world blurred, the lines between land and sea twisting into nothing but color. The scent of salt and wind filled his lungs, sharp and clean, nothing like the smoke-heavy air of the forge. His arms burned as he steadied himself, the pull of the wings unlike anything he had known. The wax stretched with every beat, the feathers trembling like living things.
The ocean roared beneath him, its voice endless, ancient, rising and falling in deep-throated murmurs. The wind screamed past his ears, half a song, half a challenge. But beneath it all, there was something else. A silence he had never known, vast and waiting, pressing against his skin like a second heartbeat.
He blinked, and the world sharpened. The waves stretched below, each crest and trough gleaming silver in the sun. The island was nothing more than a smear of gold and rock. His father was a distant speck, still hovering close to the sea, his movements careful, measured.
Icarus grinned.
His father had always spoken of the sky like it was a battlefield, a test to endure. But now, lifted by the wind, arms spread wide, Icarus realized his father had been wrong.
The sky was not a danger. It was a gift.
He tilted his arms, feeling the wind shift around him, pushing back no, not pushing. Carrying. Lifting. Welcoming.
He rose higher.
The air thinned, growing colder. The scent of the ocean faded, replaced by something weightless, something bright and clean. The sky was not empty. It was full full of the hum of the wind, the taste of sunlight on his tongue, the way the light bent around him, golden and endless.
And then, above him, the sun.
The poets will say he flew too high. That the wax dripped from his wings like candle tears, that the sun burned too hot for mortal ambition. That he was foolish. That he was warned. That he deserved it.
But Icarus was never reckless.
His father believed in caution, in measured steps, in careful hands that built and built but never touched the sky. But Icarus did not want a life of carefully measured steps. He did not want to spend his days looking over his shoulder, waiting for the moment the gods turned their gaze back toward him. He did not want safety if it meant never knowing how far he could go.
So he climbed. Not in arrogance, not in defiance, but in pursuit of something no one had ever given him a choice.
Somewhere below, his father was calling his name. He did not answer.
The sun did not betray him. It welcomed him, burning away all the stories others had written for him. He felt his body lighten, not with death, but with understanding. The fall was never the punishment.
The fall was the point.
Rio
Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) is known as “ a developmental condition that involves consistent challenges with social communication, specialized and intense focuses in interests, and repetitive tendencies in behavior” (What Is Autism Spectrum Disorder?, n.d.). 1 in 36 children are recognized to be autistic, and yet autism is not well-known or recognized in the Philippines for the following reasons: the stigma that surrounds it, a lack of research, and a lack of awareness from the Filipino people. What’s more, autism is grouped into three categories based on the amount of support the autistic person needs and by their ability or lack thereof to function on their own: Low Support Needs (LSN), Medium Support Needs (MSN), and High Support Needs (HSN). LSN autistic people aren’t recognized very well, especially here in the Philippines, due to how well we can “mask” or hide the condition. And so, my autism wasn’t formally recognized until I was 14, and I lived my life struggling with a condition that I didn’t understand.
Even from the earliest years of my life, I had many complications. I had always struggled with eating, starting from infancy. From just a few days old I would retch and projectile vomit anything my parents tried to feed me, so I stuck with very soft foods even long after I should’ve already learned to eat solid foods. I also have GERD (Gastroesophageal reflux disease), and a bunch of other problems that had something to do with my stomach. For the uninitiated, gastrointestinal problems are signs of autism, and nobody caught on to it, except for my mother. She noticed a lot of other signs I was displaying too, such as not looking people in the eye when they were talking to me, not responding to my name, not using my hands to point, and echolalic tendencies (repeating sentences or phrases as a means of self-regulation). My mom caught on to it and brought me to therapy when I was 3 years old to address my struggles, and also to check if I had what she was thinking I had. She was actually right, I had autism all along, but for a time, everyone dismissed it because I “ wasn’t acting autistic enough”, and because I “outgrew” the autistic traits I had (I didn’t, except for the using fingers to point part).
I “graduated”, meaning I was discharged from therapy, and my doctor diagnosed me with Pervasive Developmental Disorder-Not Otherwise Specified (PDD-NOS) instead of autism, which means I displayed autistic traits, but it’s not enough to officially diagnose me with Autism Spectrum Disorder. After that, nobody gave it much thought anymore, and life went on “normally” for me.
It didn’t. I lived for the next 11 years of my life like a normal child, going to school, going to different places, and trying new things. But something never “felt” right to me. From my very first early years in preschool I’ve already been ostracized and picked on by my classmates and even by my teacher. My teacher would always single me out and scold me for crying all the time and being too sensitive. Everyone brushed it off as me being too sensitive and empathetic, but it went on for years. In preschool, in elementary, in highschool, I don’t remember ever catching a break. The cycle repeated, I would get bullied for existing, I would question what was wrong with me and why everyone hated my guts even when I was trying to be nice to them, I would contort myself in uncomfortable shapes and positions in an effort to change my undesirable qualities and make myself more likeable, and I tried to immerse myself in the interests of my peers, even if the influences of those interests are bad, but it was never enough for them. There was always something wrong with me, it was always never enough. I was too overbearing, too sensitive, too caring, too weak, too slow, too gullible, even too proud. I was ahead of everyone in class, but I was bad at sports and almost everything else that involved movement like crafting, because autism affects my motor skills. Even in that, I would get picked on. It’s like there are red warning lights on my forehead that everyone except I can see, as if I’ve already been marked as a criminal. A criminal for existing. They can degrade me with their obviously backhanded “jokes” lathered in secret animosity, but when I try to do it back in an attempt to reciprocate what neurotypical people call “friendly banter”, it was all of a sudden “too far” and “unacceptable”. For the longest time, I was gaslighted into believing it was always my fault, but I realize now why I was never on equal standing with them. I was subhuman to them. I thought I could reciprocate humor with them because they were my friends and reciprocations of actions were to be expected in friendly relationships, but they never viewed me as highly as I viewed them. No matter how much I bent over backwards for them, I always and forever will be their little rabid scapegoat.
I soon came to realize this, and finally abandoned them. It was clear how little I was respected in that forsaken school with their ableist and bigoted people, so I left. I moved houses and moved schools as well. I was fortunate to not experience bullying and ostracizing in my new school and was openly received by the people, but then another problem arose. My new school was bigger than my old one, and there were more tasks and demands. I also excelled in my new school, so I was always picked as the leader to be in charge of almost every single project. The demands eventually got to me, and I experienced a burnout. Autistic burnout is different from neurotypical burnout, as autistic burnouts usually have more triggers and take a lot longer to recover from. I suddenly wasn’t able to attend school anymore, and I experienced a lot of regressions in skills and abilities. I lost the ability to write and to string together coherent thoughts and sentences. I couldn’t do simple tasks anymore like feeding myself. I barely got by, but fortunately, the burnout happened at the near-end of the school year, so it didn’t impact most of my year. I did have to leave that school though, and I had to be homeschooled. I spent my time in homeschool healing my burnout. I removed the excessive demands, I removed tasks involving cooperation and dealing with too many people, and I spent more time doing relaxing leisurely activities. During this time, we finally started to realize how all of my experiences were pointing to autism; my struggles fitting in, my motor skill deficiencies, my food problems, everything. Maybe I wasn’t just “too sensitive” after all. We went to a specialist, and I was officially diagnosed with autism. Usually people enter a state of denial after getting diagnosed with autism, but I didn’t. Deep down, I kind of already knew I had it all along.
Now I am taking this time to relearn who I am all over again, as if I’d just been born a second time. I am getting to know what my personality is really like, what my real interests are, and who my real friends are, with no masks or filters. It just disappoints me that I’ll never be able to get all of those years back. This is a lived experience among many autistic people, especially those of us with Low Support Needs. After joining autistic communities and getting to hear the experiences of other people who were once in my shoes, I realize how saddening it is that being bullied and despised to death was for us. It was even a rite of passage of sorts, like “ you ’ re definitely autistic if you ’ ve been bullied, it’s a canon event, it happens to all of us ” .
Autism can really be debilitating, even for people with LSN, that’s why it’s classified as a disability. This is why I know putting my experiences as an autistic girl out to the world is important, because it might reach the ears of other autistic people who are still unaware of their condition and also went through what I did, in the hopes that it may help them discover their sense of community with other autistic people as I did. I see why community is important for autistic people, how comforting it is to find a group of likeminded friends after having your soul bullied out of you for years. I also hope our experience can reach neurotypical people, so that they can gain a little more understanding of us, as many neurotypical people still cling to black-and-white ableist and outdated depictions of autism. Ableism (discrimination against disabled people) is everywhere here in the Philippines, with how little people know about autism, and it is harmful because it perpetuates prejudice and hate against disabled people. Even people who are more willing to be open-minded are likely still ignorant and ill-informed/misinformed about autism. People often tell me “but you don’t look autistic!” How do you expect me to act? Do you think I’m supposed to flail on the ground like a fish out of water? Do you think I’m supposed to eat rocks and hit my head on the wall? Autism doesn’t have a certain “look”. You can’t always easily assume people are or aren’t autistic just by looking at them once. It can certainly look like people who flail around on the floor and hit their heads when they’re overstimulated, and it can also look like me. Autism isn’t a two-dimensional binary, but many people still cling tightly to these kinds of outdated knowledge. Some people even still hold on to the belief that autism comes from vaccines, a myth that has been debunked 13 years ago.
Knowing about your autism early is important, because terrible things happen when you live your life pretending it doesn’t exist. There is nothing wrong with being autistic, it’s not an illness, but a part that completes a person. I may have lost all of those years before, but now, I get to relive everything as I should have, and I have the comfort of knowing I can start over. No one should have to be ashamed of who they really are, and being autistic is not exempt from that.
What is autism spectrum disorder? (n.d.). https://www.psychiatry.org/patients-families/autism/what-isautism-spectrum-disorder
