Rose Blumen ~ Exogignesthai

(Rose)

A name about Spring maybe? I still had no idea.

It’s probably a little pathetic, even for my standard, but for now I just call her ‘You’.

You is really the mind of a new-born inside the body of an adult.

And goodness she knows how to cry loudly too.

I heard also the expression of crying a river a long time ago. It sounded silly to a childish me back then. She gave it sense quickly.

Her body isn’t appropriate to learn how to walk. She’s too tall already, and even in the sand or by the sea, as soon as she trips and fall, she hurts herself like an adult.

And of course she cries. And mommy needs to go around to find food. I can’t carry her on my back, she’s too tall and heavy.

Blume helps, but isn’t the very best of watchers. So after a day or two, I tasked Blume to find food instead, and I took care of her, and helped her trying to walk.

We fell over countless times. It hurt me too.

I gave her solace and soothed her pain more times than I could count too. She cried heavily, to the point I thought she would dehydrate in minutes. Rivers, for real?

I noticed her other half also twitching at these times. I think she stores some water in that blanket of flesh and hair, like a camel?

At least my hugs, caresses and voice were efficient at soothing her pain and calming her cries down.

She’s sweet. With a charming smile and gaze. Her voice is only in cries or childish giggles yet, but I’m willing to bet she will learn fast.

I will try to teach her new European as much as I can, but some old English will have to fill in some blanks I’m afraid.

While Blume is cutting down trees and processing them into edible food, I spend time teaching her, You, how to walk and possibly talk.

She needs more skin contact, touches, than any lover would. It soothes me too to hug her and caress her, so it’s fine. My child lives like a pet at times, just looking for a caress or a scratch, on her skin or her fur. The hair on her back is like a giant pelt, and is quite sensitive to the touch as well. I lack words to describe this half of her body that doesn’t look exactly like a normal mammal attribute, while the rest of her body has very human forms.

So it’s a little like petting a horse or some other large animal when it’s about the behind of that wide pelt. She likes petting of her pelt. It tickles her and makes her laugh.

I tried combing it, but it looks impossible. Hair, vines of some sorts, vessels like pipes or blood vessels with thin skin, and other things with more or less plant or organs features, are all entangled in this anarchic pelt. You cannot comb it. There are too many organs and tissues all mixed up there, somewhat randomly.

Unfortunately it also makes it heavy as a wet blanket and quite a chore to wash. And it becomes heavy like a dead horse when it’s actually damp. It floats at least, more or less.

So we can bath in the sea or a river as we please. She swims like a puppy, it’s adorable.

But climbing back to the shore is a two persons’ job, because of the weight of her wet fur. And then it gathers all the dust and dirt you could imagine before it’s dry again. I’m a little puzzled there about this huge part of her.

~

Blume’s biscuits are tasteless, but she can cook a lot since all she needs are trees and we’re in front of the jungle.

It’s the most effective solution for food and time spent raising my child she found. Turning lignin, cellulose, tannins and pinenes into starch, flour and sugar. It’s time consuming and tiresome for her, but now that she got her processes working, she has the outputs streamlined. She can resume learning how to use the helicopter.

When it will be ready and loaded with biscuits, we’ll head somewhere else.

R – I can tell you’re tired Blume. Would you like us to return to the soup sea? You could rebuild some strength there.

B – I would rather see and enjoy what happens next.

These words struck me. But I didn’t know what to make of them at the time.

I realised from details about my child that she also inherited some features from Blume.

They’re very dark in colour, but there’s definitely some kind of leaves growing in her hair.

For Blume, the concept of a child was even more foreign than for me.

Because daiûas don’t exist on a principle based on reproduction of species. They’re fundamentally different... But because of me, here we are now...

The worlds have merged.

The age of humans is vanishing. And the one of self-proclaimed gods might be more frail and short termed than one might foresee.

Here, she was born.

To live freely in whatever will come next.

Even after me and Blume are gone.

I hear her giggle, and then cry. The sun is bright above us, making my skin wrinkle and burn. I smile.

I may look like her grandmother, despite her already mostly adult look, but that amuses me too.

She finally manages to stand, stretching her arms to balance herself, and to walk a few steps toward me without a fall. We yell our joy, without any articulate word. Which makes me laugh even more, because it means we already begun to communicate with each other already, without need for them.

I congratulate her and hold her tight with me.

Life is bright and good.

~