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🌹 The Hiccups Between Worlds🌹

Johannesburg always feels alive.Each street opens into another world,each alley hides its own kind of magic.Some shimmer with lakes made of rushing stars.Others bloom with humanoid flowers that hum softly,their petals catching sunlight from nowhere.I call them hiccups,brief slips between realities most people never notice.When my birthmark begins to burn,I know I am about to cross again.I never mean to.I always promise myself I will stay focused,meet my friends,play another round of volleyball,and keep my feet in this world.Yet the temptation grows stronger,like a door whispering my name.

This trip was supposed to be normal.Two days of beaches,laughter,and sunburns.I laughed until my throat hurt,tried not to think about glowing wrists or vanishing roads.For a while,I felt like a girl again,not a gatekeeper.When evening came,lights blinked awake,and the scent of grilled food drifted through the park.My friends waved,arms full of snacks.I waved back,promising to see them soon,though I knew I would not.My flight was waiting,and so was my father.That was our agreement.I always leave before the family steps on stage.The night sky above the airport looked heavy.I fell asleep mid flight,forehead against the window.The dream came again, the same one.
I was running through a forest of glowing mushrooms that breathed mist into the air.Their stems brushed together like whispered prayers.My mother’s voice followed me through the fog.I had asked her once, “Where did I come from?”and she had smiled. “We all sprouted in the Mushroom Forest.”When I woke,my skin was cold,and the scent of earth clung to my hair.The mark on my wrist throbbed,faint but alive,as if something had followed me back through the dream.And for a moment, I wondered if I was the one dreaming or if the forest was dreaming of me.