Writer Unblocked

By Rachel H Grant

In the still of the night, I hear it scratching at my door. I look at the painting on my easel, the beast with lion back legs and an eagle’s mighty wings: a grand griffin. Its eyes regard me dispassionately. The scratching continues. I shiver. What will I find if I open the door?

My bedroom door is old-fashioned, just like our uncared for house. Perhaps I should just turn the key. But in a moment of folly I don’t, instead I find my hand opening the door.

The same hand that was stamped on today, the pain a memory in my beleaguered brain. School bullying is not a school board strategic priority: it is just the daily drudgery of life when you are the victim. No escape. Only this: my art hobby. It is here that I can run from the day’s torment, it is with paint that I can live again.

There is a griffin behind my bedroom door. His eyes are black and piercing, his front talons large and fierce, his wings flapping with inner fire.

He is just as I painted him.

His eyes appraise me with an eery intelligence. He caws, a shrill sound that pierces the air. As quiet descends words echo on the landing. “It is time to stand up to the bullies.”

Something inside me says that my life may not be the same again. The griffin indicates that I should mount his back. With no hesitation I do so. What can I lose after all? My feeble bullied life? Some loss.

We fly through the landing window, and as the town stretches beneath I wonder how such a beautiful place can be home to such cruelty as I endure.

The griffin flies in to the clouds. A mountain appears before us. Snow sparkles at its peak.

We land on a rocky plateau. A crowd of baby griffins fly clumsily towards us. “Who have you brought with you!” they cry, words echoing in my mind like music. Their eyes shine with childish delight.

I jump down and run happily among them. We chase each other, running in zig zags and ever widening circles. I have never had so much fun. This is what it must be to connect with soulmates. I shiver when I compare the griffin friendship to the daily hate taunts of school.

Perhaps I should never return home again.

The baby griffins glow in the indigo blue dark, their tiny wings fluttering, their talons crystals of fire. These birds are the future, I muse. They are the gateway to the world of dreams, ensuring we can continue to dream for all our tomorrows, custodians of a fantasy world that will not flicker out, a shining light in the night to all sleepwalkers, a place to come home to.

One of them flies up to me, eyes sparkling with giggles, something glowing in his little talons. “Have this! It is lucky!”

A warm object is placed in my palm. It is a tiny golden griffin figurine.

When it is time to go home, what feels like minutes later but perhaps has been hours, I clutch the figurine as if it might fly away at any minute. This is the key to my dreams; it can unlock the fantasies that keep the daily reality at bay.

I wake up the next morning, the memory of my escapades a sweet melody in my head.

I blink. Something is wrong. White walls confront me. A shining corridor gleams beyond my door.

I gulp. Am I in hospital?

“He’s awake!”  My mother is rushing through the door. “I’m so glad! You probably don’t remember do you? Anything that happened? You’ve been in a coma for three days after a fight at school.”

I don’t remember anything, just the griffins. Tears prick my eyes like pins of reality. Does this mean … that it was all a dream?

Later, I lie alone, and think of the griffins. Of course it was all too good to be true. Just a sweet fantasy from my subconscious, a little mythical world to enjoy while I slept.

Well, I could still enjoy it. They had brought me a pad and paint.

So I paint him again, my griffin. As the colour forms on the white paper, something falls from my bed. I look down. It is a golden griffin figurine.

I smile.

Darkness falls. As the scratching begins at the window, I close my eyes in a dreamy disbelief. Should I turn around? Perhaps it is only a seagull.

Slowly I turn, and my smile widens.

It is time to dream.