Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Another Statistic This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

By
   This is how my life ends. This is how all of our strings are cut away to let the lose strings whip around in the turmoil of our lives. This is where all dead souls float and all skies bleed. Where we see the world in four dimensions of music.

Yet simply, it begins with a snowflake. This is how all of our lives end. A forsaken snowflake began its journey down from the sky. It left its icy shelter and circulated down into a dot that so many souls occupied. Still, none of those souls saw the tiny soul of the snowflake. It was the first and last of its brothers to make it to this desolated spot. Gently, the snowflake rested on pale skin in a dark shadow. The sun continued on its beaten path letting rays destroy the soul of the snowflake. A small wet spot soaked into a pore, and its legacy was gone.

The pale skin stirred. Attached to that pale skin was a pale body. Like the soul of the snowflake, this soul was forsaken also. Society made this soul just another statistic. Nobody cared for this soul, even if they were connected to it. For these souls did not realize that they were all connected as we are all of one mind and body. Each of our lives intertwine so intricately that we form one life of every conflicting emotion that forms war on our lives. None of the souls on that cared about that. None of the souls cared for a junkie.

It's easy to love something aesthetically beautiful. It's easy to appreciate something you're familiar with. Sadly, very few things are like that. How many other souls want to love this soul? How many other souls want to understand a junkie? It's not something you want to be a part of. Yet, the snowflake was, and that soul didn't care.

Statistically, the soul was just another number. Just some billion number that will be forgotten. The other souls didn't know his name, nor did they care. Still, he had a name. He was Cody Strummer. Cody was just a number to society. They might as well have just tattooed it onto him like so many other statistics were.

Cody was dying.

That's all there was to it really. Cody lay softly in the ripening grass, the bottom half of his body draped in shade. It seemed to Cody that all the world had stopped to see him on his way. What he didn't know was that no one knew he was dying. No one saw or even dreamed of the aesthetically beautiful flowers pushing up through the dirt to send Cody on his way. Those flowers bloomed for his dying light, not even aware of his human ugliness in comparison to their natural beauty. But his looks, too, were beautiful in God's eyes. Caring not for difference of looks, the souls brushed aside the flowers. The fact was, no one cared. The flowers were just numbers, too.

At that moment, Cody wasn't sure he was dying, but his soul was telling him he was. His face that had laughed and smiled so many times like a little boy was now flushed red from the heat. Cody had been a boy once, but none of the other souls realized that either. Feebly, Cody tried to smile in flashing memories of those days, but his own body wouldn't let him. He wanted to laugh out loud about all the mistakes he had made, but his voice was hoarse. Cody was dying. Slowly, Cody glimpsed into the intricate blades of grass and saw their story, for even the grass has a legacy to show. That legacy was now his to be a part of. Cody wished one more time that he could see the smiling faces of his children. They were gone. Their mother had taken them away from his now dying grasp. A junkie doesn't make a good father. So many times their bare feet played on the dewy grass. Pinkish mouths had opened shooting out musical baby garble. That, too, was mixed with the legacy of the grass, with the legacy of their fading father. Darkness floated between Cody's eyes and back again. The tingling loss of feeling told him his time was near, but his soul had already decreed that. Still, he had no strength. Sighing one last time at the world that didn't care for him, Cody looked to the sun. Its flames etched another legacy on the scorched grass. There in the sun, Cody saw something different. He saw the wind. The wind circulated around creating a symphony. Carefully, the wispy wind undulated about the junkie's fading soul. So closely did it twist about as the wind's legacy and Cody's became one. So intertwined are all of our lives that the symphony of our stories will never die. Nature created a symphony out of the lack of care for this wretched, dying soul. It was the symphony of life.

The snowflake found its way to Cody's eye and formed a tear. It trickled to flowing grass to live again. The symphony stopped. 1


This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback