Obscurity in the Presence of Light

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(2 years old)
The ambience that fills our souls on a warm summer day grants us hope and serenity.
The leaves are a picture perfect green, the bushes are trimmed exquisitely, the birds are wandering, and her hair gives off an essence of innocence by the way it shines in the sun’s glare. Her skin so flawless, so soft to the touch, her eyes so light, but most notably her smile: it’s everything.

 

(5 years old)

    Simplicity lessens satisfaction but shields the utter profoundness of failure.
A girl so gentle, so new to the world; naïve. Brightness surrounds her being as she awakes joyful. Her angelic smile spreads across her face as her disposition brings positivity to herself. The universe praises her for the purity she possesses.
A simple night, similar to those often shared with family and friends, consists of her experiencing the nature in her backyard. The illuminating essences refresh her soul; her mind is at peace with the comfort of the surrounding vibrations. She watches them glow and follows their light, extending her arms she carefully catches an insect in the palms of her hands. Refreshing it is to collect and enjoy, her body rushes with adrenaline, wanting more. To her satisfaction there is what seems to be an infinite number of times she can capture these joyous creatures.
As her exhilaration diminishes she is complacent in releasing them. The atmosphere itself, containing brightness, multiplies this brilliant glory as the essences are liberated.

(12 years old)


    True comfort can be maximized with full comprehension of patterns.
The same angelic smile remains spread across her face and her curiosity continues to give her excitement. Passions develop as she takes on new experiences in sports and academic matters. The trophies and certificates from all her achievements shine in the front of her room. Every time she looks at them a spark of joy is emitted and gives her energy to continue.
Mornings are always the best part of the day because she’s able to relax in her bed and listen to the birds sing their beautiful melodies. As her eyes are closed she anticipates the next note of the song and accepts the frequencies she hears, whether they are similar or different from the note she had in mind. Her mind wanders, deciphering the appearance of the birds, basing her thoughts off the birds’ song. The ambiguity creates an opportunity for her imagination and each depiction she creates is glorious. She imagines light images of these creatures flying into the vibrant heavens, until she is abruptly interrupted and must adjourn to continue with the responsibilities to which she must attend.

 

(15 years old)
    A true nightmare consists of the most logical fantasy.
The soft transformation from spring to fall has just ended as the icy winter chill appears to be more prevalent. Although it is clear that the weather is not as inviting, her longing for connection overtakes her.
She lays by a stream with a boy she’s recently met. His hair is well combed, he’s short, but not shorter than her, and his physique is aesthetically pleasing. They walk by the stream, creating small puffs of steam with every breath exhaling warm air as they speak. He talks and she seldom listens; she mostly focuses her attention on the surrounding nature. Staring off into the stream, he notices her mind has wandered. She sees a bigger puff of vapor from his mouth and notices his sigh. She looks up at him in question as his eyes stare blankly back at her.


After a while, he offers his sweater, but she politely declines; instead she motions to lay on a large rock near the bottom of the stream. They walk over, carefully avoiding the ice on the ground. He turns his body sideways, welcoming her touch, in an attempt to comfort the both of them. He makes an effort to smile, but instead his lips look lopsided. She appreciates the effort and conforms to his gestures by laying on her back, closely by him. His body trembles as he pulls her closer; her side rises as they lay facing each other. The little space between their bodies almost gives them a feeling of serenity.


“Someone is here, someone must care,” she says to herself, but can’t find truth in her words. The only things that prevail in her brain are the conclusions that have been solidified from her observations. As she lay there with her hands tucked between her legs, she remembers a night that will always have some part of her. The night that will never leave her overly alert conscience because she knows that as the seasons change the memory will always be triggered by the cold that overtakes her body. She recalls that her feelings of safety, comfort, and satisfaction came from the mending of her soul colliding with another, a purpose for her existence, a reason to continue productivity.


Decisions become harder and harder to make because outcomes continue to be inconclusive. The choices are unclear and the solutions frustrate her mind. Spearing back into reality she becomes aware. She unclenches her fist and lays her hand on top of his. She feels his fingers as she moves hers up and down his palms. The calluses on his hand do not feel rough against her skin, rather, in some sense, it's a familiar touch. Looking into his dark eyes she can tell something is wrong: he longs to be enough, but knows he never will be.


In the absence of speech her stomach ties into a knot, and her throat begins to tighten. Tears accumulate on her water line. Her gut strikes her with a sharp pang, and blood rushes through her anxious being. Unable to remain on her side, she drops onto her back. The snow melts into her sweater and seeps through the fabric as cold molecules freeze her back. Indifferent to the pain her mind consumes her focus again.


The sky... she knows it isn’t what it seems. What is anymore? A glorious view of scenery disguised as the imperfections of mankind. The effects of pollution surround her. The ground… frosted by the acidic hail that covered the ground the night before, every inch in sight is covered with these disastrous compounds. The boy... he truly cares, but he knows all too well. He’s as good as gone.


Her hands lay face down, directly on the snow. Her fingertips are a purple-ish blue as her blood cuts off circulation. Instinctively the pain becomes too much so she sits up and quickly puts her hands in her sweater’s pocket. Looking into the stream she sees a glorious reflection, but this time.. the light blinds her.






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